The Blakros Museum rises into the night sky, its single black spire severing the full moon in twain. The black iron gates surrounding the exhibition hall grind in protest against the wind, their creaking shattering the silence of the night. Beyond, the museum's large oaken doors stand wide open, a silver-grey mist belching forth from the cavernous darkness within. The mists writhe like snakes, seeming almost to beckon you forward one moment before dissipating, leaving you to wonder if it's a trick of the mind or perhaps something more...
You wonder how you ended up here, standing at the precipice of unknown terrors, and instantly Venture-Captain Adril Hestram's wide looming face is conjured into your mind's eye. His booming words ring out from memory as clearly as he spoke them only one hour ago:
"The Blakros Museum is cursed." The bear of a man, usually beset with a nearly-toothless grin, was shockingly serious this evening. You'd been summoned to the Grand Lodge in the middle of the night, no doubt woken from peaceful slumber and dragged, half-asleep, to the VC's offices. He had explained in greeting that you were the only capable Pathfinders around Absalom that he could grab on short notice, luckily having only returned from your last mission the afternoon before. "Luckily". "Some terrible darkness has descended upon the place. 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, although he chose to leave our organisation 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 the 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 heft sum of gold." Adril scowls, his hammy hands squeezed into fists. "The few who glimpsed Lugizar claimed he was much change 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."
Before you left, Adril handed you a folded map of the museum, a flashy piece of card that looks like it's meant to be given to patrons. He also suggested you head to the offices first to find Nigel as he may have some insight into whatever foul curse vexes the place.
Root it out. Your final order from Adril. All that's left is for you to proceed...
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Norine makes her way to the museum with the rest of her somewhat tired-looking group, but she had slept during the afternoon and evening, waking to see the sky filled with the works of her goddess - the Starsong, the Mother Moon - a sight even more appreciated after her recent night in a sunken dungeon. Earlier, she had visited the Qadiran embassy to fulfill a most important promise, then used up all of her favors to borrow a most attractive little stick...
She prays to her Goddess for Guidance and searches her memories:
...and asks many a bleary-eyed tavern patron...
Heehee! Humans can be funny sometimes!, Norine laughs to herself, though the information gained would not be of much use to her tonight.
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Trekking beside his companions, Dracothis scours his memory for anything he might have heard about the museum.
Armed with the power of knowledge, he picks up his pace, confident that he and his companions (particularly the newcomer that they picked up at the tavern) would be able to remove the curse.
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Mez curses under his breath as he is again roused from his bed for an urgent mission. Do these people not sleep? The world will not end in five hours, and it if would be, we are not the Pathfinders they would be sending to stop it. Slowly he dressed in his gear, bringing his pack this time, and trudges down to the Venture Captains location.
Yawning through most of the meeting, and sleepwalking through their trip to the museum, Mez completely forgets to ask the people in the area about it, or even stops to think if he knows anything about it himself. At least I have some friendly faces with me on this mission, they might let me sleep for a few hours before we actually start investigating.
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Tod considers is new allies for a moment, then speaks:
"My apologies, fellow Pathfinders, for failing to introduce myself. My name is Todric Callasater, but my friends all call me Tod."
"I was a local tavern singer before joining the Society. Perhaps you've already heard of me? No? Well, that's ok, I wasn't very famous. I sure do love to sing, though, and some people even paid to hear me!"
"At any rate, I can't remember much about this place at all, my head's still too cloudy from being roused in the bloody middle of the night."
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As the newcomer to their merry band speaks, Mez regards him through sleepy eyes. Todwic? Nodwic? Nod? Winkin, Blinkin, and Nod, teehee, I remember that story, I used to go to sleep to it. Sleep...zzz. a second later Mez’s head jerks up! ”I’m awake!” then, rather sheepishly as everyone stares at him ”Oh, my name’s Mez Masterson, and you probably don’t want me to sing, unless you like the sound of someone strangling a cat, and then you’re just odd. Once I wake up a bit, I’ll be your frontline fighter ”
Pausing for a moment, Mez’s eyes light up as he has an idea. Rummaging into his belt pouch he pulls out a small flask, and takes a deep gulp. The fiery liquid burns down his throat, causing his face to contort for a moment and one involuntary head shake before it returns to normal. ”Oh yeah, that’ll wake you up!”
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"You know," Dracothis begins, "It's a funny thing about the Mwangi region... much of the darkest area of the interior worship a demon lord named Angazham. He is described in an old tome, the Book of the Damned, as a thing of primordial darkness, a foul-breathed demon who grunts prophecies of blood to apes and madmen. It is said that the jungle is his beating heart. The Gorilla King's dread city was founded hundreds of years ago by cultists of Angazham. It is generally believed that they captured the souls of monkeys in the wood-grains of strange idols called Tik Taan. The tormented spirits of these monkeys became the slaves and playthings of Angazham, who perverted their playful whims into hatred and madness. These Tik Taan are rumored to shred the sanity of any who spend too long in their presence."
"I also seem to recall that the cultists of Angazham, the ones who created the Tik Taan, were hunted by a particular tribe of the Mwangi, the Jambala Jaeg. This tribe created ritual knives, crafted of bone handles and obsidian blades, to slay the demons inside the Tik Taan. Apparently, the madness spreads through a mist emitted by the Tik Taan that enters the body through the mouth. A scarf or other such protection is said to provide immunity."
"Now, our wayward Pathfinder, Lugizar, spent the better part of a year in the Mwangi Expanse. He was prolific in his letters home, at first, but they gradually dropped off to nothing and he was presumed dead. One letter, however, spoke of a lucrative find; three dark idols carved in the shape of bearded monkeys. Personally, I suspect that these are Tik Taan. The last letter he sent evidenced an unhinged mind, and was covered in strange sketches of monkey paws. He described dark eyes glaring out from the mists. It was shortly after his return to Absalom that many of the monkeys and apes in the city's menageries attacked their keepers and fled into greater Absalom."
"If my suspicions are correct, then the source of the 'curse' is actually these Tik Taan that Trantos brought back with him. If we can find and dispose of it, we may see an end to the troubles in the museum."
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"Well met, all! Tod, my name is Norine Nafafeen Eparine (or something close to that), and my friends call me Norine, most of the time, but that is a long story ... and I've forgotten most of it."
"I can't sing, and I know little about anything most people consider important - but let me tell you someday of sailing the tallest ships, hard over in the wind! - and I am your priest of Desna, and can heal, though I do not think I can heal this madness..."
"We should all make good scarves then, though I will offer you each the guidance and blessings of Desna, if I may, as we enter these strange mists."
Norine begins taking her dagger to some of her more ragged and less noticed garments.
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Ebon strolls down the street listening to the others introduce themselves.
Tod. ok got that. monkeys something with mist. mist bad. ok.
He seems a little bleary-red eyed, and is quiet for some moments after reaching the gate.
I really should have slept more instead of carousing in the tavern. Gonna be a long night.
" Sorry for the lack of noise. Having a hard time waking up my head. I'm Ebon Kai. Also a front liner, and anything else that needs doin. hoping for more stuff than just yappy little dog-lizards this time around. Not sure I like the idea of monkeys tho."
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"Mez, do you want to examine beyond the door?"
"And then, would you offer each of us the Guidance of Cayden Cailean and I will pray for the blessings of Desna's powers of Resistance for each, and then we shall enter as best prepared as may be."
"If man or beast attacks us under a curse of madness, we must try to ... make them harmless ... without killing them, and then I can use my sacred touch to keep them from dying while we search for a cure."
Norine takes a last look at Mother Moon, knowing that the Moon - despite the spire - is still whole and will remain so long after she and this building are gone.
Mez takes the first, brave steps into the cloying mists, in through the creaking doors of the Blakros Museum. An unnatural cold permeates this chamber, and the sound of his boots on the flagstone floor echoes off of walls that are barely visible through the haze. The tendrils of silver-grey mist that flow out the front archway into the courtyard beyond seem to effortlessly pierce the flesh and gently caress the bones in a cold embrace, curling up and around his upper torso as if trying to weave its way into his nose and mouth.
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. Beyond this entrance hall, however, the museum is dark. The mists part to reveal the shapes of two doors just beyond the atrium, beckoning you to investigate further.
There doesn't appear to be anything of note in the atrium, for better or worse. Only shadows and mists lurk in the dark corners.
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Tying the scarf from The gnome tightly around his face, Ebon enters the atrium. Drawing his sword he grips it high then stops and looks in askance at Norine when she says to capture and not kill their opponents.
Frowning mightily he takes a few practice swings, trying hard to keep the flat toward his pretend target.
" I don't know little one. It's quite a bit harder to fight and not kill than otherwise. I will attempt to be gentle in my attacks, but if one of us is in danger I may not think before I sever something."
Looking around he wonders" Have you seen any guards?"
Norine spends some time listening at each of the doors in the hallway. The rooms beyond are utterly still and quiet; and yet, the longer she listens, she seems to hear something, perhaps from down the hallway, perhaps from the grasping mists themselves. It is a faint drumming noise, tribal-like, increasing in tempo and loudness the longer she spends standing still listening at the door, as if some wild orchestra is encroaching on where she stands...
As soon as she starts moving again, the figmented noises disappear in an instant.
Ebon certainly has seen no sign of any guards. Oddly enough.
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"You know, Ebon, I've not had the pleasure of touring this museum, but I understand they contain historical or magical relics and curiosities. Many of these are placed in large rooms where the public can come to view them. I am happy enough to tag along behind you big fellows, but I will try to watch out for threats from behind. Lead on Norine!"
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"This door," says Norine pointing to the left (west) door, "seems as good as the other, and leads to the offices. So let's go!"
Norine casts Guidance on Tod, Dracothis, and herself as they gather in front of the door, and has Mez cast Guidance on himself and Ebon and then open the door. And in they go...
(Order: Mez, Ebon, Norine, Dracothis, Tod)
After some divine magic is spread around, Mez opens the door to the west exhibit hall and steps through. The mists here congeal into a thick and silvery fog that cools the lungs and gathers like clouds around the exhibits on display throughout this large hall, making it hard to make out what lies upon the far wall. To the north-west, the exhibit hall continues outside of your view. A placard hanging from the roof above this hall reads "The Honoured Dead" in blood-red calligraphy.
It appears that the current exhibition is on the funerary traditions of several civilisations, featuring both what appears to be displays of various processions and burial protocols along with preserved corpses arrayed in grim stillness. A giant warrior bedecked in bronze armour looms from the haze, his arms crossed at his chest, his helm solemn and still. Nearby, a funerary raft is propped up by wooden posts, decorated with grave goods crafted from iron and bronze. 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. You are certain there are more, cloaked by the writhing mists at the edge of your vision.
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Not wanting to move too far ahead of the group, Tod moves towards the center of the room.
This place sure is creepy. I'm glad the Society sent me out with some stong allies! Still, best not to let my nervousness show.
Tod inhales sharply, but then lets out his breath more gently. He begins to fidget a little.
Initiative:
The party moves cautiously into the mists, shadows of the honoured dead looming out of the mists as they progress. It appears that the room turns off towards the north, and you can vaguely make out the outline of the door leading to the offices.
The mists churn and gather in the centre of the room, making it incredibly difficult to see where you're going. Suddenly, Norine hears a strange and yet familiar sound--the sound of metal scraping across metal. The gnome spins about just in time to see the armoured warrior, clad in heavy discoloured bronze plates and helm, break free of the bonds tying it to the exhibition! Through the mists come the sounds of other alarms--the creaking of sarcophagi and smashing of glass panels. But before anyone can act, the honoured dead are upon you!
Initiative: Ebon | Tod | Undead | Mez | Norine | Dracothis
Map Screencap (Please move your own tokens on the map if you can, or let me know if you can't!)
Status
Tod: 3/10 HPOOC
Please check out my explanation of how I run combats/initiative in the discussion thread.Only Norine noticed the undead (I rolled quite well on their Stealth check...) so she can act in the surprise round.
I don't have time to write up spoiler tags for Knowledge checks right now as I have to duck out to a meeting, but make Knowledge (Religion) checks if you have it and I'll update you shortly.
The bronze legionnaire wordlessly steps forward with a hollow clank of metal upon the flagstone floor and thrusts its longsword at Norine. The gnome is blessed with preternatural luck, however, and the strike misses her entirely.
Ebon is assaulted by a hulking skeleton, a towering ancestor of the Kellid race wielding a greatclub fashioned from a mammoth's ivory tusk. Despite the skeleton's imposing figure, he is able to resist the weak blow entirely.
Mez comes face to face with some withered, mummified thing from beneath Osirion's sands bearing a jeweled scarab on its chest among its spiced wrappings. It attempts to claw at him, but its bony hands simply scrape across his scale mail.
Tod, distracted by his nerves and the shock of sudden threats from the mists, doesn't realise that there's something sneaking up behind him, too! A sharp pain wracks his body as a blade is thrust through his back ; when he turns around, he finds himself face-to-face with a shrunken, emaciated corpse wrapped in rotten silks, a silvered Qadiran scimitar held in its bony fists.
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In panic, Norine does something she has never done before, closing her eyes for the briefest moment, she summons the power of her Goddess as a wave of pure energy to counteract the negative energy powering these terrible, poor monstrosities.
Norine gasps in horror as she opens her eyes to see Tod's ghastly wounds and yells, "Get away, Tod!"
DC 13 Channel Energy
Seer:
Legionnaire:
Initiative: Mez | Norine | Dracothis | Ebon* | Tod* | Undead*
* = following round
Map Screencap
Status
Ebon: 2/14 HP
Mez: 5/12 HP; paralyzed (3 rounds)
Dracothis: 4/12 HPGhoul (Green): 6 damage
Zombie (Blue): 6 damageOOC
My dice are on fire... I'm so sorry.
Norine lets loose a sudden burst of holy energy, causing the undead to scream and reel back away from the gnome. Two of them - the proto-Kellid war chief and the Qadiran warlord of old, skeletons by the looks of things - are evaporated away in an instant, their bones burned to ashes and their funerary gear left to clatter to the mist-swollen floor. That leaves the remaining two (much fleshier sorts) to deal with...
Ebon swings wildly in the air, his attack coming nowhere near his target; the mists seem to make distance deceptive. Tod steps back to heal himself, and the painfully bleeding stab wound seals up as if it were never there at all.
The mummified Osiriani menace steps in between Mez, Dracothis, and Norine, and seems to smile... a terrifying, dry smile with a mouth filled with needle-like fangs and ancient sands dribbling out like saliva. It lunges out at Mez first, this time clawing him across the face. But the skeletal claws are not the worst part... it's the itchy, horrible, accursed sand that scratches at his wounds, somehow spreading a curse along his arm and through his body that leaves Mez in a state of paralysis.
With Mez disabled, the ghoul turns to its next target: Dracothis. This time it rakes its claw down the archaeologist's arm, and Dracothis too feels the horrible itching ache creep through his bones as the cursed sand infects his wounds. However, he seems to be unaffected by the paralysis as Mez was. Curious indeed.
For its third movement, the beast attempts to take a bite out of Norine, but only gets a mouthful of chain for its efforts.
The zombified warrior retaliates against Ebon, its movements shockingly fast - almost as if it remembered its regimented training in life. It cuts deep into Ebon's chest, slicing through his armour as if it wasn't there. Despite the wracking pain, the barbarian is able to push away from the zombie's subsequent shoulder bash.
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Todric calms himself and trades his rapier for his dagger. The he begins to sing, his voice trembling at first. After a few notes, he becomes audibly more confident, and his rich, clear baritone voice can be heard by all in his room:
"The minstrel boy to the war has gone, in the ranks of death you will find him..."