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. Beyond, the museum’s large oaken doors stand wide open, a silver-gray mist belching forth from the cavernous darkness within. 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 minds’ eye. His booming words ring out from 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.”
Before leaving, Adirl hands you a map of the museum and suggests that you head to the offices first to find Nigel, as he may have some insight to whatever foul curse vexes the place.
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Patros looks at the doors of the museum.
I wonder what stories the items in here could tell... he ponders. He stands tall in his finely made clothes and a glistening chain shirt. A wickedly curved blade sits on his hip, the tassels dangling from its pommel matching those hanging from his belt and indicating his birthplace, Taldor. He moves with a cat-like grace, honed by his years of practice in the rondelero fighting style fancied by a portion of the Taldan army.
I am Patros, of Taldor. Pleased to meet you. Have you been an agent long?
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"Ain't ever heard of anythin' good happening in the Expanse, or the Blakros Museum for that matter. Ya'll better be on your guard when he get in here, cursed or not." Selmy says with a grunt before turning to Patros and the Tengu he walked to the museum with.
"Selmy, by the way, pleased to meetcha." He extends his hand in greeting and offers a wry smile.
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Not everything in the Mwangi Expanse is bad., a green-haired halfling clad in simple, but comfortable leather clothings objects. "What I've heard about Lugizar Trantos might be, though. I've heard tales about the Apes of the expanse, that gave me nightmares at that time," he shudders involuntarily, "and when I was allowed to read some of the letters, he sent back to his family before he stopped writing and was assumed to be dead, his report about three monkey idols he claimed to have come in possession of was something that made me remember those nightmares."
"And have you heard about the problems the menageries here in Absalom had with their monkeys. Just recently, it seemed that they had all gone crazy, attacking their keepers and fleeing into the city? Thought it was gossip, but now, with Trantos return, who knows if that was mere coincidence."
Suddenly, the halfling blushes. "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm talking too much, and didn't even introduce myself. I'm Dus, and I'm pleased to meet you as well.
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"No, not everything." the tall Bas'o warrior says with a small smile as he agrees with Dus. He rubs the scars around his wrist as he adds, "I hope that whatever he brought back was not from the Belkyr. Much of the darkness attributed to my land of birth comes from the demon lord, Angazhan. If whatever this curse is relates to him, then the dwarf is correct. Nothing good will come of it."
He plants his great club on the ground, supporting it with one hand while he bows. "I am Sidi. Out of Sharrowsmith's Lodge and recently confirmed."
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Untir is a tanned Osiriani man. His long dark hair is tied back from his eyes with a ragged leather strip at his brow. Other than the breastplate he is wearing, a silvery large shield attached to his left arm, and a simple shortspear strapped to his back, he carries little else. He is dressed in thin and light clothing, suitable for desert dwellers of the Osirion. In fact, although the weather has not turned particularly warm yet, he seems to relish the temperature. Not surprising considering he just returned from the northern lands of the mammoth kings.
Untir stands glancing at the museum entrance. He brings his hand from time to time into his pouch, absent-mindedly caressing Da'e. Stay in there where it is safe, for now. Normal folks do seem to panic quite a bit when they see scorpions. Despite knowing that his spirit animal does not really understand him, he has taken to having conversations with it, it being his only connection back with the Running Scorpion tribe. Other than the countless ancestral spirits that reside in him, that is.
Suddenly realising the conversation amongst his companions, he pulls himself away from the museum and turns to everyone else. When he speaks, manner of speech rather polished, formal and perhaps unexpected of someone dressed rather roughly. "Apologies, but that is so ... captivating, is it not.I am pleased to make your acquaintance. My name is Untir, Untir Jonrot. I had served as the apprentice shaman for my tribe, but for the last year, with the urging of my ancestors, have found myself with the Society." When he is done, Untir finds himself drawn once again to the entrance of the museum.
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With the pleasantries, and a little welcome music, out of the way, the entrance to the museum once again beckons. The party makes its way uneasily through the heavy oaken doors and into the Blakros Museum's 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.
Congratulations! You have gained the Mist-Tainted template:
- Both Intelligence and Charisma go down to 6. If your class relies on these attributes for spellcasting, you can no longer cast spells.
- You gain +2 to Strength and Dexterity. This gives you +1 Initiative, +1 Armor Class, +1 to Attacks, and +1 Damage.
- You are immune to fear effects.
- You have +10 to Climb checks and a climb speed of 20 feet.
- You have +5 to Acrobatics and Stealth checks.
- You gain a slam attack. It does 1d4 (+Strength Bonus) Damage.
Note: Your alignment hasn’t changed, there is no urge to kill your fellow Pathfinders. Play it up and have some fun!
@Patros: Your current total of panache points are unaffected, but while you are mist-tainted, you will no longer be able to recover them. Once you use them they are gone ;)
As you explore deeper into the chamber, tendrils of mist seem to creep up from the floor, clinging to your legs and then up through your nose and mouth. For a moment, your whole body feels deathly cold as you breath in the cold, damp air. Most of you quickly recover with nothing more than a shiver down the spine. Selmy and Patros, however, look to be in more trouble!
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"Me not cold!" Says Selmy, his tongue suddenly heavy in his mouth, slurring his words. "Am bored, want to smash things. Let's find things to smash."
He pounds his feet excitedly as in his suddenly over large hands he summons and dismisses the concussive air that he normally uses to attack. His leather armor strains against his sudden muscle growth and his eyes are dull and unfocused.
The changes to Selmy and Patros seem subtle at first, but they are unmistakable. As the mists draw back slightly, you can see that their brows have grown more pronounced, their hands and feet are much larger than before, and their postures have slouched as they stand there, open-mouthed and breathing heavily.
Selmy seems significantly more muscular than before you entered the museum. As he pounds his feet excitedly, you can clearly see that his now overly square frame barely fits into his armour. Patros, on the other hand, actually seems a little thinner, standing a few inches taller than before, despite his slouch, and his muscles have grown more sinewy and lithe. Both of them seem ready for action.
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Patros looks down at his hands. They barely fit around the hilt of his sword and the strap on his buckler. He grunts in disbelief as he as he tries to loosen the collar of his chain shurt. Luckily, the finely crafted mithral links give so as to not constrict him too much.
Ugh...let's go...getting angry. Not good. he gruntsas he readies to head off.
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Untir looks in concern at the transformation of Selmy and Patros. He cautiously approaches them, and if they do not turn violent, starts examining their eyes and pulse, trying to determine how to undo the damage. "Must be something we breathed it. Some of us escaped its effects but I'm afraid for our comrades..."
He sighs when he realises there's likely little he can do. Looking at everyone, he asks, "I can grant two of us skin as thick as bark for protection. Would lasat for about half an hour. Perhaps some of our frontline fighters would find it useful?"
At the same time, he pulls out a couple of wands, one which he activates immediately on himself, and another which takes a while longer.
The Black Crow spends a few moments inspecting the room while Untir prepares himself for what's to come. However, apart from the faint aura emanating from the balls of light in the braziers, he finds nothing of interest. Whatever the source of the changes in the unfortunate Pathfinders, it's not in here. Meanwhile, Selmy and Patros pace the room, itching to get going.
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"Well, no need to stay here until we're all frozen, and Selmy and Patros seem ready to go. So what do we do? According to the map Captain Hestram gave us, to get to the office we might find Master Aldain in we need to scale the Exhibit of the Honored Dead? Has anyone of you been here before and know what this means? Are there real dead in there? And why would you exhibit them?"
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"You are possessed by a sliver of Angazhan's evil," Sidi says after examining the two affected by the mist. "To control that evil, you must both stand still in the river and not resist the current."
He answers Untir in the affirmative. "Yes, please. If we encounter demon apes, I would appreciate the protection."
The Bas'o warrior shakes his head in response to the halfling's question.
Untir casts barkskin on Sidi and the party makes its way through the hallway, entering the first room to their left. 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 civilisations, along with preserved corpses arrayed in grim stillness. A giant warrior looms from the haze, his arms crossed over 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. A placard above this hall reads “The Honored Dead” in blood-red calligraphy.
As you approach the centre of the room, you all start to get the feeling you are being watched. Unfortunately, seconds later you are proved right as the sounds of bone chilling moans accompany the breaking of glass and four of the corpses simultaneously break free of their displays.
One is a withered, mummified thing from beneath Osirion’s sands bearing a jewelled scarab on its chest among its spiced wrappings. It explodes through the glass display case surrounding it and quickly makes its way, screaming, towards Sidi. From a quick glance at the plaque that hangs precariously from the remains of the display, Sidi sees that it is scarab seer and warrior-priest of an old Pharaonic age named Taltuma-Matl.
From another display, the hulking skeleton of a towering ancestor of the Kellid race steps forward, tearing free of the rods that once held it upright. The grinding sounds of its massive bones are enough to set your teeth on edge as it lurches towards Patros, wielding a great-club fashioned from a mammoth’s ivory tusk.
The third is a shrunken, emaciated corpse wrapped in rotten silks. It emerges from a sarcophagus holding a silvered Qadiran scimitar in its bony fists. It writhes and howls in tortured anguish as it stumbles towards Sidi.
The last is an armoured warrior of a long-dead empire, clad in thick, discoloured bronze plates and helm. It practically falls from its display case as it shuffles single-mindedly towards Dus. The shrill screech coming from the tip of its longsword as it drags over the stone floor adds a discordant note to the cacophony of undead wailing.
Only Untir, thanks to his heightened awareness, manages to react swiftly to the sudden attack.
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Untir draws one of his many wands and activates it, sending a wave of warmth and confidence through the party.
While Sidi recognises the undead when he sees them, the Black Crow's keen eyes and wits allow him to be a bit more specific. He sees through the silk wrappings and various accessories of the creatures to realise that two are just run of the mill skeletons, and another is a zombie. The remaining creature is a little more disturbing, however, as the way in which it moves is unmistakably ghoulish. A creature feared for its ability to paralyse its victims with a single scratch.
Ghouls can cause paralysis with their bite and claws, and can transfer ghoul fever (a nasty disease that can turn people into ghouls when they die).
Skeletons are resistant to damage except from bludgeoning weapons, and zombies are similarly resistant to all but slashing damage.
Undead traits: Undead are immune to death effects, disease, mind-affecting effects (charms, compulsions, morale effects, phantasms, and patterns), paralysis, poison, sleep, stun, and any effect that requires a Fortitude save (unless the effect also works on objects or is harmless). Undead are not subject to ability drain, energy drain, or nonlethal damage. Undead are immune to damage or penalties to their physical ability scores (Strength, Dexterity, and Constitution), as well as to fatigue and exhaustion effects. Undead are not at risk of death from massive damage.
The zombie in bronze plate charges clumsily towards Dus, sparks fly as it drags its sword behind. At the last moment, the sword arcs up and catches the halfling with a devastating slash up his side.
At the same time, the two mummified skeletons shamble towards Sidi. One flashes its sword, distracting Sidi momentarily while the other prepares to attack. Fortunately for Sidi, however, the giant skeleton is too slow and is unable to get to him in time.
And then there was the ghoul. Moving much swifter than the other creatures in the room, it stalks towards Patros with with its teeth laid bare. Once the distance is closed, the warrior-priest grabs hold and sinks its teeth into Patros' forearm, and the unfortunate man can feel the unnatural poison coursing through his blood almost immediately.
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Untir looks in concern at Dus' serious injury, and steps out of the way to allow her to retreat. Although he much wants to deal with their injury, he decides that he needs to first thin the enemies' somewhat, especially with Patros seemingly incapacitated.
Untir concentrates, calling his ancestor spirits who reside within him to manifest. Almost immediately, a whirlwind of wisp spirit forms form around him, and once they build up in crescendo, the burst forth rushing through all the undead, smiting them with divine energy!
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Dus nearly topples over, all but cut in half by the zombie's attack. When Untir gives room for him to evade he uses the opportunity to bring some room between him and the monster. Then, with clear if shivering voice he starts to chant in the language of heavens. Immediately the air before him starts to shimmer and a dog appears, skin sparkling like if sprayed with silver color, putting itself in the way between the zombie and the halfling and baring his teeth, eager to attack the undead abomination.
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The Black Crow pulls out his guitar and starts unleashing some rifts.
Inspired Rage (Su): At 1st level, affected allies gain a +2 morale bonus to Strength and Constitution and a +1 morale bonus on Will saving throws, but also take a –1 penalty to AC. While under the effects of inspired rage, allies other than the skald cannot use any Charisma-, Dexterity-, or Intelligence-based skills (except Acrobatics, Fly, Intimidate, and Ride) or any ability that requires patience or concentration. At 4th level and every 4 levels thereafter, the song's bonuses on Will saves increase by 1; the penalty to AC doesn't change. At 8th and 16th levels, the song's bonuses to Strength and Constitution increase by 2. (Unlike with the barbarian's rage ability, those affected are not fatigued after the song ends.)
Patros pulls his arm away from the ghoul's grasp and raises his sword to retaliate, but finds himself frozen mid-strike paralysed and helpless.
Dus, severely wounded by the slashing zombie, withdraws slightly and summons a celestial dog to stand in his place. If it's possible for a zombie to look surprised, you're sure it would look like this. The dog, however, is unable to penetrate the bronze plate of the long-dead warrior with its teeth.
Sidi swings hard at the skeleton in front of him, but his mighty blow only connects with the floor, cracking the stone slab at the feet of the hulking Kellid ancestor.
Selmy gives himself some room and attempts to blast the bronze warrior with his aerokinetic powers. But again, the zombie's armour seems to tough and it barely even swayed under the pressure.
The Black Crow then pulls out his guitar and makes sounds the likes of which you have never heard before. The music is enough to stir the blood of even the most laconic of men.
With his fellow Pathfinders surrounded and unable to strike back, Untir calls forth the spirits of his ancestors for aid. All the undead wail in unison as the spirits swiftly flow through them. After a moment the terrible sound ceases and the Qadrian skeleton falls to the ground, now just a pile of broken bones and dust. The other three creatures then continue their assault as if nothing happened.
The zombie in the bronze plate lashes out at the shimmering dog that materialised in front of it. Once again, its aim is true and the sword leaves a nasty gash in the celestial's back.
The remaining skeleton, having dodges Sidi's club, swings its own great club in retaliation. The tusk strikes Sidi square in the ribs with a sickening thud.
And the ghoul, with it's first victim paralysed and no longer a threat, moves onto it's next target. It lays into Sidi with a feral fury, scratching and biting. Fortunately, only one of the attacks manages to get through Sidi's temporarily thickened skin.
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Untir blocks out Black Crow's song, not letting its stirring tune distract him. Disappointed that only one skeleton was taken out, Untir beseeches his ancestral spirits to continue smiting them. The whirlwind of wispy forms swirl around the room with greater intensity.
Dropping the blessing wand from his hand, he draws his healing wand, preparing to keep his teammates alive.