(Blink)...(blink)
"Getting up....oh dear god! Up here?!", as he looks down from the spire properly.
Assuming you get him down...
He closes his vest upon his bared chest.
"You'll pardon me for this. Allow me to introduce myself.
I am Nigel, curator of the Blakros Museum. I have no idea why i was up there, and frankly....i can't remember anything after a faint mist encrouching when i was at work."
Nigel does take a moment, as he notices he's been hurt.
.."When did that happen?" o_o
With the fog having left, Nigel is reluctant to leave just yet.
"I would like to know, who are you people and why have you come to the museum?"
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One eyebrow raises on her business like face. A grim look hardening her mouth.
"The Pathfinder society sent us. Seems you activates some curse in an artifact? Anyway, there you were perched on top of that spire and rooting on the mad idols so I bombed you. Then I taglefooted you. And then I dagger whipped you. None of that seemed to help much though. I thought you were behind all the craziness going on but as soon as my compatriots here bashed in the last artifact gone wild, you returned to normal. End of story."
She glowers at him as she rubs the considerable bruise starting to form on her chin, then sighs as she glances at Erlathan.
Well at least I'm not going bald.
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Marock adds what he knows to Yanda's explanation. "As Yanda has pointed out, the Pathfinder Society sent us to find out what was going on at the museum and then to remade the problem. I am assuming you where under the effects of the mist. It seemed to have a mind controlling effect as well as some sort of metamorphic effect. Many of the staff here in the museum went through some sort of physical change that changed them into some sort of primate. You obviously where affected by the same thing."
Nigel is thinking for a moment.
"Idols?
You must be referring to the mwangi idols. To think that wooden idols could cause disaster..."
"How are my staff doing?"
<Cue any answers>
"I want to wholeheartily thank you for saving myself, my assistants and the museum. This...i might repetition for membership some day."
<Some professional pause in talking>
"Ahem, but tell the VC who sent you, that i will open the museum to any society scholars who wish to study the items within. The items will remain in the museum, of course."
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After leaving the museum, you quickly head back.
Aside from the loss of all of his hair, Erlathan is presented with another problem, over the next hour it takes to get to the lodge.
Little tentacle appendages have started growing from his chin, and his teeth become malformed and slightly more those of a monster.
Just when Marock thought elf ears couldn't grow any bigger, they turn into bat-wings.
When a servant opens the door at the lodge, he looks both surprised and is about to draw his sword, but the group stops him in time.
He quickly sends a messenger, who was up late, to the nearest church of , Shizuru, Tian-Min patron goddess of samurai and swordsmen/swordswomen.
After returning quickly with a cleric, Cthulathan's disease is stopped from progressing.
Cleric: "Gaijin, you will have to see a surgeon about your other problems, those cannot be fixed by the blessings of the Empress of Heaven."
The cleric takes a polite bow, and takes his leave.
After which you take a rest in the Lodge's guest quarters, until dawn arrives. After a short meal, the VC calls you over. He frowns as he sees the predicament, but has been told Erlathan will see a specialist or two for it.
He hears your story of the mission, and nods in appreciation.
"That is a job well done. Not only stopping the source of the curse, but getting Nigel to give us chance to study the artifacts within.
Take a break, since given current tasks have already been assigned to other groups, i won't need your services for now."
"One of our number has fallen." Venture-Captain Adril Hestram
lets the grave words hang in the air before continuing. It’s difficult to imagine a large man like Adril defeated, but in light of this grim news his shoulders slump; he is a man who suffered a loss.
"Targos Min-Katheer, esteemed venture-captain, is dead. His last wishes are simple: he wants his mortal remains to take one last trip along the Silken Way to his home city of Katheer, there to rest with his ancestors. He was one of our finest and we aim to honor his request. It is for this reason I’ve called you all together."
Adril points one sausage-thick finger at the map on the table, tracing a line from Absalom to the mouth of the Pashman River, then snaking up the river to the oasis city of Lopul.
"Here is where you can gather up his remains and join the silken caravan, one of the only caravans daring the harsh journey across the desert from Lopul to Katheer. This mission is simple, joyride really, but we insist you give it the attention it deserves. A few weeks in the sun, seeing the sights of the desert. A dream assignment."
Adril has a way of making every assignment sound like a sweet deal, but the last few weeks traveling by boat up the Pashman River and then hiking the short distance to the oasis city have been grueling to the extreme. A poisonous river snake claimed one of your guides; you remember his last gasps well, and how his face bloated to twice its usual size within seconds of the bite.
Before you now lies Lopul, the great caravan city, erected around the crystal life-giving waters of the Pool of Sihbon, the largest oasis for over one hundred miles.
Mud brick houses baking in the sun and great canvas tents crowd the central copse of palm and date trees. Lopul is a caravan-city ruled by the Sheikh Samraf AlHadari, humble servant to the padishah emperor of Kelesh.
The settlement’s population fluctuates wildly with the comings and goings of trade caravans, but usually has at least a thousand locals and travelers in residence at any one time.
Most of the city is comprised of tents and temporary dwellings erected by merchants and caravan masters, with only about a quarter of the city’s structures being permanently built around the Pool of Sihbon itself.
Among these permanent structures are a halfdozen caravanserai, the fortress of the sheikh, and twoscore domed dwellings constructed of mud brick. One such dwelling is the former residence of Targos Min-Katheer.
All that remains is to collect his body and join the silken caravan.
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Erlathan looks on at the sprawling desert town, dusting the blowing sand out of his cloak whenever needed. "Say, Yanda, I never thought I'd say this, but being bald right now isn't so bad. My head feels nice and cool!" The elf brushes his hand across his scalp. Tiny hairs have begun to sprout where he was once completely bald, signalling a slow return to his once full head of flowing locks.
"It sounds like we're due for another escort mission, but at least there won't be goblins involved this time. Hah!" Erlathan claps his hands together. "But first things first. If we're to trek through the desert, we should be prepared."
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"I've come prepared," she states, as she pats the back of a sturdy mule she purchased. "I've been told she's a sweetheart and so far its been proven true. So, I heard you joined yet another mission to the museum since I left to get some practice with my bombs. How did that go? No Vargoilles I assume from the looks of you?"
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"That's right Yanda. Back to Blakros we went, and this time there was this statue that could literally melt weapons. You should've seen Marock's face when his weapon was turned useless! HAH!" Erlathan doubles over in laughter. "This is why I prefer the arcane. No need to worry about physical tools disappearing. Oh and luckily, there were no kissing demon bats in the Blakros basement. Ugh."
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Jula scans silently ahead, eyes squinting in the harsh desert sun, as she listens to her companions' genial banter. She'd join in herself, if only she weren't so tense, almost jumpy. Strange that she would feel nervous -- which, of course makes her feel even more nervous. She's done all kinds of work all across the Inner Sea, for ship captains and pirates, profiteers, mercenaries, and merchants. The details of this job are nothing new.
But being a freshly minted Pathfinder, on only her second assignment, explains the jitters. She tries her best to shake them off.
"So, do we know which one of these places is Min-Katheer's?" Jula asks, sounding only the slightest hint apologetic for interrupting. "I suppose we pick up the body there, then find our place with the caravan before it leaves. If we also need to arrange a way to transport the body, we might need to move quickly."
Jula eyes Yanda's mule inquiringly. Or perhaps we could just throw the corpse over the pack mule's back...
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The oread asks Hestram: "Why do we need to accompany the remains? Is there danger possible? And do we need any special preparations or equipment for such a journey? I'm a city gal."
At Lopul, Selethe is glad to be back in a settlement. The open desert does not agree with her. "Anywhere with a little shade and some cool water should serve until we can figure that out."
She looks around for an inn or anything else of interest.
Narrator: Finding the home of the former Venture Captain shouldn't be that hard for the heroes to find, right?
It's a society related matter, and so it must be done by our own agents."
The venture captain adds: "Equipment. You'd be better off not wearing anything heavier than clothing, but that is your own decision.
Getting yourselves a few tents for shelter wouldn't be wasted coin either."
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Ajaline stands under the shade of a tent while he looks out over the city. A few steps away the rest of his team is making light conversation. The desert heat was going to be an issue but he would be able to handle it. He spots the solid structures near the central pool and guesses that that is where Targos' remains would be. He follows the rest of the group as they ask for directions.
Sure enough, you're given directions to his former residence.
Jula finds none of the citizenry untrustworthy. They go about their average day to day life, and give little attention to the group as they walk through the streets.
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Upon arrival at your destination
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A small mud-brick, domed dwelling lies at the end of a humble, sandy street here in the heart of the caravan city.
The scent of the nearby oasis still reaches you, and a hive of bees, attracted by the nearby water, hangs from a date palm next to the house.
The wails of mourners and cries of women and children reach your ears, and you can see a small crowd gathered outside the house’s single door, its members crying and tearing their garments.
Whether professionally hired mourners or sorrow-filled residents outpouring legitimate grief for the loss of a local hero is unclear, but the emotion seems genuine enough.
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"Now, now, people, calm yourselves," Erlathan belittles the crowd. "On behalf of the Pathfinder Society, we've come to guide the remains of Min-Katheer back home. I assure you they're in the best of hands!" The elf bows to the mourners, his huge, leathery ears bending over independently of him. He then marches up and knocks on the door.
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One mourning girl freaks out, and now cries over something else.
Knocking at the front door brings you an answer in the form of a man in sackcloth with ashes poured over his freshly shaved head. His face is sickly pale under the coating of ashes, and part of one ear if missing. His hands are wrapped in dirty bandages.
This man is a leper.
Quiet however, he steps aside to let you in. Inside, you see a mourning people, but these seem all to be lepers.
Shortly after you take in the surroundings, a curtain ahead slides open, and a man wearing priestly robes and a black jackal death mask emerges from behind the curtain.
The jackal mask indicates this man belongs to the following of Lamashtu, goddess-mother of monstrous humanoids.
You can see some ashen patches on his hands, and a few missing fingers.
Yup, a leper alright.
Muffled voice: "Greetings, visitors. I am Ben-Garri. I heard you announce yourself. The body of the departed venture captain is receiving its funeral preparations.
We are still in that process, and will be finished by tonight."
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At the sight of the mourner's obvious signs of disease, Jula puts up her most stoic front. Inwardly, she is torn between trying to remain respectful of these people's rituals, for the sake of the Society, while also simultaneously wanting to turn on her heel and leave. Her well-honed instinct for personal survival - which is urging her to flee - is overcome only with great effort.
"I think we can afford to wait until tonight," Jula mutters through clenched teeth, "so long as the caravan isn't leaving before then."
Like Ajaline, she'd prefer to get moving as soon as possible, but Jula can recall with distaste the unpleasant stench belowdecks when a ship's cargo starts to mold and rot.... She shudders involuntarily at the thought.
"I'll just wait outside until we're ready to check with the caravan drivers," she says as she makes a pseudo-tactful retreat towards the door.
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What? That mask ... It would only be worn by a follower of Lamashtu, the god mother of monstrous humanoids.
Erlathan takes note of the mask and waits for an opportune moment to tell the others.
And he's missing a few fingers. Poor fellow, I guess?
"Um, yes. I suppose we can wait until tonight if we must. Er... Come to think of it, I've got something to do. Bye now!" Erlathan says as he darts back out the front door.
"Filthy lepers... Let's hope they weren't contagious!" He says to himself once he's outside. "Say, Jula, that guy was wearing a jackal mask that only a follower of Lamashtu would wear. Odd, don't you think? Something's not right here."
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Ajaline follows the others out the door. He snarls in revulsion as he leaves. "I can't believe that this is what our Venture-captain came to. A despicable desease. Do you really believe he didn't have the ability to seek healing?"
"Lamashtu? Are you serious? What kind of mess was this guy mixed up in?"
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Jula frowns as Erlathan identifies the priest as a follower of Lamashtu. While she is by no means a religious person, Jula harbors predictably conventional prejudices against worshipers of evil deities.
And so, in typically pragmatic fashion, she scowls as she wonders aloud. "If you're right, then I'm not sure it's a good idea to leave the venture-captain's remains with that priest, even if only until tonight."
While she has no actual knowledge of what a priest of Lamashtu might do with a dead body, she can imagine all sorts of gruesome, improper, and -- most importantly to their charge from the Society -- dishonorable things...
Unwilling now to trust Ben-Garri with Min-Katheer's 'funeral preparations' Jula slips cautiously back inside the door, her suspicions now on high alert...and her hand on the hilt of her greatsword...
Ben-Garri motions a few lepers to make room.
As they step aside, you see the former Venture captain's body with the same ashen spots.
The venture captain was said to be known for his sympathy and generosity towards the poor and the ill.
Ben-Garri: "It is as you say, the departed suffered from the ailment as well. This is the main reason why it is us, who are doing the funeral preparations."
When you are outside, the same leper who answered the door, closes it again.
With the door closed upon your leave, Jula can't easily slip back inside.
An inn was relatively easy to find.
*People chatting*
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Erlathan surveys the crowded bar, looking for somewhere to sit. "What a dump. Can't us nobles get a comfy seat in here? I mean, just look at this sand-covered heap, Ajaline." He says as he points to a trail of sand and dirt that had blown into the inn. He then gingerly walks over and takes a seat. "Water, please! With seven cubes of ice. Quickly, now."
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Seeing Min-Katheer's relatively innocuous-looking body for herself helps to calm some of Jula's qualms. I suppose there's not too much harm even an evil priest could do if he's really just imbalming the dead...
Reluctantly, she follows the others into the tavern. She'd really rather have found the caravan drivers first and finalized the arrangements for their place, safe transport for the body, and expected time of departure, but perhaps someone inside the Thirsty Camel can answer those questions...
Jula scans the room, scouting for anyone who looks to be associated with the silken caravan. Unfortunately, she really doesn't know quite what she's looking for...wealthy merchants? Camel drivers? Caravan guards?
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"Well, it sure is nice to get back to a semblance of civilization and grab a nice beverage. "
She scans the crowd too, but with a lot less diligence. She is still under the delusion that the mission will be a cake walk.
"What do you all think about that priest!? It makes sense that a priest of Lamashtu would handle prep for lepers, doesn't it. I wonder if he's into all that maim and deform stuff or if he's just someone filling a niche for the leper community. I've met quite a few normal folks that worship an evil god or goddess. Like Asmodeus, for instance. They even do healings some times."
Selethe hears something mentioned before.
The late Venture Captain was a respectable man, who was sympathetic and generous to the poor and ill.
How he got afflicted is unclear, but some believe it was during him helping a leper girl, saving her from a high fall, but being bare handed at the time.
Jula sees merchants, but their clothing looks too clean to be the kind worn in a desert. She spots no people looking like fellow pathfinders among the current patrons.
She overhears though, that the caravans are likely to gather at the nearby square tomorrow.
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Upon learning that the caravans aren't scheduled to depart until the morrow, Jula is noticeably relieved. At long last, it seems, she is ready to relax, if only for a brief respite from her usual vigilance.
She takes an empty seat at the table alongside Yanda. She shakes her head as she listens to the sylph speak about the relative subtleties among various demon worshippers and their roles within wider society. The words make Jula's head spin. She has no interest in such nuances.
"As long as he just does the job of prepping the body, and nothing more," she replies, "I suppose that's fine. But it still doesn't seem right."
Jula scowls again, then shrugs. "The sooner we can take possession of Min-Katheer's remains, the better. He ought to be in the hands of Pathfinders, not dodgy old priests. I'm heading back there as soon as it's sundown, and I'll stand watch over Ben-Garri's shoulder till he's finished if I have to."
*Presses button* [>>]
From the day we quickly arrive at the evening, where you arrive back at the late Venture Captain's home.
Contrary to the day, it's quiet. The lepers outside have left.
Knocking the door doesn't get you an answer, and it remains silent.
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Ajaline follows Erlathan into the Thirsty Camel. This elf is strange, but at least he's an elf. He sits down with Erlathan at a table and is slightly amused at his detailed order. The two spend the rest of the time in friendly conversation, mostly ignoring the other patrons in the tavern.
"All quiet. I suppose that is ok. But I'm more than a little suspicious. For one, why didn't the venture caption seek restoration from his fellow Pathfinders? That doesn't make sense. There are any number of us who would have happily given him some magical healing to remove his disease before it killed him."
While he's talking Ajaline looks around the sides of the building. He is looking for a window or backdoor.