There are a number of eccentric individuals throughout the party. A majority of them are human or at least pass off as human: a military officer, his chest weighed down with a ludicrous number of flashy medals; a short bald man already deep in his cups, a young woman in tight leather duellist’s garb, a large middle aged woman in red seeming friendly enough, and a robed man that seems to know everyone in the room.
Lady Dacilane nods at Carl’s introduction, looking over his head at Roushe, with a grin of approval creasing her lips.
“The pleasure is mine, Doctor Zigmund. I am so glad you could attend. We don't get many visitors from the Foreign Quarter. I must declare that I am astonished. From the tales I've heard, I was expecting a less refined group of souls.”
She shudders quite obviously, as her eyes ⚡ flash ⚡ toward the entry way. There, an enormous painting of a rigid, sharp-featured young girl with long black hair looms over the entire banquet hall. At the reference to the loss of her daughter, Lady Dacilane’s demeanor turns grim.
“My daughter Junia was one of so many children lost. Hundreds of them pinned under the rubble in that sinkhole. The black water rising — the kids screaming.” She takes a moment ... “None of us could get to them.”
She then regains her composure, holding back a sniffle, as she takes Carl’s hand. "The wounds have healed, but scars remain. I think it is time to open those old wounds, beginning with the Tri-Towers Yard. The pain may not be any less, but at least we can get proper closure."
The music slowly fades from the background. "It appears some of our dishes are ready. Please sit wherever you like. You'll be able to move about between courses. It helps with digestion."
Lady Dacilane glad hands a few more of her guests before sitting at the center of the table. She is immediately flanked by a couple that seem to know her very well.
Once everybody is seated, soup and salad is served. The music returns but without any singing.
A thick stew traditionally served by the greatest families in Cheliax as a nod to those beneath them. Made of oxtail, entrails, and hide (specifically veal), and various vegetables (celery, carrots, tomatoes, garlic) and herbs (bay leaves, cloves, cinnamon, nutmeg, and black pepper). Raisins, candied fruit, and bittersweet chocolate accompanies the dish for the eater to prepare the stew to taste.
This course represents the subservience of Dis’ devils to Cheliax.
This salad contains Brevan golden caviar, Iobarian black caviar, kreel-caught langoustines, Diobeli crab and lobster, plus Corentyn baby leaf salad tossed in premium olive oil, along with grated truffle placed in a basket hand-made from courgettes, red peppers and potato and decorated with gold leaf.
The nature of this dish demonstrates that even the most mundane of dishes can be made as rich as Erebus.
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Hullric eyes the gathering and decides to sit next to the large middle aged woman in red.
"Hope you don't mind me sitting next to you madame." He sits before getting an answer. "A very interesting theme for this party. I'm quite looking forward to what might come later." He gives a chuckle behind his mask.
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Raskorro moves toward the military man with the medals and offers casually, "The sstaff here sseemss ignorant of a man of your obviouss importancse. Sso many medalss, and for ssuch a wide range of accomplisshmentss. It is truly impresssive."
He bows deeply, his serpentine neck making it seem even deeper somehow.
Straightening, he says to the man in his sibilant tones, "My name iss Rasskorro, and it is a pleassure to meet ssomeone ssuch as yourseslf. Thesse eventss can be sso bland."
“Not at all, ser. Such gallantry is rare these days. Et s'il vous plait – my late mother was ‘madame’, my name is Del.”
“A very interesting theme for this party.”
“Theme?” The woman frowns in confusion.
“Miranda didn’t mention one to me. Indeed, to my eye this party differs very little from last years.”
“I'm quite looking forward to what might come later.”
“Me as well! Though I’m a major part of it … wait … how do you know about what comes later?”
Approaching the military officer, you see he is a grizzled, mean-looking man with receding brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He wears a suit of stiff parade armor that displays his rank in the Chelish navy.
“The sstaff here sseemss ignorant of a man of your obviouss importancse.”
He grunts his agreement. "I've been trying to get a fresh drink here for the last three minutes! Of course that Corentyn Shiraz isn’t very good in the first place, but a man builds up a thirst.”
“Thesse eventss can be sso bland.”
“I swear the food is all the same at these things. It seems like each noble steals the others menu. Well, don't just stand there, boy! Go fill my glass!"
The next course is brought out while the guests are mingling.
Also known as pufferfish, the meat of this traditional Minkaen dish is notorious for containing the dangerous and deadly neurotoxin, tetrodotoxin. Thin slices of the fish are deep fried and layered on an ornate plate with a central chrysanthemum garnish, symbolizing death. A side of hot sake accompanies the delicious fish fillets.
The consumption of fugu is representative of the danger and pain of Phlegethon, coupled with the pleasure of consuming such tasty, forbidden fare.
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Ze good doctor will sit beside and attempt to make conversation with anyone around but will try to find his way toward other peoe that express an specific or personal loss associated with the tragity.
"Our hostess said something to me. She likened emotion healing to physical a wound and a scar. Those that have know tremendous physical pain know zat surgery, a new wound but a controlled clean wound is part of the solution. So please share with me the happiest memory of those you lost and let us all rejoice in ze love we have had for those in our life."
These types of conversations are common place for Carl so he will take ten and use some mild mesmerism (master work tool Diplomacy) spinning his ring as he talks. Diplomacy = 23.
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Roushe is terrible at socializing unless it involves the roughhouse style that many Galt denizens are fond of. He knows not to get too liquored but can't help but feel that the Champagne being offered is obviously on the strong side.
Obviously too focused on not being rude, Roushe decides to indulge in the Coda Alla Vaccinara and Fugu Kara-age, while still being intrigued by the painting.
A rotund, balding man with a quick and somewhat too-wide smile creeps up behind Roushe. “Strong magic there. No doubt it incorporates the vision of hell glamer in some programmed way –– probably by some indentured entity of the Lower Planes.”
His elegant purple suit is trimmed with gold, while his cloak is fashioned from winter wolf fur. His speech is slurred and his intentions are obvious.
"My name is Abe and I'm friends with Miranda. I'm a good person to be friends with, heh-heh-heh."
Carl finds most people steer away from general questions regarding the painful events of the Tri-Tower Yards. General conversation is about local events in Westcrown, Cheliax. Murders in the street, and the rise in power of a street gang known as the Bastards of Erebus.
A young woman named Addy smiles sweetly as she responds to the Doctor. “I shall be overjoyed when the Order of the Rack ferrets out the Children of Westcrown and impales them on tines in the Piazza of Traitors.”
Black Crow, you sense that you are not "invited" into most of the conversations, even when given a chance to speak because of a natural break in the discussion.
The next dish is served during the interim.
Two chicken wings are skewered with leeks, dipped in brown onion sauce and seasoned with a red pepper salt before being grilled lightly, leaving the meat slightly raw. While salmonella typically infests most raw chicken, the high-quality chicken used by the noble houses makes poisoning an exceedingly rare, but still occasional possibility.
This dish is served with a rare Trappist ale from the Menador Mountains in Cheliax. The secret recipe is guarded closely by its monk brewers.
The dangerous nature of this dish and the rare ale represent the secrets and poisoned waters of Stygia.
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The Black Crow walks through the archway into the Banquet Hall and stops, unslinging his guitar with a casual rotation of the shoulders. Framed by the decadent doorway, he slams the strings with a circular motion that strikes with an hellish shrill before unleashing a melodic dirge, leaning back precariously.
The last of his chords resonate throughout the chamber, echoing like whispers of the damned.
Addressing the audience as he slings Scarlet, "Cheers then. The Black Crow has arrived. Let the party begin!" As he swaggers into the room, he gives a quick lean-in to the Pathfinders and gives them a quick nod, "Sex, drugs, and rock'n'roll then," pausing as he gets to the good doctor. "Well, maybe more drugs and uh, other things for some but that's ok, I'm sure I can compensate for the sex and rock part. Cheers then and happy hunting."
He then proceeds to walk towards a circle of dishy noblewomen, grabbing a wine glass a guest was holding along the way and giving it a slight swirl before chugging it.
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"I have no idea who zis Black Crow is, but I like him already. Party we must!" Roushe raises his glass in the air towards the Black Crow. Then turning back to Abe. "Vision of Ell'? Zen zis painting is inaccurate, for I am neither Lawful nor Evil, thus I would be going to at least zree different places before ever bound there."
Then he takes off his red feather hat at and bows deeply at Abe. "I am Roushe Decou'lette, Revolutionary nonpareil!"
“I am neither Lawful nor Evil, thus I would be going to at least zree different places before ever bound there.”
Abe *shrugs* “There’s plenty of time. The night is still young, Monsieur Decou'lette.”
As The Black Crow fires up his axe-guitar, charging into a surprisingly slow number, albeit belted out with gravity, emotion and to burn, a middle-aged servant sporting a top hat and smoked goggles nods his approval from the wings.
Abe turns suddenly to Roushe and slurrs. “Wannna dance? Let’s give these stuck-up sycophants something to talk about.”
As The Black Crow moves towards the crush of his adoring fans, Hullric’s dining companion unfurls a silk fan and beats the air with it rapidly, like she’s flushing away a foul odor.
“Well! I never … It sounded like he was trying to conjure a demon!”
A small course to cleanse the palette circulates amidst the performance.
A gelatin-sugar-arrowroot-maple syrup mixture is stirred while brought to the boil at high temperature, to create a translucent paste. A golden tube connected to a source of alchemical helium is introduced to the paste to form a lighter-than-air balloon, which is sealed with a crimson ribbon and served.
The dish is consumed by aggressively biting into the balloon to inhale the helium, resulting in a reedy, duck-like vocal quality when speaking.
The collapsed balloon remnants can be eaten or discarded as desired. However, etiquette is maintained by ensuring none of the sticky fragments cling to the diner’s face.
This appetizer represents Cheliax’s ruin of the lofty arrogance of Cocytus’ devils. While the victor’s ‘squeaky speech’ mocks the voice of the level’s vain ruler, Baalzebul.
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Abe turns suddenly to Roushe and slurrs. “Wannna dance? Let’s give these stuck-up sycophants something to talk about.”
Roushe, clearly being as bold of a Galt as he is, declares "I shall dance til ze night is but day! Have at you!" Before he begins in some strange mannerism of Pirate Jig.
Roushe actually does modestly well, considering his dance partner is absolutely toasted.
You recognize Roushe’s friend as Aberian Arvanxi, the mayor of Westcrown, Cheliax.
As the finger food circulates, Lady Dacilane tinkles her glass with a silver fork to gather the party's attention.
“I thank you all for coming in remembrance of the tragedy the occurred ten years ago at Tri-Towers Yard.”
“Junia was one of the many lost that day. I hope that many of you here remember the happy moments of your children, for that is all that we have left.” She nods to Carl.
“Junia loved the opera. I am fortunate enough to have the Prima Donna of Kintargo's Opera House, Visbaronetess Delour Aulamaxa perform for us tonight.”
Hullric’s dining companion excuses herself as she stands. “Very nice to meet you, Your Candescence. The event you have been alluding to all night is about to take place!”
As the soprano takes her place on stage above a string quartet, Miranda Dacilane announces, “This was Junia's favorite aria, I hope you enjoy it.”
♫ What shall we do with the drunken balor,
What shall we do with the drunken balor … ♫
Abe can do little more than grin and sway during Roushe’s jig. However, at the aria’s crescendo, the drunken noble grips the magus in a bear hug, before whispering in his ear …
“Miranda slipped your gnome friend something to help you get inside the gates at the Drownyard.”
“Atténtiôn, mon ami! Absalom’s factions watch your progress tonight with great interest. Bonne chance.”
The night continues with dish after dish and cup after cup. Many of the party's guests provide fodder for Carl’s notebooks, as they emotionally relate events about those they lost during the Beldrin’s Bluff Quake.
They tell the gnome how they still sense their son running through the house, or hear their daughter crying out for help from the bath.
The lighting becomes more subtle as the night goes on and the shadows grow long. At one point in time, a dozen or so guests retreat upstairs to what is rumored to be séance to speak with those who cannot be with them tonight.
After dining on Nessian Devil's Food Cake, The Black Crow drags himself away from his high class aficionadas, as it is time to make a polite exit. Lady Dacilane walks the Pathfinders out herself. When they reach the entryway, she pulls them aside to send them along with a final message.
"Thank you all for coming. I must say that you have changed my mind about the Pathfinder Society. I wish you luck in your exploration.”
“I want to impress upon you again how important it is that I receive any word of what happened my daughter. No matter how trivial, it would mean the world to me.”
The Ten’s carriage is found around the corner and everybody’s adventuring gear is present and accounted for. A surprisingly dry Agent Schiavo greets you with a polite bow, while the rain continues to fall.
“My evening has been uneventful – though the downpour has not let up.”
Once everybody is dressed in their adventuring gear, your driver slides open a panel to talk to those of you sheltering inside the carriage.
“Where to, milords?”
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Before leaving ze doctor will get a disruption of the child on the day she died, along with any belonging she may have had on her.
"I know zis iz hard but as much detail as you can provide will allow us to bring you the most complete portrait of the event. I[ iz my hope zat zis will provide some closure for you and the families."
With that Carl is off tritower behind The Black Crow.
At Carl’s request, Lady Dacilane points mutely at the portrait over the manor’s entry way.
♛ ♛ ♛
Agent Schiavo draws her anorak around herself tightly muttering, "Drownyard it is." then snaps the reins.
The rain continues to come down hard and cold as the carriage crosses Absalom into the run-down Precipice District. Antonella drops you off regretfully at the ward's edge.
"I have been instructed not to linger. You are on your own from here. Locals say it is an ill omen to enter the Drownyard at night, but I’m sure that’s just stuff."
She inclines her head from the driver’s seat. “Break a leg, Pathfinders... *clk* *clk* Walk on! WALK ON, I SAY!”
Beldrin’s Bluff is a rotting ghost town at the edge of a hungry sea.
Throughout the derelict landscape, seagulls perched on splintered timbers reflect your passage in their glassy black eyes. The winds cut through the streets making it as if the buildings are moaning themselves.
Traveling west, the party approaches what was known as The Tri-Towers Yard. A fence of black iron pikes surrounds the block-wide yard. Dead tree branches reach out from the fence like the arms of emaciated prisoners desperate to escape.
What appears to be a human male is on the inside, pruning the tree branches with a great, wicked-toothed saw. Some of the dismembered limbs remain, stuck in place by knotty elbows swollen around the iron.
The old man looks up from his sawing and stares silently as you approach. His thinning hair is matted and sweaty. Behind him, partially collapsed buildings and three whitewashed towers lean in a lake-filled yard. A gate with a heavy lock is within sight.
“Fine evening, ain’t it? If a little wet, but if we stopped work for every little annoyance, we'd never get anything done.”
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Roushe with a little yoohoo in his system stumbles out of the carriage. "Carl, I have ze most fascinating of news! Your pocket has a key to ze Tri-Tower Yard. Zat heavy lock is of no match to you!"
Roushe stumbles forward, and hits the lock with his staff before taking a bold stance. "Your days are numbered, mon ami!"
Just like drugs, alcohol can be abused and have significant negative effects. In general, a character can consume a number of alcoholic beverages equal to 1 plus double his Constitution modifier before being sickened for 1 hour equal to the number of drinks above this maximum. Particularly exotic or strong forms of alcohol might be treated as normal drugs. Those who regularly abuse alcohol might eventually develop a moderate addiction.
The old man stops sawing as Carl approaches the gate, key in hand. He slowly makes his way over to the gate when the key enters the lock.
With a twist of the key, the old man switches the saw from one hand to the other. As the lock pops, the he uses his teeth to pull a glove off his free hand. He clinches to make a fist and then opens it as the gate swings open.
"A fine afternoon, good sir. The weather really picks you up."
“Don’t it though, padre? Can’t stand folks cussin’ ‘bout the weather. Any day you don’t spend six feet underground’s a good ‘un I always say.”
The man speaks politely with an outstretched hand. The wet saw-teeth of the blade he dangles in his off-hand glisten in the moonlight.
“I'm Deris. My daughter Cassiel attends this school. You should see how she’s grown! Those beautiful long braids.”
“Well, ser. It’s not something I make a habit of, if you get my meanin’. It’s just a little something to help the school out, while I’m waiting for Cassiel.”
"Your daughter you say. I'm sure she is a sight to see. Perhaps we'll meet her on our journey beyond the gate."
Deris’ grip is firm in Hullric’s right hand. He responds to the masked warpriest with a smile, “Aye, padre. That she is.”
“So you’re going on down to the school then? You probably will see Cassiel, since she’s still here.”
Deris tugs on the short hairs of his dripping beard, like he’s pondering something. “Mrs Heracks has been down there the longest. Perhaps she can help with your business? Come on, I’ll introduce you. She’s in Headmistress Kiwu’s old office now.”
The old man turns with a come along wave with his right hand while clutching the rain-drenched saw in his left.
He then starts walking towards some old buildings in the Tri-Yard grounds.
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"I don't think this is the best place for you to be. If you will let me, I am a doctor if the comforts you, I would like to try something to help you. Would that be alright?"
If he consents Carl will try to hypnotize him.
DC = 20+will
"I want you to go and find a loved one, and I want you to tell them what you know to be true about this location. This will be hard but in confronting our fears and trusting in those that love us we can grow."
Deris holds up his empty hand at Carl’s offer of help. “I’m not big on healers, Doctor –– no offense, but I’m not.”
He smiles wanly through the showery darkness. “And anyways, since the wife left, Cassiel’s the only kin I got.”
“Now, shall we go find Mrs Heracks and mebbe get outa the rain for a spell?”
The rainfall begins to let up as the party follows Deris deeper into the darkness. The ruined paths of the Tri-Towers Yard wind their way around black ponds and gray, shattered buildings. Powerful fragrances precede one roofless hall where a thin path meanders through an abundance of flower arrangements in wild bloom. Just off this path is the entrance to a small classroom, to which Deris leads the party.
Upon entering, the group sees ten students dressed in checked uniforms sitting stiffly at wooden desks, staring straight ahead. No one moves. At the front of the class, a conservatively dressed woman leans against the wall.
Most of the party realize the people in this setting are not what they appear to be. They are wispy -- almost see through.
The teacher silently gestures, the students nod and silently whisper to one another. One student raises her hand, and the teacher responds to her. With a nod of approval, the teacher proceeds to write something on the board.
Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.
The very deep did rot: O Gods!
That ever this should be!
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea
And some in dreams assured were
Of the Spirit that plagued us so;
Nine fathom deep he had followed us
From the land of mist and snow.
Deris waves to the teacher and in turn she waves back to all of you. He then slowly makes his way to the head of the class. Deris waves at the children, then in unison they all wave back with a smile.
The old man lets out a sigh like a proud father. “Did you have any questions for Mrs Heracks here?”
After Carl asks his question, Deris begins to talk with the teacher in hushed tones. She responds in a frantic awkward pantomime. The old man nods his understanding. This interaction continues for some time while the children remain unmoved in silence, staring forward.
"Mrs. Heracks isn’t too good with time. But she knows the way to the administration annexe that fell into the black water, and would be happy to show it to you," Deris says with a smile.
All the children then turn their heads and smile too. A young girl with a page-boy haircut rises and writes on the chalkboard:
Murmuring waters about me are closing,
Soft the sweet vision advances to me:
Done are my trials; my heart is reposing
Safe with my Unda, the Bride of the Sea.
"My they are so smart. Reciting those verses from memory. So proud we are, so proud."
After another quiet exchange, Mrs. Heracks silently floats towards the door that leads outside.
Deris follows her, with short, jerking steps. "Come, come. We'll show you where you can go to find out."
A gentle fog begins to roll across the Drownyards.
Following Mrs Heracks across the mist covered yard, the party eventually arrives at a wide, black pool with an occasional bubble percolating up in the center. Silently, the spirit raises her arm and points her finger toward the black waters.
Perhaps thirty feet out, Hullric, The Black Crow and Roushe notice a partially-submerged, severed human arm jutting up from the blackened silt near the center of the pool.