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"Well if the tracks lead there, maybe we can find something useful before we head inside. At least it will get us out of this weather." Pooka agrees with the perky gnome.
The halfling urges Luna forward, and she moves at a comfortable pace, her nose sniffing the ground in front of her while her master keeps his eyes peeled for things that lurk in the shadows.
The newly formed rag-tag team quickly comes together in agreeing upon a course of action. With Xull's body temperature falling fast, they head for the comfort of the stable.
Following one set of footprints, they draw closer to the stable. They can estimate that it probably holds eight stalls, and looks to have an upper loft.
As the pathfinders approach the can see the remnants of a wagon. One wheel missing and hug rents in its' side. The rent appear to be caused by some sort of clawing action.
As Targath roams forward, he can see a huge pile of hay in the corner, damp and rotting, as well as the empty stalls. Suddenly, a loud piercing scream emanates from the pile of hay.
Out busts a large feline looking creature. The resemblance to a house cat is only slightly morphological as its entire back is covered with quivering spines. Long claws extend and scrap upon the gravel beneath its feet as drool cascades down its overlong canines.
Yet it is the sound that is the most unnerving to these men and woman who have braved so much. I cold ball of nervousness enters their bowls as they envision what ill effects these creatures' wail could do to them.
Even through the gloomy conditions the pathfinders can see more creatures approaching.
This is not some stroll through Absalom for these seasoned agents. The react as quickly as possible to swiftly deal with these threats.
Getting the jump on the group, two of the howlers begin to howl in a grating, exhausting baying.
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Luna bares her teeth, snarling and growling at the feline beasts. Only the control of her master keeps her in check. She will get her opportunity to lunge for the soft throat of these monsters.
She shakes off the unnerving howl of the creatures, folding her ears back. Her raised hackles poke out from a few places at the top of her neck and the top of her tail where the barding doesn't hold it down.
Her bark is viscous, but cannot match the supernatural baying of the howlers. No matter, In the end it is the bite that really matters most.
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"Warm the blood? Nothing is warming like flame!" Xûll moves past his friends while drawing his nodachi to face the incoming howlers. He remembers Diri's lessons on how to do maximum damage with burning hands and bends down low to cast the spell.
Unfortunately, it puts him off balance slightly and the damage caused is... average at best.
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Chumley rattles off pertinent details, "Them Howla's bite is 'bout as bad as their bark, which has a nasty wisom-damagin' curse by the by. Gets inta yer head with that gods-awfull racket. Watch out for 'em quills, they get stuck right nasty 'an explode when yah hit 'em. Strike 'em from afar if you don't want to be chock full of spines!"
"Them's canny as well and can hit more 'an one person that stumbles past 'em to boot but they don't have a good reach."
Chumkey wisely keeps his distance while
Flashing out with his lonspear. It seems as if his strike will not be strong enough but as the metal tip breaks off a quill he can feel the successful initial resistance followed by a sickening plunge into the creatures flesh.
Xull meanwhile unleashes a blast of fire from his fingertips that seconds prior had stated to turn a light shade of blue. Merlin nimbly avoids the cone shaped blast but Chester was caught unawares and takes the full blast.
Still howling their horrendous howl Merlin shoots his quills at Xull before stepping closer to take a bite out of the Shoanti.
Luckily for the bloodrager both attacks miss
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"Brilliant Xull!" Pooka exclaims as the shoanti moves in, distracting the howlers and more importantly, keeping them from closing in on the halfling and his mount.
"Luna, CHARGE!" the diminutive soldier yells, angling his lance down at the spiney creatures and leaning into the charge. Luna raises her front paws up, lifting the cavalier up in the air. She uses gravity to aid in her explosive launch as she comes back down, hitting full speed after just a few strides. Pooka leans in for the blow, and just before his lance tip makes expected contact he tries something new, using his legs to transfer power into his attack.
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Diri is snapped out of her reverie by otherwordly howling, and takes a few slow, noisy steps to give her a clean line between Pooka and Xull.
"Your incessant howling has set back scientific advancement at least seventeen seconds," she sneers at the howlers, as a small ball of flame appears in her free hand. With a sidearm toss, applying a small amount of sidespin, she launches it towards Merlin.
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Targath's eyes flare up in an animalistic rage. His grin widens and his blood starts to boil in the excitement of the fight.
In a blink of an eye, Targath grabs his new adamantine greatsword into his hands and makes a swift step towards the closest howler.
"I'll eat your soul! Tar-ga" Targath says the most imaginative things, yet oddly this does make others wish the howler dead, too! And then Targath swings his purplish sword.
Spurred on by his halfling master, Pooka and Luna churn up rotted straw and other detritus from the stable floor. Aiming his lance true, Pooka rakes a furrow into the quivering quills on the howler's back until it finally finds a soft spot. Upon entering the howler's body, the lance continues to wreck havoc inside ripping through vital organs and tissue. Merlin flops to the side, his lifeblood pooling beneath him. A small wisp of vapor coalesces above the rapidly cooling blood.
Seeing Merlin no longer poses a threat, .73 of a second before releasing, Diri adjusts her throw to a different trajectory. The small flaming ball speeds towards Chester. The quickly altered throw causes the flame to fly a fraction of an inch over Chester's back quills to sail into the distance.
Enraged by his companions unexpected death, Chester lets out another bestial howl before shooting yet more quills at Xull, and once again lasting out with his wicked canines.
Once again Chester's teeth are thwarted by Xull's armor.
Targath bellows in anger, momentarily startling Sir Fluffles. Wasting no time, the ranger swings in a deadly overhead chop. His purple sword whistles through the air before cutting deep into Sir Fluffles's shoulder. The blade carries so much momentum, that it enters the socket doing major damage.
Squealing in pain, Sir Fluffles looks to flee to lick its wounds. He quickly realizes that he cannot put any weight on his paw, and if he could, there is nowhere to run. Cornered, he lashes out at the man who almost cut his leg off.
The quills fly true and slices into the ranger's shin. He can instantly feel pain.
Looking down Targath can see the quill still sticking out having not broken off.
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Chumley almost feels bad for Sir Fluffles and grimly stabs out with his Long Spear... only to bash it over the head at the last second with the shaft instead of the tip.
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Xûll allows the rage to rise within himself . As much to his surprise as Pooka's, his arms elongate, becoming thick and gorilla-like. He can still grip his nodachi, however, stronger than ever!
"This is being new..." The somewhat shocked and highly amused Shoanti steps back a little and from the safety of his reach, lashes out at Chester.
Chumley hesitates an indeterminable number of seconds, all the while Diri is trying to calculate exactly how long as she ponders her next move, before he skewers the hobbled Sir Fuffles. Sir Fuffles drops lifeless to the moldy straw.
Xull unaccustomed to his new powers misjudges his strike and it goes wide of the howler.
With both Merlin and Sir Fuffles down, the Pathfinder can now concentrate solely on the lone remaining howler.
Unlikely allies Targath and Pooka manage to strike high and low and put an end to the howlers unending cries.
Chumley though is still feeling the ill effects of the creatures unnatural cries.
Everyone except Targath and Diri notice a silver pommel cover from an ornate saddle.
The pathfinders also find some tracks that they feel could be investigated further.
Finally they notice along the stables outer eastern wall is a narrow staircase that rises towards the second level.
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"Well done all! That howl was unnerving... Chumley, are you alright? You don't look so good. Take heart my friend, You've got the strength to fight this off."
"I can't believe I am saying this, but the same thought crossed my mind, are you ok as well Xull? Is your shoulder out of socket? Your arms are nearly as long as my lance!"
As the group catches their breath from the encounter, Pooka guides Luna over to the tracks.
"What is it girl? Can you follow whatever it is?"
The halfling hops down from his mount to get a closer look.
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"Now that's how you fight! Ha!" Targath says with a murderous glee, "and you, tin can, you sure wreaked havoc with that toothpick of yours! Took every bit of flesh out of them teeth!"
"And you are right, tiny tin can, brother is very, how do they say it, mutated. Better not be some secret Lamashtu worship I'm seeing there, or it's decapitation time, brother!"
But the shoanti brute seems absolutely negligent about Chumley's condition, so much even he decides not to even comment his condition.
Targath would, as he normally does, dash onward to the second floor of the stables, but now he's caught up in Xûll's transmogrification. Instead, he looks about the tracks so see if the howlers have a nest nearby. Targath yearns to rid the world of otherworldly beasts, and eat their souls of course.
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Cumley gives a big grin to the halfling. "Thanks, Chum."
Chumley looks at the quills still sticking out of Targath. "Perhaps you should seek medical attention in removin' that? I can patch you up after if you need the healin'." Then he turns to examine the sword
"Not familiar with that 'ere. Mayhaps we'll learn more as we go. Looks valuable, nonetheless."
Once the battle adrenaline has subsided, Chumley instantly feels better and begins to shake off the oppressive feeling of the howlers cries.
Neither Pooka nor Targath can discern anything further about the tracks in the stable.
Likewise Chumley thinks he recognizes the insignia etched on the inside of the pommel but the information ultimately eludes him.
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Postcombat, Diri has a notebook open, jotting down all sorts of notes, from force and momentum equations on lances to odd ruminations on exactly what happened to Xull's arms.
"It is pretty important to have issues such as those checked via an educated medical professional as continued strain on shoulder joints can lead to all sorts of issues like cartilage tears or ulnar defoliation," she says to Xull as she absentmindedly grabs the quill sticking into Targath's midsection.
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Xûll seems to deflate and his arms retract to normal size. "Me is being sorry my friends," he says, "I cannot remember my blade missing so obvious a target before. As to arms, me is being as much taken abacks as you are being. Perhaps me should be apprenticing to Diri and becoming of full-time sorcerer." He winks to the gnome before helping Targath out with the tracks.
Not much use, Xûll spots a few tracks the ranger did not. He decides to try his luck ascending the stair case. "Me is wondering what is up heres..."
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Pooka takes the ranger's compliment in stride, realizing the man might not respect him for his size or race, but a well placed killing blow crosses all racial boundries.
I can do tin can... probably not slip.... but tin can I can handle
The halfling smiles and tilts his visor in response to Chumley, glad to see he is feeling better.
"I've got nothing from these tracks, and the rain has probably either washed away any scent for Luna, or the rotting straw is covering it up. What do you see up there Xull?"
Even with his kinsman's assistance they cannot make any further headway on the tracks.
Despite his obvious disdain for Diri she is able to remove the quill so expertly that Targath doesn't even feel it. The only evidence is the quill pinched between her ink smudged fingers.
Xull braves the treacherous steps to ascend to the 2nd level of the stable.
The three rooms located above the stables are littered with mundane trinkets and clothing. There the Pathfinders can discover 12 diaries written by different people. These memoirs all have similar last entries describing their incredible good fortune at stumbling upon the isolated manner during the cruel weather and their intent to wait the storm out within its walls. The most recent entry belongs to Benn Anders and is only two days old.
this damned storm ain't relenting. My wife Marta caught something fierce and through her rasping coughs begs me to let our family rest in Ostergarde. I've told her over and over that only evil lives there we'd be better off to die in the storm.
I can't delay any longer. My wife hallucinates and poor Tilly shakes violently. Young Tarcey hold strong but I'm afraid we're going to die in this weather if we don't get warm and fast. I've made up my mind I'm taking my family into the stable by the manner to get out of the weather. Surely will be safe if we just avoid the manner itself.
Benn Anders
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"Pathfinders, me is finding of things that are very strange," calls Xûll down to his fellows, "It is seeming that everyone who is staying here is writing of a journal detailing everything they were to be seeing! Are you ever hearing of such ridicul..." Xûll looks down at Diri, frantically scribbling away in her notebook and sighs.
"In any cases," the big man continues, "It is seeming that manor is to be haunted or infested. People are to be fearing it, but comings anyway because of unnatural storm. Are you finding of any corpses here? It is seeming we should be moving on."
Given the demons they just faced, Xûll unholsters his cold iron lucerne hammer, electing to wield that in place of his Nodachi. He waits for his companions to finish their findings and then helps lead the way to the manor.
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"It is highly improbably that a manor such as Ostergarde would be truly empty but I cannot condone the conjecture of assuming that it is haunted because of a few missing missives found in a storage shed a short distance away so we should observe the manor house intereior for empirical evidence of supernatural activity or subsupernatural activity which I suppose is just activity."
Diri looks content with that course of action.
"But before we press on I would like to offer a gift in return to Ms. Hamaria for the invaluable tomes she provided to the Society as generosity like that is improbable among typical denizens of Cheliax and personally I never really like to see something reparable left broken. It's an affront."
And as an added bonus, it delays being back out in the rain.
Given no objections and 15 minutes (give or take), Diri will reassemble the broken wagon with a casting of mending and a bit of raw engineering. Then, she'll carve a small holy symbol of Brigh and a single physics formula into one of the boards, in hopes that it will inspire some future knowledgeseeker.
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"They all mention a storm? That cannot be a coincidence." Pooka muses out loud.
Walking around Luna, he reaches in her saddlebags for the treats he keeps in there and offers several to his loyal mount, rewards for her exemplary actions in the brief combat.
"Well if anyone was lured to the stables here, its no surprise they didn't last long against these beasts. I wonder if that is where this wrecked wagon came from?"
Pooka moves to inspect the wagon now that he has some context for it.
"The claw marks apparently came from those howlers we just destroyed. I also wonder if they were pets, somehow, of whatever resides in the manor. I am intrigued now at the source of the storm, if those journals are accurate. And how long has our host known we were coming then, if that is the case?"
"Our host may be accustomed to easy targets, so we should try to move quickly and save any advantage of surprise we might have left. No doubt whoever it is does not expect their victims to fight back."
Once the area is secure, Pooka mounts back up and moves with the group towards the manor proper.
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"Haw! Thank you, tiny títs. Seems like your little hands can handle something else than fire too, heh heh," Targath says with the most ambiguous tone ever possible. Some would call the tone disturbing, especially when accompanied with Targath's ill-timed grin.
"Yeah, as tin can said these tracks lead nowhere. Now that we've littered the place with more footprints and blood, I doubt anyone else would find any either!"
As Xûll details his findings, Targath seems to return to his former self; an illiterate brute. "Writing books? Oh for f@&&'s sake, really?! I'd expect finding horses in a stable, not books!" Targath rants, sheathing his greatsword, keeping the blood on the blade.
"Right, so let's go over to that manor and clean it out. Haunted or not, it'll be in tip-top condition once I've had a go in there, heh heh! And hey, tiny títs, stop shagging that broken wagon! If you're so in love with that piece of crap you'll get to marry it once we've done our mission here. I'm itching to get back to bed with Zarta, and this loitering is getting on my nerves!"
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Have I been away from home for so long that I have forgotten what my fellow tribesmen were like... or is this Targath an exception among my kind? I shudder to think of what the outside world must think of we Shoanti if his behavior is more typical than I realized.
Xûll vaults back down the staircase, jumping across this time rather than risk the rickety set of stairs.
"Now, let us be civil," he looks to Targath and then to Diri, "Me is happy to be helping you with repairing of cart. Me is knowing little of such constructions, but perhapsing you could be helping of me."
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Diri gladly accepts any help, and does her best to give simple instructions, for better or worse. If nothing else, she is genuinely happy to leave the room in a little better conditions than they were when she arrived.
Progress!
"If we are ready to go it is illogical to elapse more time in the stable when securing the manor is the primary objective," she announces, ready to proceed.
Realizing that no more information can be gleaned form neither the stables nor the diaries, the pathfinders decide to head towards the manor.
Chumley stops the group for a moment as he spots something in the moldy hay. he reaches down and finds ..... earplugs. Wondering if it was worth it, he pockets them in case they could come in handy later.
Rewards: If the PCs do not find the earplugs, reduce each PC’s gold earned by 166 gp.
Xull is deeply effected by the cold, but he is doing his best to brave through it. He knows that he can still resists its effects for a while longer, but he looks forward to reaching the manor sooner rather than later.
The party moves towards the manor in relative silence, only the sounds of the gravel crunching beneath their feet can be heard. The wind is still whipping at an unbelievable rate.
Before they know it they have reached the front door of Ostergarde Manor. Unsurprisingly, the front door seems to be made of solid iron and is decorated with a sneering devil’s visage. Square in the center of the door rests a brass ring protruding from the devil’s pierced nose which serves as a knocker.
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The team has tried Targath's nearly nonexistent patience by reconstructing the wagon. Begrudgingly, he leaned against the wall away from the rain, arms folded as he waited for them to complete their pointless endeavor.
Similarly Targath is irritated about the stop, sighing heavily as Chumley starts to investigate the door. But surprisingly Targath is not stupid, and he knows these ominous door can hold all kinds of trickery. He has been to Zarta's establishments, after all, and this Ostergarte does remind him of all kinds of possible threats. Or in Targath's mind just beasts to kill and souls to eat.
"Pfft, better if we just burst in. Why give the dwellers a warning?" Targath sneers, "and that door is stupid, outright ridiculous. Easier to go through the wall!"
"You done scrutinizing the door, fugly?!" Targath bursts, clearly fed up with the waiting.
Chumley finds no traps, mundane or magical.
Tragath leans against the red- and black-hued masonry (hardness 8, hp 90, break DC 35) impatiently.
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"Well, friend Chumley," Xûll pats the tiefling on the back, "Best to open this up. Me is sure Targath and me could batter it down," Xûll pats his hammer, "But me is thinking perhaps you are to be able to be picking of locks. Be letting me try of something first..."
Xûll reaches up for the knocker, "Is being put her for reasons, yes? Me is sure that if peoples are being led here into manor by unnatural weather, that door is to be able to be opened without much fuss. Be stepping back... me is pretty sure it is being trap." With that last statement, and his companions backed off a safe distance, Xûll raps on the devil's nose ring.
As the pathfinder push their way into Ostergarde Manor, they see two circular receiving chambers. One n their right and one on their left. Directly in front of them is a large stone fountain The fountain showcases Ostergarde's entrance hall. Water streams from the mouths of several sculpted stone imps skirting the fountain's edge. At the fountain's center, and immense four-armed devil bellows in a silent scream while two erinyes concubines kneel at his feet.
As the pathfinders cautiously approach, part of the fountain springs into life, catching the group unawares.
Gary flies straight at Targath and attempts to claw him.
The first claw rakes down his chain shirt popping links and drawing blood, while the second claw misses.
The then lashes out with his full attack
Fred flies straight at Pooka. Like his companion, he also tries to rake his claws into the interlopers.
Fred manages to find a weak spot into the heavily armored halfling, and just missed is partial exposed organs.
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"Pooka! Targath! Me is coming!"
Xûll steps into the room to allow his companions ingress. His eyes turn blood red and glow as the rage overtakes him. "Me is going to have to be getting used to this," he notes as his arms once more take on the appearance of a gorilla's. Shrugging, he brings his lucerne hammer around in a mighty arc.
Xull's powerful attack slams into Fred, chipping off pieces of stone. Though the blow rang true, and Xull can clearly see the Fred pebbles on the ground, he feels like his blow should have done more.
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"THE F#+#!" Targath exclaims loudly in a civilized manner, and immediately looks at the stone imps into its eyes.
he bellows. As he does so, his skin begins to thicken, a layer of fur emerging, his muscles begun much larger, making the chain shirt look uncomfortably tight. Overall his facial features begin to take an ursine look. He unsheathes his greatsword in an instant, making a devastating slash at the stupid creature somehow known as Gary.
Targath utters his clan challenge and swings his great sword. The sound of metal grating through stone once again makes the Pathfinders cringe. Cannot they have a combat with only the cries of men dying in horrible pain? Xull notices that it appears Targath's sword did as much damage as one would expect.
Fred once again attacks Pooka, this time he uses more than just his claws.
And fails miserably.