When everyone has backed well away from the front door, Marten uses mage hand to open the front door. If nothing happens, he'll slam and re-open the door a few times.
Marten sets off the trap with his use of mage hand and the group can now look into the room.
A mangy bearskin rug lies before a tremendous hearth set into the wall, its pained visage still snarling at whatever cruel hunter took its life. A huge couch haphazardly upholstered in animal hide and human flesh, replete with a collection of talons, monstrous hairy spider’s legs, fox heads, and human hands and feet, sits to the west.
Miron begins to move in, slowly, intending to search the couch and collection without touching it himself.
As Miron moves forward he notices just before he steps on a trapdoor... perhaps the front door and this room are more for meddling intruders... but they'll not catch a servant of Abadar so easily!
Miron takes note of the trapdoor and points it out to the others.
Miron will carefully examine the door - from a distance.
The door is made of locally sourced wood.
On the other side is a corridor with several doors leading from it.
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Azalia moves ahead, checking for traps.
Miron silently points to the door on the leftmost side of the corridor, then returns to holding his bow, ready to strike should anything emerge from said door.
None of the doors are trapped when Azalia checks.
With a nod of thanks to Azalia, Miron opens the door to the leftmost room, as quietly as he can manage.
Azalia steps back, bow ready.
Anneka takes the opportunity to cast protection from evil on both Drazh and Ferocia.
The cloying stink of this room is nearly overwhelming. Buckets of flth are stacked against the walls, fat ravenous flies lazily circling their rims. The room itself is dominated by an immense bed, its ratty sheets stained beyond hope. A huge easel sits next to the bed with a palette of various shades of brown and red paint. The sources of these morbid pigments—several crushed organs and ragged stumps of flesh—sit in receptacles next to the easel.
A set of brushes made with human hair jut from a broken skull by the easel, while a comb made from a human mandible sits on a small oak bedside table nearby, its teeth clotted with thick strands of greasy black hair. The bodies of three horribly deformed men dressed in ragged finery are propped up in huge open coffins against the far wall, their mouths sewn tightly shut with lengths of hair.
A morbidly obesse female ogrekin is sitting on the bed, the bodies of four rotting black arrow rangers shamble to protect her.
Azalia
Anneka
Drazh
Marten
Ferocia
Miron
Mammy Graul
Seeing the foul ogrekin and her surroundings, a cold fury builds in Miron, as he frees a hand temporarily.
To see pieces of people used in such a manner? This is an atrocity!
He senses, thinks, acts.
He calls upon the might of Abadar, to help him smite down this vile creature.
And then he calls upon the ogrekin, shouting in a voice that brooks no retort.
"Ogre-kin! Your deeds are an atrocity! Feel the wrath of Abadar and cower in deserved shame! I clear the way for your doom!"
Terrible Remorse
School enchantment (compulsion) [emotion, mind-affecting]; Level bard 3, cleric/oracle 4, inquisitor 3, sorcerer/wizard 4
CASTING
Casting Time 1 standard action
Components V, S
EFFECT
Range close (25 ft. + 5 ft./2 levels)
Target 1 living creature
Duration 1 round/level
Saving Throw Will partial (see text at right); Spell Resistance yes
DESCRIPTION
You fill a target with such profound remorse that it begins to harm itself. Each round, the target must save or deal 1d8 points of damage + its Strength modifier to itself using an item held in its hand or with unarmed attacks. If the creature saves, it is staggered for 1 round and takes a -2 penalty to Armor Class, after which the spell ends.
And with that, Miron attempts to withdraw into the corridor.
Not able to do or see much from the other end of the hallway, but knowing that something's got Drazh and Miron in a tizzy, Marten hastes the party (and the mountain lion).
Anneka covers her face to avoid the smell. And to avoid retching. Then she wills the horrors gone, spurring her companions into action.
Ferocia growled, letting her claws slip out and her forearms sprout thick, black hair. Her crows took flight, fluttering and cawing loudly in the hallway.
As Marten and Anneka's spells took effect she dashed forward, dove past the zombies, and came up between the fat ogrekin and the orange zombie.
Then she tears into Mammy with her claws.
Azalia shoots at the undead ranger directly in front of her.
Azalia shoots at the undead ranger directly in front of her.
Anneka covers her face to avoid the smell. And to avoid retching. Then she wills the horrors gone, spurring her companions into action.
”See?! Bloody fookin’ EVIL giant-kin! Enough!” Roaring this in anger Drazh surged forward, elbowing a zombie out of the way. He trusted in his armor to protect him against any of their attacks.
Not able to do or see much from the other end of the hallway, but knowing that something's got Drazh and Miron in a tizzy, Marten hastes the party (and the mountain lion).
Ferocia growled, letting her claws slip out and her forearms sprout thick, black hair. Her crows took flight, fluttering and cawing loudly in the hallway.
As Marten and Anneka's spells took effect she dashed forward, diving past the zombies.
Seeing the foul ogrekin and her surroundings, a cold fury builds in Miron, as he frees a hand temporarily.
To see pieces of people used in such a manner? This is an atrocity!
As he has seen previously the ogrekin often bear deformities her obesity may be more than the product of mere gluttony. Likely it has made her both more resilient and far slower.
And then he calls upon the ogrekin, shouting in a voice that brooks no retort.
"Ogre-kin! Your deeds are an atrocity! Feel the wrath of Abadar and cower in deserved shame! I clear the way for your doom!"
The ogrekin woman rends at her own flesh for a moment before trying to cast a spell but can't concentrate with the very deadly dwarves harassing her. The zombies try in vain to defend their mistress. She roars out shrieking "You stupid little ****, ***** *****! You let these vagrants attack your own mother? I'm going to ***** ***** ***** you in the ***** **** with a rusty *****!" The words coming from her mouth are for anyone save Ferocia an education in foulness but even for her it might be a bit surprising to hear the combinations!
She just tried to cast Bestow Curse.
Azalia
Anneka
Drazh
Marten
Ferocia
Miron
Mammy Graul HP -43 Purple -6HP
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Blessed...hasted...overflowing with bottled up frustration and hatred. Thoughts of his wife filled his head. Thoughts of her death at the hands of giants. Memories of slaughtered kinsmen, friends, comrades...these giant-kin were of course not responsible. But they were here, and he could vent all of those feelings on them. Roaring wordlessly, ignoring the feeble attempt of the zombies to get through his armor, he attacked. Again...and again...and again.
Seeing a zombie next to Marten, Miron launches a volley of arrows, partially driven by haste.
He can hear the fruitless bellowing and foul cursing of the ogre-kin, but cannot see her response - or what must have been a brutal assault by Drazh, judging by the thumps.
Drazh reigns down blow after blow in a manner that no man with good mental health can. A bloodline including giants isn't enough to fortify his victims constitution. Quick work is then made of the zombies.
Potion of cure moderate wounds
Wand of magic missile (CL 3rd, 44 charges)
Wand of ray of enfeeblement (28 charges)
Wand of vampiric touch (33 charges)
Masterwork quarterstaff
4th—bestow curse, contagion, dimension door, volcanic storm
3rd—displacement, fly, ray of exhaustion, slow, vampiric touch, eruptive pustules
2nd— animate dead, blindness/deafness, false life, ghoul touch, mirror image, spectral hand, protection from arrows
1st— magic missile, ray of enfeeblement, chill touch, grease, mage armor, reduce person, true strike, Longarm
With the ogre-kin smashed and the zombies put to rest, Miron re-enters the disgusting sleeping quarters.
"Good work all.", he speaks and signs, "These rangers have been put to rest and avenged."
He then begins to meticulously search the room.
Miron notices nothing he had not seen already... well nothing of note just more nightmare fuel.
Miron finishes the search to his satisfaction, glad that he did not need to touch any of the disgusting items in the room to sift through them.
"I do not believe there is anything else of note in here. At this time, I am disinclined to believe that the building can be salvaged. Let us proceed. There is a room directly to the north-east of here. Perhaps it is clear of foes, unless they are very patient and cunning ones."
Or deaf. But there is no need to add that.
He readies his bow and faces the door from the sleeping quarters.
Checking the door Miron finds a closet full of more grim momentos and keepsakes.
Heading back out into the corridor he finds a stairs going upwards.
This area is a store room filled with refuse and remnants. Miron finds signs of horrible previous crimes...
Sounds good. I've been itching to cast a fireball.
"We absolutely should, to all of that. No sane farmer would wish to live in such a tainted place after these crimes. We clear the ground floor, then we secure the basement, then the upper floors. If we are in agreement on that, then I suggest we try that door at the north of the corridor."
This flthy bedroom contains little more than a lumpy mattress heaped with twigs, mud, and hopefully little else, although the stink of sewage in the room indicates otherwise. Dozens of humanoid fetishes crafed of bits of leather, straw, corn husks, twigs, and bones hang from cords
throughout the room.
Dozens of humanoid fetishes crafed of bits of leather, straw, corn husks, twigs, and bones hang from cords throughout the room.
This dark room stinks of putrefying flesh. Eight wooden chairs with grinning bleached skulls crowning their backs circle a monstrous four-foot-high oak dining table covered with a crude tablecloth of crinkly human leather. The centerpiece of the dining table—a rotting human head, its stringy red hair thankfully draped over its mutilated face—serves as a gathering place for a host of buzzing, bloated flies.
Feeling some disgust at the scene, Miron enters cautiously, bow in hand.
"Be wary. Those cords contain a multitude of humanoid-shaped fetishes. They may have sinister power."
Miron examines these fetishes more closely, and then the rotting head. From a distance.
Miron detects no magic but does notice some blades placed with purpose amongst the coils. With a little bit of teamwork ye spot a lever by the door to disarm the trap and move through the room unharmed.
Nothing else of value or interest appears to be in this room.
"Careful does it.", Miron muses out loud and via sign.
"Let us try that room to the south-east of the house."
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Seeing a zombie next to Marten, Miron launches a volley of arrows, partially driven by haste.
This musty chamber smells of blood and week-old meat, and is thick with clouds of fat, greasy flies. Thumb-sized cockroaches dance along the walls, floor, and ceiling. A thick butcher’s block sits under three cruel-looking cleavers that hang on a rack above. Bloodstained smocks of thick leather, one still dripping fresh gore, hang on bone-spur hooks by the door. A crockery platter of severed fingers and toes sits on a rickety old table next to a dried sinew basket overflowing with hacked-off hands and feet, all sporting stubs of congealed blood where their digits once were. A family of lucky rats gorges itself on the red stumps.
The door to the north leads to a stairs going downwards.
Despite their filthy condition, the three cleavers are exceedingly well made and function as masterwork handaxes.
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Ferocia trails after Miron, fingers pinching her nose shut, and ravens perched on her shoulders. Although she seems relatively unfazed by the gore and horrors of the house, the smell is clearly getting to her.
She takes a few steadying breaths, then complains, "Before I met you guys I had never burned a house down. This is going to be my second." Her voice is nasally, but she keeps pinching her nose shut. "Next time I get arrested I'm blaming it all on you. You're all a horrible influence."
She pauses at the cleavers, looks them over, and hooks them onto her belt. They needed a wash, but they certainly didn't need to burn. That was just... wasteful.
She eyes the stairs carefully before they go down them, and waits for Miron and Azalia to give it the 'all clear.'
Down in the basement the landing at the bottom of the stairs has four doors, north, west and south.
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Miron's face shows a thin smile at Ferocia's comments.
"It may not be the last either. And as I said, I do know many fine law students in Magnimar."
Down in the basement, Miron seeks traps on the doors.
If no sounds or indications suggest a fruitful route, he point to the north door.
Miron doesn't find any traps but on the door to the west he notes a bit of spring by the door to the west, possibly are area where some of the traps are created.
Azalia takes a closer look, attempting to detect and disable whatever is there.
Azalia doesn't think there's any traps in this area.
"Let us try west. It may be the source of the traps."
This low-ceilinged room features a floor of hard packed earth stained in many places by blood and mold. A lumpy mattress lies heaped against the west wall, and what appear to be several half finished chairs made of flesh and bone lie against the eastern wall.
An ogrekin and his two donkey rat companions turn to face your group
Marten
Drazh
Graul and Donkey Rats
Azalia
Miron
Ferocia
Anneka