Creydon jogs to support range of both Drazh and Ferocia, putting himself into the melee.
"Ferocia, keep it up!", he says, as he tries to interfere with any blows the creature throws out.
Marten takes a step away from the undead assassin, his hand trying to stop the bleeding in his side.
Through gritted teeth he remarks, "I was expecting that strike, but I have to admit, it certainly smarts."
He lifts his bloody hand towards the assassin to unleash a near-point blank fiery lightning bolt but somehow the undead dodges the spell!
”Oh sure. Ignore the dwarf.” Drazh muttered. ”See how long ye ignore this hammer...”
Distracted by the flaming lightning the undead is caught off guard by the hammer blow and once Drazh gets into a rhytm the undead just becomes a smear.
+3 Chain Shirt
+1 Human Bane Dagger
Mwk Dagger
Amulet of Natural Armour +2
Cloak of Resistance +1
146gp
Creydon walks over to the body, and begins rooting around for loot.
He holds up the amulet:
"Anyone else want this? Drazh? Azalia? Once we're done with this dead slayer, let's go after its boss!"
"Well struck, Drazh. You might have still been able to do that without my distraction, of course. I believe Azalia is finished stripping the construct, so I agree with Mr. Clay that we should proceed. But first..."
Marten looks at the bloody mess that is his ribs.
"Anneka, would you mind?"
Heck, I'd take it, Creydon, but you get into the thick of things more than I do, so if you want it, then wear it with my blessing.
"Cheers Anneka! I'll take it so."
The scene in this room is appalling-a half-dozen brutally savaged human bodies dressed in light blue, bloodstained robes lie sprawled about the
place. Several of the bodies seem to have had limbs or organs removed.
You recognize the work of a skilled necromancer in the patterns and methods of missing limbs and organs.
This chamber appears to be some sort of laboratory. Tables made of stacked sarcophagi support alchemical apparatuses, books, carved bones,
scrolls, and various pieces of anatomy that have been dissected and preserved in dozens of ways.
An alchemist's lab sits atop one table.
The books are both interesting and horrifying in their subject matter ofthe dead, and the collection grants a +2 circumstance bonus on a Knowledge (religion) check ade about undead. The collection is worth 400 gp and weighs 100 pounds.
Creydon looks about.
"Bloody hell. It looks like the lair of a serial killer."
Seeing the tomes, Creydon turns and signs while noting:
"Anneka, you want the books?"
Anneka blanches at the mention of serial killers, recalling the discovery of Jarvas Stoot's, The Chopper's body accompanied by his last victim, her brother Casp. Already affected inexplicably this wing's necromantic echoes, she shivers. "No," she signs. "I've seen enough. We'll sell them."
She produces a healing wand, tapping the others with the practiced motion of whisking baker's sugar.
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"Anyone else?" she asks.
"Entirely fair, and cheers."
The bookshelf-lined walls of this room contain a large collection of dog-eared tomes, manuals, and scrolls, as well as jars of fluid in which float humanoid organs and bits of flesh. A dissected human torso sits atop the room's stone table.
The various lenses and magnifying glasses built into the contraption around the examination table are worth 100 gp each-there are 10 lenses in all.
The research books are worth a total of 10,000 gp. They detail various experiments, summoning rituals, chemical concoctions, and steps that Runelord Zutha's minions followed to attain their various states of undeath. They provide a +S circumstance bonus on all Knowledge (arcana) and Knowledge (religion) checks made regarding necromancy and undead creatures.
"There's the makings of a serious mage library here!" says Creydon, already assessing how best to tuck the books into bags of holding.
Creydon, you can just put those in my portable hole if you want.
"I'm sure someone will find them valuable, true.
"What's more concerning is where these necromancers are getting their supply of bodies from. I had assumed that Runeforge was sealed off all this time."
"They do, but those don't stick around. All the more reason to put down the necromancy going on here."
Creydon recalls that the corpses left from an earlier encounter were removed... the necromancers might have to be very vigilant in recycling corpses.
Numerous five-foot-wide burial niches line the inner walls of this "U" shaped catacomb. Each niche contains a stone burial urn, large enough to contain a crouching human body within the ancient stone container.
Ferocia notices a hidden door in one of the niches.
Lanterns hang from hooks over three large tables scattered throughout this chamber. Two tables are covered with preserved human body parts stitched together with thick thread to partially form a pair of patchwork human corpses. Stools and small steel work trays covered in slender knives, clamps, hooks, saws, screws, needles, and other less id,
entifiable tools surround each of the large tables.
This dry, hovering corpse’s chest is a prison of jagged ribs, within which is trapped a small tormented ghostly form. Further back is a more richly appointed desicated humanoid.
The big one is a devourer. Devourers are the undead remnants of fiends and evil spellcasters who became lost beyond the farthest reaches of the multiverse. Returning with warped bodies, alien sentience, and a hunger for life, devourers threaten all souls with a terrifying, tormented annihilation. These withered corpses stand 10 feet tall but weigh a mere 200 pounds.
Devourers’ origins are shrouded in mystery. While spellcasters may create them through the usage of create greater undead spells, exactly what occurs during these rituals is unclear, and it’s possible that devourers are more called into being than physically created—certainly it’s more than just a simple matter of animating a corpse.
Unlike many other forms of undead, devourers do not form spontaneously, nor do they breed or spawn. Rather, they begin as either one of two creatures: a terribly evil mortal spellcaster or an actual fiend. Those of either category who find themselves lost in the hinterlands of the cosmos sometimes return as devourers, their forms stretched and twisted into almost unrecognizable 10-foot-tall behemoths. They do not find their rebirth, their unholy transfiguration, in a specific place or plane. Rather, far beyond the knowledge and sight of mortals or outsiders, they experience some sort of transformative gnosis, realizing some infectious idea that simultaneously destroys and recreates them with a new form and a new hunger. Whether or not there might be something out there that actively calls to them, compulsively drawing them to its presence and making them into what they are, is anyone’s guess, yet it would explain why only evil outsiders and spellcasters seem to be susceptible, and also potentially why the strange mannerisms of the devourers who return to the planes seem more than simple madness. It’s even possible that some devourers themselves might not be aware of their precise origins, and their obsessions could be attempts to find their way back and discover who or what made them.
Once they have trapped a soul inside them they can cause it to suffer many negative effects from spells instead of them.
The smaller finely dressed points a finger at Creydon. With practiced ease it manages to cast another spell off quickly. Azalia and Marten can see it has been replaced with an illusory copy of itself and stands nearby.
The larger undead reaches out and gently touches Drazh... and he can feel his soul being pulled from his body.
Azalia
Creydon
Ferocia
Marten
Anneka
Drazh
Monster
Creydon advances through the secret door, near both Ferocia and Azalia, seeing the ghastly corpse in the air.
He prepares to help push the party *through* this horror, whatever it is, just as he sees the presumed lich points a finger at him.
"Fight through to the lich! It-"
Then the ray slams into his chest.
The halfling knight crumples to the ground, his throat silent and his heart stilled.
"Confound it! Not again!"
Marten's new ioun stone flashes as Marten casts haste on the party.
Azalia sees Creydon crumple to the ground, and not knowing whether he is still alive or not, she tries to ignore her worry and kill whatever harmed him.
(acid/undead bane)
Ferocia snarls in rage at the walking corpse, claw twitching and hungry for blood. Unable to get at him with Drazh before her, she slips past him and hurls herself forward, tumbling and shoving her way past the undead and into the room.
Azalia sees Creydon crumple to the ground, and not knowing whether he is still alive or not, she tries to ignore her worry and kill whatever harmed him.
Creydon advances through the secret door, near both Ferocia and Azalia, seeing the ghastly corpse in the air.
He prepares to help push the party *through* this horror, whatever it is, just as he sees the presumed lich points a finger at him.
"Fight through to the lich! It-"
Then the ray slams into his chest.
The halfling knight crumples to the ground, his throat silent and his heart stilled.
Ferocia snarls in rage at the walking corpse, claw twitching and hungry for blood. Unable to get at him with Drazh before her, she slips past him and hurls herself forward, tumbling and shoving her way past the undead and into the room.
"Confound it! Not again!"
Marten's new ioun stone flashes as Marten casts haste on the party.
Anneka prepars to counter the undead spellcaster.
Drazh felt his soul being ripped out. He screamed in surprise, pain, and then, hatred. Hammer in hand he went to work!
”Not again what?!”
Drazh yelled, his eyes firmly placed forward as the monstrous creature is turned to a smear on the floor.
Azazen the Lich steps away from Ferocia and begins to cast wall of force but Anneka counters it deftly.
Azalia
Creydon
Ferocia
Marten
Anneka
Drazh
Monster Azaven -7
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Behind the lich, a previously-hidden door silently slides open.
Within, a tall figure stands, clad in perfectly-tailored exotic robes, in colours of crimson red and deep green, and adorned with pieces of Thessalonian craftsmanship. An orange prism slowly circles his head.
The sharp features of his face and his pointed chin are lined by sculpted dark red facial hair, and purple eyes gaze out from below similar dark red hair. In addition, he wears a wide grin, and speaks in a booming voice and perfectly fluent Thessalonian:
"Azaven! Your days of impeding my majesty are over! Feel the wrath of Ze'ev!"
With that, the figure points a long slender finger at the lich and releases a ray of magical power!
Disintegrate!
Fort Save DC 24
Effective CL to overcome SR: 21 (14 +1 from Orange Prism Ioun stone +2 from Unstoppable Magic human trait +2 from Spell Penetration +2 from Greater Spell Penetration)
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Drazh stepped over the undead monstrosity, glanced behind him to yell a taint at Martin...and saw Craydon. For a moment he was dumbfounded. The halfling was, without a doubt, dead. This was no longer fun. Wordlessly he went over to the liche and swung his hammer. He noticed another mage, who seemed to be on their side, for whatever that was worth. But he didn’t care. If the man turned on them he would kill the Wizard too. What mattered now though was destroying the liche.
Not answering Drazh, Marten steps out into the hallway and casts scorching ray at the lich.
Azalia steps forward, shooting again.
(acid/undead bane)
but, apparently shaken by Creydon's passing, she is unable to do much.
Azalia steps forward, shooting again... but, apparently shaken by Creydon's passing, she is unable to do much.
Behind the lich, a previously-hidden door silently slides open.
Within, a tall figure stands, clad in perfectly-tailored exotic robes, in colours of crimson red and deep green, and adorned with pieces of Thessalonian craftsmanship. An orange prism slowly circles his head.
The sharp features of his face and his pointed chin are lined by sculpted dark red facial hair, and purple eyes gaze out from below similar dark red hair. In addition, he wears a wide grin, and speaks in a booming voice and perfectly fluent Thessalonian. "Azaven! Your days of impeding my majesty are over! Feel the wrath of Ze'ev!"
With that, the figure points a long slender finger at the lich and releases a ray of magical power!
Not answering Drazh, Marten steps out into the hallway and casts scorching ray at the lich.
Drazh stepped over the undead monstrosity, glanced behind him to yell a taint at Martin...and saw Craydon. For a moment he was dumbfounded. The halfling was, without a doubt, dead. This was no longer fun. Wordlessly he went over to the liche and swung his hammer. He noticed another mage, who seemed to be on their side, for whatever that was worth. But he didn’t care. If the man turned on them he would kill the Wizard too. What mattered now though was destroying the liche.
Weakened already by the other Azlanti's magic and Marten's flames the undead creature can not withstand the well placed hammer blow of Drazh... it crumples to the ground, now truly dead.
Staff of hungry shadows (10 charges)
Bracers of armor +5
Headband of vast intelligence +4 (grants ranks in Knowledge [nobility] and Spellcraft)
Ring of protection +2
Statuette worth 2,000 gp
The surgical equipment here was created from silver jewelry and decorations looted from nearby crypts via fabricate spells. The entire collection in this room is worth 1,200 gp.
Azalia looks over at Creydon and says.
We can get him resurrected, right?
The figure steps up to the dead lich, a grin of utter satisfaction embedded upon his face. He does not disguise his feeling of triumph over the fallen undead.
He hears the responses of the newcomers and takes in their barbarian manners and languages.
Elements of Azlanti, fragments of the giant-tongue, who are they? I shall try proper speech first.
The figure looks at the newcomers through glinting purple eyes and speaks. Fragments can be made out for those listening for the common tongue of this age.
"Runeforge....Azaven....Ze'ev....Thassilon?"
"Greetings, newcomers to the Runeforge. Your assistance in the destruction of Azaven the Lich is duly noted. With my now-unimpeded rise as a Scion of Gluttony in these halls, I, Ze'ev, have the authority to make alliance as I see fit, for the good of the Empire of course. How did you come into the service of Thassilon?"
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”Oi. The nancy boy be speaking gibberish. Someone find out what he wants.” Drazh said. He ripped the headband off of the skull of the liche, and going over to Craydon, he sat by the corpse, uncaring of what the other did.
”I’m sorry lad.” He said to the body. ”Ye always watched our backs. Looks like we didn’t watch yers. After Miron died we...fook.” He looked at the headband and said ”Gonna wear this, me friend. To remember ye by. May Magrim judge ye fairly.”
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Looking forlornly at Creydon one last time, Marten brings his attention to the unknown being in their midst. He walks over to the man, stopping outside of arm's reach.
"Hello, Ze'ev. My name is Marten Daseto. Your assumption that we are of Thassilon betrays the length of time you've spent in Runeforge. The Thassilonian Empire is no more. In the outside world, Golarion, that land and its people were devastated in a cataclysm over 10,000 years ago.
"More importantly, we have expressly targeted and destroyed this lich for our own purpose. You are strongly advised to not impede us."
Marten stares the man down for a moment before he relents.
"Condolences on the manner in which you're finding out the Thassilonain Empire, by the way. The world is now a very different place. I could perhaps have you as a guest at Acadamae, Golarion's premier body of arcane study. We could help you get re-acclimated, if you desire, and I have many questions you can answer about Thassilon itself.
"It seems relics of Thassilon have a habit of living long past their time, and such knowledge would be very useful."
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Ferocia wanders over to Creydon and cradles the halfling in her arms
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Emriss lets out a squawk and moves over to the fresh and tasty looking halfling corpse to take a few nibbles, but Ferocia's scowl causes him to back down. He squawks again, in dissatisfaction, and moves to eat a few bites of chewy undead flesh off the lich instead.
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Anneka falls upon Creydon's wilted form, lifting his head into her lap. She caresses his cheek with a hand clad in a dark silk glove. She whispers something into his ear.
"- what the...? Oh, hello Anneka, and who the heck is that?"
Creydon is thoroughly confused, his last memory hazy, as he gets to his feet.
Ze'ev absorbs what this Marten has to say in utter silence, his attention focused.
Then he replies, still in Thassilonian:
"Marten Desato - and companions - whether for your own reasons or not, you have been helpful. I...have much to consider. I shall remain here for now. I would ensure the safety of research in this section of the Runeforge and thus I will remain in this section for the time being. I have no quarrel with your group and grant you leave to explore."
He then begins to turn around to walk back towards the door within he entered from.
One might think that he had forgotten the lich entirely.
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Ferocia looks at the now alive halfling in her arms, smiles slightly in relief, then drops him, stands, and steps back.
"Thought you were dead." She says by way of explanation. "Glad you're not."
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Anneka's wand of cure light wounds runs out of power. She taps a few times for good measure before tossing it aside.
Creydon decides better than calling after Drazh.
Leave him at it!
"Cheers again, Anneka. That lich hit hard!"
Creydon gets on his feet, feeling far better!
Ferocia gives Anneka a nod, looking rather relieved.
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Azalia also looks relieved, and as she snaps out of her funk, she can't believe that she left the treasure all just sitting there like no one cares about it. She carefully gathers it all up and stows it in her portable hole. Everything back to normal.
Marten nods in approval at Ze'ev's departure. He then notices Creydon's return.
"Oh, Mr. Clay! Glad to have you back on your feet."