”Yesssssss, thisss plan isss accccceptable to Ryssssssina.” The naga curls around the base of the stair, glancing up where they ascend to the higher level. ”I had not dared to provoke the machinesss beyond the sssstairsss above, but it sssseemsss you have overcome them already.”
Terrifying crones known to haunt foul swamps and tangled forests, hags harbor an intense hatred for all beauty and purity. Making use of their varied deceptive abilities and magicks, these crones delight in murdering innocents, unhinging noble minds, and debasing the pure of heart. They are particularly fond of using disguise self to assume the forms of alluring young maidens and then seducing young men away from their lovers or families. In this form, they can infect such noble and upstanding citizens with all manner of debauchery and scandal. Some hags prefer to reveal their true natures to their lovers at a moment precisely engineered to drive the man mad with horror and shame. Others drag out their dalliances and do what they can to utterly ruin the lives of the men they seduce before showing the broken shell that remains the truth. In the end, the luckiest of these unfortunate lovers end up being eaten by their green hag companions—for the unlucky, their final doom can be much worse, for the cruel imagination of the green hag is vast.
When three hags of any type gather, they can form a coven to gain increased magical ability. Any combination of hags can form a coven, but green hags are the most common members of such foul gatherings. Whenever all three hags of a particular coven are within ten feet of one another, all three them can work together to animate dead, bestow curses, cast divinations, incite dreams, control weather, and more.
The most likely types of hags you’re facing is a combination of storm hag, green hag, and sea hag--very likely one member of each type.
In addition, you uncover the journal of a Soac diviner who investigated disappearances near Hyrantam’s lighthouse a year before the Eye of Abendego formed. The text includes accounts of a mysterious crone who hid among the caves to the southeast of the lighthouse, and of how she lured Lirgeni into the swamps there and drowned them in sacrificial rituals. The author identifies the murderer as a particularly vile sea hag named Narlysa and provides an account of her defeat by a group of adventurers. The books ends with a report dated a few months before Lirgeni’s fall, of a sickly green light shining from the hag’s supposedly abandoned caves.
While reading is not his favorite thing to do with others around boredom is a far worse fate. A crueler fate. Trying to find a corner away from the others and slowly moving through the shelves to find something that might help.
Eventually spotting something that sounds right, he hopes. Snagging the book and moving back near the stairs. Sitting near the pillars and quietly reading while mouthing the words. "Dal..i..ance? Hmm, s$!*, that means sleeping together... F..lay.. is that some weird sex thing?" Grimicing, "Nope! Damn it, just had to grab the one with pictures."
Now fully convinced that he will not have pleasant dreams about beautiful women for some time.
The day's efforts have begun to wear on Kwesi. Though the room is not overly warm, she sweats as if she'd just spent a day at heavy labor, and the perspiration coalesces into tiny rivulets that dance over her skin. She grabs a book and attempts to join in the study efforts, pausing from time to time to murmur an incantation to dry the moisture on her hands. But it's no use - the words begin to blur before her tired eyes, and she finds herself beginning to nod slightly. And we've still got to row home, too... Stifling a yawn, she looks over to the others. Any luck?
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Despite his appreciation for the beautifully bound books and the obvious value of the treasures to be found within the library, Schist is not academically inclined; still, he forces himself to peruse the books, flipping through pages in search of obvious titles or depictions of hags, passing anything he finds that could be of interest to Shearwater with muttered apologies.
"Here," he says, then reads from the spine. "On the Ontological Nature of Divers Specie, Economic and Otherwise. No? How about this one? The Lucid Travails of An Enjambic Djinn, As Told by a Parasite. No, probably not. And this? Examined and Corrected: A Tale of Lirgeni Romance and Discipline..."
Schists' face colors sharply as he flips through the pages and examines the very explicit images. "Ah," he says. "Perhaps not that one, then."
Closing the book with a snap and moving to stand up. Flinching at the pop in his knee that happens. Throwing his arms up in a rather dramatic stretch. Walking over to Kwesi and holding out a book, "This one seems like it is kind of what we are looking for."
Offering Kwesi a grin, "Be warned there are some pictures and they are pretty ugly."
Fearing boredom again and the pain that might come if he entertains himself by doing anything but read dusty old books. Finding a second book to start reading before closing it again and grabbing a journal.
Holding up the book and calling out, "I'm not reading about Hags killing men with their sex anymore!"
Shearwater digs into the books with gusto, much like he does with any given task. He sits in the metaphorical eye of the storm, watching dust clouds rise as manuscripts and scrolls take off their shelves for the first time in decades, and looking dutifully through each as they are passed his way for closer inspection. Though it is quite clear that he is no academian either, he is very persistent in going through every tome he is handed, as his facility with languages allows him a wider avenue of research than the others. The priest also makes sure that everyone takes breaks, stretches their legs, as well as eats and drinks at some point during the long process of going through the collection. His ever cheerful, if hopelessly tuneless humming sets a rhythm to the otherwise monotonous task of perusal.
"Oi, lemme see that!" he calls to Mal as the young warrior makes his discovery. "Oh, just what we needed! Nicely done, lad. Let's see here, the writer quotes someone named..."
Dima, who mostly up until now was busy cleaning and inspecting his trident as well as playing a chasing and wrestling game of "slaptail" with Magne around the bookshelves, suddenly perks up as Mal lets out his exasperated exclamation. "Wha? Lemme see!"
He jaunts over to the book Mal just shunned and snatches it to peer at the words and pictures himself, his eyes growing wide until he starts erupting with a belly-full of laughter. "HAHAHAHA...EEEEWW! UGH who thought to draw this one with a necklace full of men's severed...that had to have hurt bad! Hey look Mal, that one there could be yours if yer not careful! Hahaha!"
The leering and pantomime to Mal in lewd poor taste goes on for a bit more until almost coming to punching, at which point Dima finally leaves off and trots away - still leering - behind his hissing celestial gator.
"Now Shear this can't be confusing after all this time, can it? Hags are...well HAGS! Ugly and warty and strong like an ogre or troll to tear a man's...arm...off from his arm socket and gnaw on the bones. But so what? They all bleed if you stab them enough times. Oh sure they'll look fetching to start but we know that's how they lure you in to the cooking pot, so we're not gonna fall for that ruse!" Dima yawns and saunters over to where Shearwater is reviewing the first main tome, looking over his shoulder with mild curiosity even as he continues to boast and talk. "You know I killed a sea hag once, yes indeedy! The Hag of Cloven Foot Isle she was called, back when I was a bosun's mate on the Farventure. Now she was a right nasty she was! Killed two divers early on when we were a'huntin' for the old Ghol-gan ruins sunk below the isle, but that was her folly you see as I knew what those men had claimed from before on Spiny Fingers Sound and The Strong Man saw to it that I could track those trinkets right to her lair! Well we lost a third man in my hunting party when we found and cornered her but he got too close without a long pike...but anyways she tried to use some charms on me but I wasn't falling for it even then! She didn't cackle so much after me and the lads ran about a half-dozen harpoons and spears through her tough hide - that was before Bard ripped her head clean off - and so that was pretty much that. Now the captain says later that it woulda gone sour fer us if there'd been three of them, at which point I said 'Captain if there were three of them then one of 'em would be wearin' yer captain's hat and you'd be stripped to the loincloth with a spiked collar around yer neck as her cabin boy' I said! Now that got a good laugh I'll tell you, though now that I've gotten a look at Mal's favorite book over there I'm a thinkin' that a threesome would probably just have ripped off his manhood and used it later in a trophy necklace...like ears or scalps or somethin..."
Wedged behind the worn and weathered binding of Examined and Corrected: A Tale of Lirgeni Romance and Discipline (which itself seems to have been quite a popular read, judging by its worn pages), out falls another, smaller book bound in black leather. Its title, Witchwraiths of the Coldfire, isn't terribly descriptive, but within you found a naturalistic (if editorial) description of various hags and their covens.
When three hags of any type gather, they can form a coven to gain increased magical ability. Any combination of hags can form a coven, but green hags are the most common members of such foul gatherings.
Whenever all three hags of a particular coven are within 10 feet of one another, all three of them can work together to use any of many spell-like abilities, including animate dead, baleful polymorph, blight, bestow curse, clairaudience/clairvoyance, charm monster, commune, control weather, dream, forcecage, mind blank, mirage arcana, reincarnate, speak with dead, veil, and vision.
When the clouds turn gray and the winds pick up into a howl, wise travelers pray that the cause is only a natural tempest and the foul weather is not connected with a storm hag. Storm hags are hateful creatures, and strangely, their hate is one of the few things that brings them pleasure.
A storm hag’s wrinkled face contains a look of gleeful distaste, and her eyes are thick with cataracts, rendering her gaze pupil-less. A storm hag’s hair is wild and unruly with static electricity popping and crackling throughout the mass. Her mouth hangs open, revealing thin pointed teeth with small arcs of electricity jumping across them. Black talons sprout from her fingertips, likewise crackling with electricity.
Members of covens containing a storm hag gain the child-scent ability as long as they are within 100 feet of the storm hag. In addition, a coven with a storm hag as a member has access to the following additional spell-like abilities: call lightning storm, plague storm, quench, whirlwind, and wind wall.
Terrifying crones known to haunt foul swamps and tangled forests, green hags harbor an intense hatred for all beauty and purity. Making use of their varied deceptive abilities, these crones delight in murdering innocents, unhinging noble minds, and debasing the pure of heart. They are particularly fond of using disguise self to assume the forms of alluring young maidens and then seducing young men away from their lovers or families. In this form, they can infect such noble and upstanding citizens with all manner of debauchery and scandal. Some green hags prefer to reveal their true natures to their lovers at a moment precisely engineered to drive the man mad with horror and shame. Others drag out their dalliances and do what they can to utterly ruin the lives of the men they seduce before showing the broken shell that remains the truth. In the end, the luckiest of these unfortunate lovers end up being eaten by their green hag companions—for the unlucky, their final doom can be much worse, for the cruel imagination of the green hag is vast.
Green hags benefit from spell resistance and numerous spell-like abilities, including invisibility. Their withered claws sap the strength from those they strike, inflicting Strength damage on a successful attack. Hags are experts at disguise, able to mimic the appearance and sounds of nearly any other creature found near their lairs.
Monstrous sea witches, these wicked hags possess terrifying features that few dare look upon. Reveling in discord, the foul creatures drag sailors to watery graves and torment the peoples of the oceans with wicked promises. Sea hags are always terrible to look upon, and despite their gluttonous ways, they are usually emaciated creatures who look half-starved.
Sea hags prefer to dwell relatively close to shore where fishermen and trading vessels are more commonly encountered. Most choose to live far from urban areas so that their acts don’t draw as much attention from would-be enemies, but it’s not uncommon for a particularly brave or eager sea hag to settle in a city harbor or in the mouth of a deep river.
Sea hags form covens similar to other hags, but their aquatic nature generally keeps them from forming mixed covens. In the case of a shoreline-dwelling green hag (often a green hag who dwells in a saltmarsh or other coastal swampland), a coven often consists of two sea hags who look to the green hag as their mother and leader. More commonly, a sea hag coven consists of a group of particularly friendly and sisterly sea hags.
The sight of a sea hag is so revolting that anyone within 60 feet (other than another hag) who sets eyes upon one must succeed on a Fortitude save or instantly be weakened, taking Strength damage.
"...and you just have to make sure you cleave off the hands and head, and impale the heart with a spike of wood that hasn't been claimed by the sea so that she can't grow another from blackworms...though Linni our Besmara devoted had us burn the body on the beach with dried driftwood now that I think of it. Anyways, that's how we did it, killin' that ol' Cloven Foot Hag - easy!" Dima snaps his finger for emphasis as he nods vigorously to Kwesi. The boastful hunter then places two fingers on his Strong Man tattoo and kisses his fingers in a strange sort of honorific she's seen him do before.
It seems to have been no loss to Dima that his eager "storytelling" was wasted on Shearwater (who finally asked Schist to help move both he and the tome away to a quieter corner of the room) or on Malorrem (who threatened to punch him repeatedly in the face if he didn't stop), and so to continue his tale of first-hand experience with sea hags he settled upon Kwesi on the far side with the book she was drowsing over.
"Not a good trophy though, bein' so awful ugly and all - capt'n didn't want that on his cabin wall or prow or mast or anythin' like that! Besides there's a lot more good trophies to hunt for with all manner of beasties in the...the umm..." Dima suddenly catches himself as even he realizes Eryssala and Ryssina could very well qualify for his views on trophies, which causes him to clear his throat, spit and trail off his words.
"That's what we're fighting?" asks Schist to the room in general. It's clear that, unlike Dima, he's unnerved. The endless litany of their horrific abilities, from 'child sense' to the abilities to cause plagues, drain one's vitality, force you to change into any shape of their choosing and more has grounded him on the scope of their task.
Then, even as it looks the impact of all this news is undoing his resolve, he shakes out his broad shoulders, curls his large hands into fists, and juts out his lower jaw. "All the more reason to put them down, I suppose. Can't leave them out there, wrecking their will on the innocent and the like..."
There's something akin to wonder in his tone, as if his own civic mindedness is surprising him. He gives Shearwater a curt nod, and looks around at the group.
"I'd advise we return home, rest, and prepare for our confrontation with this hag. We'll need to put together something of a plan, figure out an ambush, select a location and so forth. I'd hate to have to rush that kind of planning."
I agree, Kwesi replies to Schist's remark. The same anxiety that had plagued the dwarf is evident in her eyes as well, though it competes with a dark, rolling current of anger. We should go home, rest, and plan. We've got relics to trade if need be, and if it does come to a fight I'd rather go in fresh than worn out. Nervously she flicks her hand as if shaking off a bug, and a tiny rivulet of water follows the motion and splashes into Mal.
Vancen pales as you describe the nature of the threat against the enclave. "Hags??" he asks, scratching his neck. "Hurricane's ain't enough, livin'n' ruins, survivin' by the grace'o Gozreh, oh no, that'd be too easy! Had ta be hags!" The gray, late morning light spills through his porthole as the rain cascades down the glass. "Mparu'll wanna hear about this. Ya'll leave that t'me. Orlev--that hag's due back here tomorrow mornin', and I'm hopin' we got more t'offer her than dirty names t'call her, elsewise I fear she's gonna be after live bodies. Or even just bodies... Ya found any relics?"
__________________
Eryssala splashes in the water beside Dima's rowboat, swimming up as you approach. "You are ready to go?" She smiles and the water begins to churn...
Waves crash against a stone balcony that overlooks Frogmarch River to the north, leaving the marble floor slick with sea spray. A broken telescope leans against the railing, its cracked lens staring blindly off into the cloudy sky. A wall of shattered floor-to-ceiling windows separates this deck from the room to the south.
There, the southern half of the room has been drenched by floodwaters that poured through the broken windows, causing the legs of the mahogany desk and chair here to rot. Three large bookcases contain several volumes with varying degrees of water damage. One of the bookcases has already spilled its contents onto the floor, where heaps of books lie ruined from years of water exposure.
Carefully, Kwesi makes her way across the room to the most intact-looking of the three bookcases, reaching for each book in turn. As she grabs each, it suddenly dries as if it'd sat in front of a fire for hours; the pages turn crisply once again as she leafs through, though there's no redeeming the ink that's been disturbed. Can anyone search for magic auras? I've not got much feel for it, but all the other relics we've found have been magic, right? I'd like to save what books we can, too, but a lot of these are damaged beyond what me drying them will help. She still wasn't much of a scholar, but it was nice to have another weapon to use against Hyrantam's dangers.
As you step into the ruined study, the steady roll of the pattering rain nearly drowns it out, but after a few moments you begin to hear the crescendo of...insane babbling.
Mad ramblings about the void between the stars worm their way into your mind.
Keeping to the back of the room and crouching down to lean against the wall near the door. Quietly nodding along with Vancen's complaints. Standing quickly after the old man is done being angry at the world."Ya, we found a few things."
Reaching into his bag and then frowning before looking around at the others expectantly, "Was it the spyglass we were gonna use?"
----
That familiar thrill rushes though Mal's veins as he jumps into one of the boats. Grinning down at Eryssala, "Gods, yes!"
-----
Quietly walking into the room and looking around, "All this is ruined. Should we check out the broken rooms before moving further in?"
As Kwesi begins to look over the books, she freezes suddenly, her eyes darting around the room and her hand landing heavily on the shelf as if to steady her. Gods, what was that? With a hard shake of her head, she quickly comes back to herself, though she spares one more nervous glance over her shoulder.
Schist gingerly lets himself in through the large, shattered doors that lead in from the balcony to the room itself. He moves cautiously, pausing when glass crunches beneath his boots, alert and listening, trying to discern any sign of habitation within the gloomy old manse.
He moves forward slowly, watching the doors, and then freezes in turn when Kwesi suddenly cries out in alarm. Tense, gaze darting from side to side, he quickly casts Detect Magic around the room.
"What was what, Kwesi?" he asks, voice an urgent hiss.
"Yeah, what was what there Kwesi," answers Dima in a tone that suggests he doesn't really care if there's an answer or not as he passes by her to stand next to Mal.
Dima and Magne stayed on the rainswept balcony long enough for him to protect them both with The Strong Man's divine aid as he has done before, drawing his illuminated trident from his quiver and taking note to pass well on the other side of Eryssala...whom he wonders from time to time if she is here more to stalk "prey" on her own version of a hunt, than simply be a beneficial guide of the waters. Yet that thought is fleeting as he thinks on Mal's words as to which way to go.
"Ruined books and ruined furniture again eh? Hmmm..." Dima regards the door in front of them for a moment and then the door next to him, which seems simple enough to manage. He shrugs and heaves open the door to his left, giving a few clicks to Mange to heel as he moves in to poke at the ruined bed in its sundered bedchamber.
I thought I heard... Kwesi's eyes briefly cloud over in confusion again until she shakes it loose. ...voices. Nothing that made much sense - it wasn't much more than babbling, really. Something about "the spaces between", "darkness made flesh". A void so empty that its very nothingness gives it life... Dismissively she waves a hand. I'm sure it's nothing. But for a second it was...really strong. We ought to be careful going in - there's some kind of weirdness hanging around, but I don't know what.
As usual, Shearwater stays back and lets his more physically adept companions proceed before him, keeping watch with his bow at the ready. Upon hearing Kwesi's words, he stops to listen more intently, cocking his head back and forth at the room. Something about her words put him ill at ease, more so than any earthly danger.
"Tread lightly," he says in an unusually severe tone, giving more gravity to Kwesi's warning.
As Kwesi glances around the ruined study in paranoia, she spies an unusually shiny object resting within the warped display cabinet, something reflective. It's a single telescope lens that, despite the passage of time, appears to be fully functional. The darkness of the skies returns to her in another wave of deja vu, but this time that darkness is riddled with starlight, as constellations of animals and beasts roam their way through skies that witnessed Hyrantam's old glory.
Unfortunately, all the books kept stored here are now ruined beyond repair.
Dima and Magne step around Eryssala to enter what might have been a bedroom. Years of violent storms and water damage have caused most of this wing to collapse into the surf, leaving only half of it intact. The waterlogged ruins of several furnishings lie heaped in a hole that yawns in the eastern wall. The remnants of a four-poster bed stand next to the western door, flanked by two soaked but intact mahogany nightstands. Cracked windows look out over the flooded city.
Access to the remainder of the manor seems to lie behind the southern doors...
Her head still spinning from the visions of madness and starlight the last room had pressed upon her, Kwesi enters this room more warily, eyes darting from place to place like a cornered animal - but this time, no ancient dream sneaks into her mind's eye. What does sneak into her true eyes, though, is a strangeness to the side of one of the nightstands...something that doesn't quite match up. That side panel is recessed...more than the other one... Cautiously she creeps forward and tests the strange panel, and it slides away under her gentle touch, though for only a few inches before years of water and warping fix it fast in its track.
Even the small opening is big enough, though - as the green light reflected off the water flashes inside, a crimson flash answers it, glinting off a facet of some hidden object inside. I've found something! She reaches inside the hidden compartment (silently hoping nothing else has found this hideaway over the years) and withdraws a small crystalline figurine shaped like a butterfly. This must've been important, to be hidden away like that...any ideas?
Shearwater inspects the butterfly figurine, turning it in his hands and muttering a quick prayer. "Hm, no clue. Looks decidedly Desnan, though..."
Staying near the door that is next to be gone though and waiting to hear what fills the next room. This is ridiculous. I should be having a blast here but no! Instead all I can think about are those damned Hags. I am going to enjoy seeing them ruined.
Shifting his stance to see what Shearwater is looking at, "Is is cursed? Cause we could give it to the Hags."
"Well Desnans do like their butterflies and flittery things," answers Dima absently in Mal's direction as he nods at Kwesi's keen find. "If it is that, best we keep it for luck eh? Best to give 'em that spyglass or some of those other trinkets from the library."
Dima calls for Magne to heel as he returns back to the unopened doors, hefting his trident and ready to give one side a good shove when Mal is ready on his side.
It doesn't feel the same as those older things did, Kwesi answers to Mal's question. Those, I could...well, I could feel the history behind them. This I don't think is one of those relics - valuable, or it probably wouldn't have been hidden, but nothing more. You were able to sense magic on it, though, right, Shearwater?
Shearwater nods at Kwesi with an apologetic smile. "Yup. Definitely magical, but not... uh... special, as you say. Sorry I can't tell you more. Maybe you can have a look, Schist?"