Cerio grunts in effort and frustration as he pushes himself into the room, hurtling another glob of acid.
Keeping pace with the Tatterman, T'eron attempts to cut him down one more time.
Your attacks fall upon the retreating nightmare, but the Tatterman is too disturbingly quick and lithe, like an upright snake. As the creature rushes past you and towards the door, a wheezing, dry laugh can be heard issuing from it. It hisses out a last taunt, before exiting out the door and into the mists.
I'll see you in your dreams. In the end, you will claw out your eyes to unsee what I have to show you.
Then, it departs...into the rapidly thinning mists.
Watching as the Tatterman escapes into the yellow mists where she dare not follow, Campus remarks dryly Clearly, I'm going to sleep well tonight. Campus turns back the way they'd come. Let us see if there is anything we can do for the those the Tatterman attacked as he fled.
You head back into the cultist camp, and see the place in complete disorder. Doctor Wren Elbourne is trying his best to stop the bleeding of a man on the ground, to no avail. The doctor is covered in blood, and seems beyond tired.
The rest of the cultists are standing at walls, in corners, behind tents - anything to stay out of the way. When you enter in, they seem nearly as frightened of you as they were of the Tatterman...maybe since even it was running from you.
Cerio kicks some debris out of the way as he sulks. "Almost had th' varmint, too..."
Completely useless with healing wounds, he stays out of the way and listens for orders, trying to be what help he can.
With the Tatterman gone, Ulfric looks around and pulls his helm off. I guess we need to clean up this mess now... And what about the others with Winter...
Ulfric strides into the Cultist Camp and looks around. "We've come here to try and free us from all of this insanity. You have a choice now, you can help us or you can leave. All those willing to help, come over to us now and we can try to help you. Everyone else should gather their belongings and go up those stairs and stay there."
T'eron, still pondering what was overlooked in the latest Tatterman episode along with his remaining injuries, assists with the cultists' splitting into two camps.
The camp stills at Ulfric's words, though ill delivered. He appears more aggressive and threatening than anything, but the Doctor there adds in his own words.
People, people! Calm down...these folks are here to help us get out of here! No more of this madness, no cults, no murder, no pain...let's work with them to get out of here together.
He gives Ulfric a nod, and the cultists seem to begin to help...at least those who can. Many were pretty far gone into their mental illnesses before the Tatterman came, and they simply rock back and forth or murmur to themselves. Others seem to show some semblance of sanity, and they begin to help gather those who aren't able to help themselves.
The doctor walks over, his coat covered in blood. His brow is soaked with sweat. What are we to do now? I can those here with superficial wounds, but there is more than one that will need more attention that I can offer here.
"We can bring ya'll back to our own camp," Cerio suggests. "Nothin' fancy, but we're better off together, ain't we?"
He turns to T'eron, Ulfric, and Campus. "Let's head back up and have a look see at what we find in that office. There's still gotta be some clues left. There gotta be!"
But for the sake of Cayden, remove your matching colored clothes and put on something more varied and sane-looking. Don't want you all to look like an army of weirdos descending on our camp.
You head back up to room in which Zandalus had held sway over these cultists, and you find his items among his odd throne of matresses and pallets.
In it, you find a wand, an elixir, and a scroll that all emanate magical auras. There's also a large book, called the Chain of Nights. And...50 gold pieces...rainy day fund
Cerio examines the items each in turn. He flips through the book, muttering. "And still no answers..."
The scroll is a scroll of summon monster III; Cerio isn't sure about the want or elixir.
The Chain of Nights seems to be of a medical origin, at least at first. It explores the brain as an organ, as the lens of perception, and...then as the throne of something more. It is first and foremost about the anatomy and workings of the brain, with pages and pages about diagnosing, analyzing, and treating numerous physiological and psychological afflictions.
In the final third of the tome, though, there are more esoteric topics, such as the source of nightmares, accounts of the Dimension of Dreams, and descriptions of some of the creatures that come from there.
You spend some time glancing through the pages, but are interrupted when you hear a call from below. No, no! Please, let's talk!
You rush down into the common room and see that Winter is leading her men from the south, the refugees close behind. They've come into this huge chamber of cultists, and now have crossbows leveled at many of them.
The call had from from Doctor Elbourne, who is standing in between the two camps. No, please...we mean no harm!
"Pharasma's bones..." Cerio groans, shuffling forward toward the center of the room. He waves his hands. "Hold it, hold it!"
"These--" he motions toward the cultists, "is victims 'o circumstance. 'n these--" he points to Winter and her men, "still have their wits about 'em."
"Look we been drowned in blood, had library books throwed at us, been hunted by undead critters, 'n just chased a nightmare made flesh out tha' building. Let's just have a minute to breathe!!! Put down th'weapons!"
Winter stops, and listens to Cerio, but her gaze is locked on the cultists. She puts a hand up, holding York from loosing the first bolt at the huddled ex-patients. She hisses out a question through her clenched teeth. And where is this Ulver Zandalus?
Split into a tattered man, who escaped us and fled into the yellow mists.
Winter seems to lose a bit of tension at that - it may not be the words themselves, but the surety with which Campus speaks of the cult leader's death. Either way, she relaxes her stance and motions for her men to drop their crossbows down. Grudgingly, they lower them by a few inches.
With the tension eased a bit, Winter finally turns to business. The mists have lessened. If we're to leave this place, then I think the time is coming. What are you plans?
"I dun' know!" Cerio wails in frustration. "I still can't hardly remember nothin'. 'N the only clues we've found say maybe we's these amnesiac patients. If that's true, then Lowls's tha one who threw us in here. What I'd like t'do to that Lowls... We should go find 'em."
"Course, that Tatterman's still out there somewheres. These notes talking something' 'bout drawin' out dreams. I wonder if'n that critter come from Zandalus's own dreams?"
"...and you were here before I as well...I think...", mutters T'eron, "Does that mean Count Lowls returned with more patients?...and is he still returning with yet more?? We must find him."
As her men gather the cultists together with their own people and start making some sense of all of this, Winter leads you away from them. Come...we have a bit to talk about, then.
When she has you separated, she starts with one word. Thrushmoor. Without waiting for your questions, she continues. Thrushmoor is the home of Count Hasterton Lowls. Briarstone Asylum...here...is on the Danver River. We're across the river from Thrushmoor right now.
She sighs, and nods, as if talking herself into something. Yes...let me tell you everything I know...perhaps it may spark something. I told you before I was with the Royal Accusers - we're a group from the Maiden's Choir Cathedral in Caliphas. My group came here to help the Royal Accuser Omari investigate a certain strangeness in Thrushmoor. See, Lowls, who is the count of the entire Versex county, seems to have abandoned his duties as one of the nation's rulers.
Sister Omari thought it best that I investigate here, given that Lowls had recent dealings here, then she went on to Thrushmoor. That's when this...mess...started.
"A count? You mean royalty done threw me in here? How's I so stupid as t'get caught up with th' law like that..."
"Or! Maybe we's some kinda lab rats 'n Lowls used us fer what he thought we's good for."
He looks to Winter. "So we gonna head t' Thrushmoor? Get help for this bunch, 'n find Sister Omari 'n Lowls?"
Campus pours herself a glass of brandy thanking Cayden for a never ending supply and nods at Winter.
Winter seems to almost shrug at that. Well...I guess it's the only place I can think of to start. And, it has the added benefit of getting out of this forsaken place. I would like to put a party together to head down to the docks here and see if we can secure some sort of conveyance, before we usher out everyone else.
Would you be willing to take that on?
"Lady, I'm on th'first horse outta this place!" Cerio agrees.
Ulfric nods when Winter asks if we could explore the manor. "Once we rest and refit our gear, I will go with anyone else who is willing to investigate."
"There's...an actual way out of this place? You can sign this lab rat up for that."
Campus let's them read. She barely knew how, and cared to even less, especially when Cayden's blessed cup was before her.
The Chain of Nights is, indeed, a text on the workings of the brain. However, the accounts of the Dimension of Dreams, the creatures that live there, and the sources of nightmares seem quite relatable right now.
After reading for some time, Cerio discovers that there are spells in the tome, as well as what looks to be a ritual for releasing one's dreams. It warns against failure, indicating that such failure could turn those involved into these oneirogens, that spew the very stuff of which the dream dimension is made.
The ritual itself would create a small rift between the Dimension of Dreams and the target's mind. If the target suffers from natural, reoccurring nightmares, the ritual conjures them into a viscous, physical substances that boils forth from the target's mouth and nose, then congeals into an inert, coal-like lump of dead dreamstuff. After this, the target has no natural nightmares for a year and never has those specific nightmares again. This ritual dispels the effect of the nightmare spell and makes the target immune to that spell for 1 week.
If the target is the victim of an outsider that can cast nightmare as a supernatural or spell-like ability, this ritual attempts to conjure that outsider. The target must have been affected by the outsider's nightmare ability within the last 3 days. The outsider is in no way controlled by the target or the ritual's casters, and likely either attacks those who conjured it or attempts to flee.
Just from studying the book, Cerio now can use the hypnotism occult skill unlock once per day immediately after reading, even if not capable of casting psychic spells. He also gains a +2 bonus on a single knowledge planes check related to the Dimension of Dreams.
The spells herein are Dream, Dream council, Dream scan, Dream travel, and Nightmare.
Cerio studies the book for a long while. The words seem to rise out of the pages, rising up around him like strange dunes of an otherwordly desert. Above, stars of inkiest black shine all wrong, as though they were trying to avoid being seen.
After a while Cerio appears again, holding the book in one hand at his side and scratching his ear with the other.
"So this here rit'ul pulls th' dreams right outta a person, shapin' 'em into a piece 'o coal or dreamstuff or somethin'. But it can also pull monsters outta the world o' dreams! I figure this Tatterman mighta come outta Zandalus's own dreams, then run amok once he got out. Lowls and Losandro were dealin' with some right scary stuff!"
"Anyway, this hypnotism stuff don't seem too complicated, though. Seems purdy straightfoward, really."
Winter nods slowly. Hmmm...well, that would explain a bit. Part of why we were sent to this area is that Lowls has been shirking his duties at Count of Versex - which are considerable. He's been out of the public eye for some time...perhaps his interest in these odd rituals is the cause. She nods again, this one fast and resolute. Another reason we must get to Thrushmoor. Perhaps we can question this Count ourselves.
You head out into the retreating mists, and even the feel of fresh air on your face is nearly enough to make you scream in delight. The darkness is gone, and mists are almost so. Though the sky is gray and cloudy, the faint light filtering through the clouds is blissful.
You see no sign of the Tatterman, and do indeed see that you are on an island. There's a long dock that heads down to the shores of the river at the south end of the island. There's a boat there, but it can carry no more than a dozen or so per trip.
Cerio "volunteers" to be one of the first to escape the godsforsaken island. "Let's go look ahead 'n see if this fog's made it ont' land."
I worry about the Tatterman coming at these people while we are gone. But leave we must nevertheless.
Do you want to bring anyone with you who can ferry back and forth, should you find it safe and want to get people off of the island?
Ulfric looks the situation over. "We should take some willing people with us. We can get across and have them wait while we scout the area where we land. If we don't comeback they will be able to return with the boat here to help the others leave the island. No point in stranding them here."
Campus is the first on the boat. Row me T'eron.
York, the "Captain" of Winter's forces seemed a bit eager to come with you out into the mists - perhaps because he sees these people as his personal charges. Maybe he could accompany you?
Campus shrugs. It wasn't up to her. She already had her spot on the boat, after all. A most un-cleric-like thought, she had to admit. Neither did she get up.
You board the boat and begin the tense voyage over the choppy waters. The fog blanketing the area seems like...well, fog - not a sickly yellow mist as you've grown to know and fear. The voyage is dark and meandering, and you often hear strange, far off sounds in the mist that are difficult to attribute to any sort of fauna that you know of.
Still, your voyage is uneventful, and your ship comes to a long pier, among a few piers of its like, that leads up to what look like a few small stalls that show advertisements for various "Catches of the day." It seems...normal...dismal perhaps, due to the clinging fog and darkness, but normal. You see people standing in the stalls, and one older fisherman who seems to be hauling his catch off of his boat for inspection by one of the purveyors.
Ulfric gets out of the boat and looks around. Not quite trusting his senses he casts detect evil, making sure to scan over every person he can see.