Broom peeks over the journal. "Zandalus is the cult leader who might have something to do with whatever is going on. We were looking for him, weren't we?"
She finishes reading the page "So... we were traded to the doctor by the count in exchange for a set of books that were supposed to cure Zandalus of his nightmares? We wonder what was inside the book." She looks up at Xander "Do you think the Chain of Nights is in here somewhere? If it was supposed to help Zandalus, maybe it can help all of us get our memories back." She called over to Cage who was inspecting the shelves "See if you can find one called the Chain of Nights"
Broom looks back at the doctor in the centre of the room "She seemed to genuinely want to help everyone. We wonder why the Count had us in the first place."
At Rope's wordless suggestion, Broom asked "What will happen to the rift you were talking about if she dies? Is her body holding the mist inside? Won't it all get out if we kill her?"
"I don't think any of us can definitively know what will happen if she dies. But there is a reasonable chance that it would stop the rift."
While Xander examines the contents of the drawers, Cage pokes around on the shelves, looking for anything of interest.
Mounted on the wall near the marble desk, where the person sitting behind it could see them just by turning their head, is a set of six small but powerful images sketched with coal upon torn parchment and set in fine frames. They depict eerie vistas of an endless, empty city under a sky of whirling mist. In the corner of each, a delicate copperplate records a year from 4708 to 4715 and the name Ulver Zandalus. The images feel familiar, and it doesn't take Cage long to realize the sketches look quite similar to the city in the shared nightmare he experienced with the others.
On the bookshelves, Cage finds a number of interesting and modestly valuable curios, including a brain-shaped sculpted wooden box, bookends depicting twin screaming and crying figures, and a brass sculpture of an Osirian pyramid. They look like they could be worth some money, anywhere but here.
The books on the shelves mostly look like dense medical texts and treatises on mental illness.
"I don't think any of us can definitively know what will happen if she dies. But there is a reasonable chance that it would stop the rift."
Xander continues to examine the magical trinkets as he talks, recognizing the incense as incense of open thoughts and the talismans as a greater talisman of beneficial winds, and lesser talismans of healing power and warrior's courage.
"Holy cow! I thought that nightmare city was something I made up in my head, but this makes it look like this Zandalus guy has seen it as well."
Cage turns over the curios in his hands.
and scans the titles of the books.
"Hey, these talisman's might be kind of useful," Pouch remarks. He holds them up to whoever might want them giving a brief description.
His interest is definitely piqued by the medical texts and he heads over to take a look.
"Rope" looks back and forth between Pouch and Broom. She frowns, as if it isn't clear to her what will happen, but thinks the chance to close the rift is worth the risk. She grips her axe more tightly and stands protectively near the elven archer, silently encouraging her to shoot the administrator out of her misery.
"Well, when you're all done looking around, what should we do about the doctor? The woman she used to be is gone, and it might be best to..." Miniel trails off as she nervously draws and examines a few arrows. She's not quite sure what the Dawnflower would think, but she's pretty sure that ending the suffering of this thing is the best route. It doesn't seem to have moved or acknowledged the people moving around it, but, given its survival instincts, would it fight back?
Broom looks at the doctor again "If you are sure there is no way to save her, then We guess this would be the right thing to do."
Broom has a look of concern on her face as she steps behind Pouch, just in case something happens. As she does so she whispers "May We have the wind talisman if nobody else wants it? It sounds like it might be fun when we get out of this place.?"
In addition to the dense medical treatises were a few remarkable texts: On the Treatment of Ambitions, Disappointments, and Regrets by Doctor Beaurigmand Trice, On Violent Sands by Doctor Henri Meirtmane, and a signed copy of Ailson Kindler’s Galdyce’s Guest: Feast of the Nosferatu. A quick guesstimate puts each book worth around 100 gold.
Cage additionally estimates each of the curios to be worth another 50 gold each, and thinks the drawings could be worth as much as 100 gold to the right buyer.
"I'm taking these pictures along in case we find someone who can tell us where or what is is." Cage says as he pulls them down and rolls them up.
"and these books look like they might be worth something and I'm not planning on leaving this nightmare empty handed."
"Well, we could try this magic incense? It might allow us to communicate with the doctor. But, again, I believe she is gone, and our best option is to see if ending her ends the crisis."
Broom's face brightens at Pouch's suggestion. She looks up at him with admiration "Do you think that would work? Everyone has said she is already gone."
She scrunches up her face in a look of determination "It doesn't matter, if there is a chance we can help her after everything she has done to help others, let's do it."
She looks around at the items that the group has collected "Do you think any of these is an incense burner? Maybe the pyramid thing? It looks like she kept her office in nice shape except for all the blood. It would be a shame getting ashes all over the place."
Seemingly bored, "Rope" steps to the journal and idly leafs through it herself, taking alternating long and short breaths: deep and then shallow, as if managing a nagging pain. "This book she mentions, The Chain of Nights--" huff, huff-- "she says it tells how to remove recurring dreams and dispose of them. She wanted to try this out on someone named 'Zandalus'. Maybe--" huff, huff-- "her experiment went wrong, and that turned her into this, what did you call it? Oneirogen?"
"So we're going to burn this powder, breath the smoke, and then we'll talk to each other with our minds?" Cage asks the others, making air quotes with his fingers as he says the part about talking with our minds.
"Sounds great! Somebody light up the bowl....."
Broom, who was in the process of getting an iron pot out of her magic pack, stopped for a moment and looked up at Cage as the way he emphasized his statement made her suddenly realize something.
Her face slowly lit up with an enormous grin. "If our minds can all talk to each other, maybe we can all be Broom!".
Excited by the possibility, she continued to set up the makeshift brasier with renewed enthusiasm. After carefully setting up the iron pot on the desk she took a blank page of paper and meticulously shredded it, trying to keep all the pieces as even as possible. She made a little paper nest in the pot which she proceeded to light with a flint and steel.
When the kindling finally caught, she stepped back, barely able to contain her excitement.
She looked over to Pouch "We are ready!"
Pouch places the incense on the little pyre Broom has set up. "Hmm, perhaps this will unlock some of our pasts," he mutters to himself.
After a few seconds the incense starts to smoke, quickly filling the room with a smell everyone would swear was different. Each person smelled something that lifted their spirits, reminding them of better times. The scent brought back the memory of a time they were truly content, truly happy. Later on, they would all realize that none of these suddenly unlocked memories happened within the last five years.
This didn't last long, though. Each person in the room slowly realized they could see the thoughts of their compatriots, hear what they were thinking. As soon as everyone was focused on this strange phenomenon, the stray thoughts and happy memories coalesced into a singular image- all of them, each one, dirty, in tattered clothes, chained together and manacled at hand and foot. More people were in front and behind- strangers, some who felt familiar and others who were clearly not, some hard eyed and others crying, adults and children, families and singles. They were all shuffling forward on hard-packed dirt toward a tall stage, where a gnoll in yellow was barking out prices as he auctioned off a crying human girl.
"Yeah .... I remember some now .... there was a girl named Amelia and we were in love....."
as the scene shifts to the slave market in the strange city:
"I feel like I should know where this place is....."
Broom excitedly breathed in the smoke and waited for something to happen. The vapours smelled like freshly tilled soil just after a light spring rain. The accompanying memory confused them though.
...
The sun was warm as they rested after the morning's work. There was someone still doing chores around the corner of the small shack. Just knowing they were there made Broom feel good. Suddenly, a brilliant multicoloured arc lit up the sky and they... no, that wasn't right. Part of them? One of them felt a sense of wonder?
"Its beautiful!" was one of her thoughts, accompanied by the feeling of awe.
"I don't understand. Simply refraction of white light" was the other thought, devoid of emotion.
"I don't know what that means, but its pretty anyway."
"Why does this fascinate you?"
The happy part of Broom ignored the question and basked in the moment while the other part of Broom mulled over and contemplated why a splash of colour in the sky made this any more special than any other time.
...
"That was strange"
"That was strange"
Broom's thoughts had two tones to them. One was full of excitement while the other a flat monotone, yet they both spoke in unison.
"That implied that We may have once been like Harrow"
"That sounded like We might have been like Harrow"
"We wonder why We weren't Us back then"
"We wonder why We weren't Us back then"
The moment of confusion and contemplation was washed away as Broom became aware of the thoughts of everyone else. One of the voices became ecstatic while the other took on a slightly inquisitive tone.
"This is great! We can hear all of you!"
"This is fascinating. We can hear all of you."
As the vision proceeded, despite the misery being depicted Broom's thoughts kept straying back to the tattered apparel and overall disheveled appearance of the captors. The fact that she couldn't fix everything was taking as much a toll on her as her own captivity was.
As the vision faded and the new one took its place, Broom's mind cast about, touching on alien minds in a search for where this might be, and she found one.
...
The stranger's thoughts filtered through her mind. It was at the market, looking to purchase slaves. They were cheap and plentiful here, and with the moon and tides in alignment tomorrow this was the last opportunity it had to fill the remaining space in its hold before sailing back to Leng.
Its contact stepped out from the shadows, it was difficult to see due to the darkness. Just as they began talking to arrange a price, the thoughts slipped away.
...
"Oh no! That was it! That was the same place as the vision! But We still don't know where that is."
"That was unfortunate. That mind was in the same place as the vision. But there wasn't enough information to determine its location."
The smell of old books had always been his favorite. Xander was in a library at the famed Lepidstadt University. Mostly he worked as a servant, but that was only a ruse, necessary to bring him here. When he wasn't actively working, he was in the library, studying.
He devoured books (not literally) on almost every subject: history, magic, religion. His curiosity burned insatiably, and with it, the feeling of superiority over others. He may not be stronger or faster than many of the actual students, but he led a life of the mind. And wasn't that better than all their petty concerns.
As the interplay of the thoughts of everyone else in the room began to intrude on his happy memory, he saw the horrible auction scene, as though looking at himself in the third person. Try as he might he had no memory at all of that event. What could have brought me to such a lowly state?!
Although he had no memory of the place, he knew from his research that it could only be one place: Okeno, the slave markets.
Unlike the others, Miniel has no happy memory to be dredged up. Instead, her thoughts drift about, as old, unknowable faces and places flash about, eventually settling on the same unsettling image as the rest. A slight sense of panic flares up in her as she thinks, ...what...is going on?
The group didn't have much time to concentrate on the slave market, because their shared thoughts- memories?- were being buffeted by a torrent of negative emotion and painful, embarrassing, horrible thoughts. It poured out of Administrator Losandro like a fountain, every unhappy, angry, jealous, selfish thought and memory the woman had ever had, flailing at the survivors like the outer edge of a massive rainstorm.
"...you're a failure..." It was a man's voice, loud and commanding.
"...never amount to anything..." A woman's voice, stern and disapproving.
"...I was wrong..." Another woman's voice, quieter this time, full of sadness and weariness. Was that the Administrator's own voice? Was she still alive in that whirlwind of fear and failure and despair?
Laura ("Rope") gasps, her eyes widening as the flood of memory takes her. She sees her mother-- she is sure it must be her, though she can't make out her face-- carrying her through a dark forest. It is nighttime and her mother is singing, a soft and low lullaby. Laura remembers snuggling closer, and it strikes her from somewhere outside herself that she must be only five years old. A flood of emotion washes over her, and as she tries to tamp it down she feels the odd sensation of a twin feeling, an external entity that is close to her and is also experiencing the great love of a parent. She is not sure how it is possible that she feels this double emotion, or where it comes from.
Her heart hardens as her perspective changes to the sight of all of them disheveled and beaten, standing up on the block for sale. She glowers, angry to see herself reduced to such a state, and her rage begins to build with a similar echo from that other place. Shocked, she frantically cries out "Calm yourself!"
For a brief moment, there is a nagging feeling in her brain that she recognizes something about this gnoll barking orders, but it flits away as she is overcome by emotion.
"I don't think this lady is going to talk to us, either with her mind or the normal way." Cage says.
"If there's a chance that whatever happened to her caused what's going on outside, I'd say we have to deal with her."
With that, he approaches her with intention of punching her to knock her out.
(power attack)
(non-lethal)
Broom's attention is focused back on the Doctor when the emotions and thoughts start emanating from her.
"Doctor? Doctor Losandro? Its Us! The ones you were trying to help! Can you hear Us?"
"Doctor? Doctor Losandro? Its Us. The amnesiac patients that were placed in your care. Can you hear Us?"
Laura ("Rope") wrenches her mind away from the vision. "Cage? What happened?"
By the nature of the magical vapours, Broom's sincerity for her concern over the doctor's condition was evident.
She looked to Pouch and implored him
"Please help! We need to get through to her! There is still something there!"
"Please assist Us. We need to draw out what may be left of her mind. There are still memories that may be of value."
The swirling, overwhelming storm of thoughts continued to rage at the group.
"...crackpot..."
"...alone..."
"...so naive, never should have taken that deal..." That may have been in response to Broom's plea but it was very hard to tell. In any case, the negative emotions and memories continued to pour out of the woman even as Cage waded through the prismatic fog with the intent of knocking her out.
Miniel flinches as familiar thoughts and feelings rage through her mind. In response to Broom's attempts to communicate, the elf calls out, "This is not the doctor, it's what's left of her memories. End it."
Broom continues to talk exclusively through the telepathy granted by the incense. The vapours also convey her mixed sense of naive hope and cool practicality.
"But even if its just her thoughts, we might find out something about ourselves!"
"Even if only her thoughts remain, we might find out something about our current situation.
The hopeful part of Broom is trying to be somewhat deceptive. She is more concerned with trying to save the doctor than whatever the doctor's thoughts hold.
The practical part of Broom is being more forthright, being more concerned with the information she might contain than with the doctor's possible safety.
"There is no more incense, this is the only chance we have"
"There is no more incense, this is our only opportunity"
She turns back to Pouch
"Please?"
"Please"
Pouch rubs his chin distractedly. He shakes his head as he turns to Broom. "I'm afraid, my dear(s), we're left in a situation in which we will have to experiment. I'm sure that if she can be knocked unconscious, then Cage can make it happen. Whether or not that fixes the problem, we will have new information on her condition either way." He watches with intensity as Cage walks up to clock her. "I'm not even entirely certain she/it CAN be knocked unconscious." Trying not to look away to much, he picks up one of the pieces of parchment lying around and starts to take notes.
Broom's disappointment was palpable through the vapourous link.
"We really thought you would help us"
"We really thought you would help us"
She said despondently.
She turned back to the doctor and tried to call out to her one last time in an attempt to get a reaction before Cage knocked her out.
"Doctor! We know you are still there. You tried to help us, now you need to tell us how to help you!"
"Doctor. We know fragments of your memories are still present. If you wish to continue helping us you need to tell us how to help you."
Broom gives up with an audible sigh. The disappointment fades as her cooler aspect becomes a little more dominant and her mind begins to wander.
"Do you suppose the strange scar on Rope's stomach is a portal to somewhere else with something looking through it?"
"Do you think Rope's strange stomach scar is a portal to somewhere else with something watching us through it?"
With no one supporting Broom's argument, Cage steps forward through the swirling fog and hits Administrator Losandro hard on the jaw. The woman immediately slumps to the floor, unconscious. The strange multicolored fog quickly dissipates, leaving just the blood on the floor and the unconscious woman to remind the group of what had happened.
They barely noticed when it started, but the yellow mist somehow seeped into the windows of the convalescence rooms, tinting everything that weird, sickly yellow-green. All three of the survivors' memories were weirdly fluid, like they'd forgotten what exactly they were doing. Des couldn't remember how long she spent looking at that chess piece and couldn't remember when or where she'd dropped it, but she knew she didn't have it now.
But all three of them knew what they were doing now- running. The Tatterman had come back, and he tore through them as easily as he had before. Rostam, brave and true, had tried to stand before the yellow horror, yelling for them to run. The haloed paladin was nearly decapitated before anyone else could even react. Ash and Duke stood with Rostam, but both man and dog were dispatched with barely any effort on the monster's part. Goggle Boy, confused, had dashed off down the corridor at the first sign of trouble, but the Tatterman followed him and was back almost before the sound of the body hitting the floor.
Adelar, Bisartis, Campre, Des, and Reine all ran. Down the hallway out the door and into the fog. Going into the fog was a mistake.
The Tatterman swooped down on the survivors like a hawk catching a sparrow, grabbing the trusty orderly and dragging him screaming off into the fog. His cries for help and screams of pain drowned out even the weird hunting cry of whatever huge shape it was that flew overhead, up high in the yellow sky.
The four remaining survivors made it into the questionable safety of the front building and dashed for the chapel, but the Tatterman blew in through the front doors, trailing yellow fog and a pair of impossible, horrible, mewling creatures with no legs and too many eyes. The way to the chapel was cut off and Bisartis turned to make a stand at the library doors.
Adelar, Des, and Reine ran on. There was nothing to do but run. Bisartis's death gurgle was clear even over the stamp of their boots on the floor.
Through the library, down the hall, and they barreled into an opulent office where another group was already assembled. It looked like there was no other way out than the way they'd come in. No more running.
Here they would have to make their stand. But at least they'd have help.
" We have to hold the door!"
The man's voice was sharp, an order cracked out like would have been over the din of a battlefield. His Galtan accent continued as he drew the heavy, darkened blade at his hip and faced where he and the two woman had just barreled in from. The sword itself was anointed with prayers and sigils dedicated to The Inheritor herself, and the silver sword of Iomedae swung from his neck as his chest heaved.
" Some, some thing chased us here," he explained quickly, eyes twitching as he kept his senses sharp for the approach of The Tatterman.
" Yellow and demonic, like nothing I've ever seen. Killed ... Gods, killed many as easy as breathing. We barely made it."
He was out of breath but forcing himself upright, redden mane soaked with sweat and matted to his skull. With frustration he pushed it back out of his cerulean eyes, his body language encouraging the occupants of the room to get behind him and the shiny mail he wore: mail coated in sticky, crimson blood - the tell-tale sign of lives given so the trio could have made it this far.
But now there was nowhere left to run. No means to escape. Fight, or Die, then.
Just like in Mendev, he told himself, steeling his soul and body for the fight to come.
" Can you fight?" he asked of the assembled, barely having time or the focus to take them in, his attention split between the door and the memories of the chase.
They hadn't even had the chance to scream ...
" It pursued us here. We've no retreat now, no recourse but to drive it away. Mes condoléances for dragging you into this, but we either stand together or die here."
His teeth ground hard together, a hand tightening on the grip of his paladin's sword.
" And by The Light of The Sword, no one else will die whilst I still draw breath."
He glanced briefly over his shoulder, taking in the room's occupants quickly. He nodded, both in sympathy for dragging them into this horrid nightmare and in solidarity for what was to come.
" I am Adelar. Très heureux."
They hadn't even had the chance to scream...
The thought ricocheted through Desdemona's mind, both perfectly rational and weirdly unlike any of her own thoughts. The rest of her mind was bent on running - she had lit off like a nervous rabbit at the first sign of the fox when the Tatterman appeared again. Her life since waking - no, since before that - in the asylum had been drawn in the red and black tints of terror; she had no room in her head or heart for more than already filled it. Thus, when the Tatterman came, she hadn't screamed.
She had only run.
The people she knew were cut down on every side - history will forever repeat, the sly and soul-knifingly terrifying darkness told her, violating even the sanctity of her own mind - and now here were strangers... well, Reine and Linweigh and a group of strangers...
The strangers, staring. The hideous wisps of yellow mist, dissipating. The tang of copper in her throat. Tickling warmth upon her cheeks. She touched her face, fingers coming away red and sticky from spatters gone unnoticed til now, unaware of when, exactly, she had stopped running. Her face, wan and almost ghostly, but still lovely even in the depths of her fear, turned to each of the strangers as though about to inquire of them their names and business. She took several steps toward them...
Then her eyes rolled back, and she folded to the floor, fingers still clutching the lantern she carried as she fainted.
Cage is momentarily pleased with himself as the doctor slumps to the floor after his punch.
Then a group of strangers bursts into the room as if being chased by something.
"Lookout!!!" he cries to his companions as he turns, setting himself in a wide stance and drawing his sword.
The taller of the two women - beautiful, despite the blood splattered over her pale face and dark clothing - looked angry, more than anything else.
They hadn't even had the chance to scream.
"I'll make him scream," she muttered - vowed?
She glared around the room, looking for exits, cover, something to help in the coming fight. Then the smaller woman fell to the floor, and the look of anger was quickly replaced by concern.
"Des!"
How do I know that's her name?
The taller woman knelt next to the fallen, and was reaching towards her when a man yelled a warning.
In an instant, the tall, thin woman had her bow drawn back, an arrow on the string, and was scanning for threats.
It was noteworthy that her scanning did not include looking at the door they had entered, but instead, her gaze - and her weapon - roved over the strangers in the room.
Broom stares is surprise at the intruders for a moment before coming to her senses with an arrow pointed in her general direction.
She steps behind Pouch and a viscous black liquid begins pooling in her hand.
"Its the people from our visions. Is this place manifesting our memories?"
"Its the people from our visions! Are they real?"
Broom still doesn't speak. She is oddly comfortable communicating with just her thoughts through the magical smoke.
Laura-- Not Rope, she thinks, Laura? Laura, is that my name? She sees the figure in chains and the same person younger in her mother's arms, and nods to herself, Laura. Laura is startled as the newcomers burst into the room, and threateningly brandishes her axe, growling in a low voice. A nagging feeling at the back of her brain tells her that these people are familiar, that she has seen them before, and she pauses before swinging.
"Careful.... these may be more dopplegangers." John says as he keeps his sword raised in guard position.
"They showed up right when I knocked the doctor out. Maybe they were sent here to stop us from bothering her."
"Visions? Dopplegangers? Doctor? What madness do you speak!?" Adelar shouted, sparing a glance back from the Door to the group, becoming increasingly aware that weapons were leveled at this back.
" The only thing being sent here is what is outside this door - rotting flaxen and made of all of Hell and Abyss!"
There were words dancing in his head, a swimming, drowning sensation that threatened to overwhelm his senses. One had already fallen! Had she been struck?
" Medic, medic see to her," he demanded with a familiarity to the situation that his movements did not emulate. As if he were less in a strange library and more in a warzone.
Are They Real?
The question again assaulted his thoughts, making his eyes water. He shut them tight, shaking his skull to force the answer out.
" Real, real, of course I'm real! Are you? This place casts mists and shadows over hale eyes. Maybe you're the dream and I'm the sleeper, oui?"
His grip upon his Iomedaean blade never lessened, but he kept it facing towards the door, away from the group at all times.
Must save them, his inner voice told him, Must uphold my vow. Yes. No other recourse. Die to the Yellowed Tatters that they might live, if need be. Nothing less. Inheritor Guide Me.
As he tried to draw upon the strength of Iomedae, however, there was a sudden hollowness in his head and heart. A hole that opened and refused to fill. In shock, Adelar dropped his blade, the cold iron clattering on the floor as he gripped his holy symbol so tightly that a thin stream of blood began to run down from his palm.
Where ... Where is She? Where is The Light ..?
His thoughts were a muttered fear, his heart aghast at realizing something intrinsic to his self and memory had been severed. Trembling, he scooped up his sword again with a shaking hand, swallowing the lump in his throat as he kept his guard against the door.
" I ... I Implore you," he choked in a wavering voice, forcing the courage back into his tone, a courage he suddenly did not feel, " We are all in grave danger. We can either cut one another down, or we can stand together, survive, and sort this out afterwards."
"Oh, for-" The taller woman cut off her epithet, took a deep breath, and really looked around the room. Her eyes narrowed.
"You all are standing around a body lying in a lake of blood, and we're the possible dopplegangers?"
She relaxed the tension on her bowstring, put the weapon on the floor, and went back to examining her unconscious companion.
"Even dopplegangers wouldn't be stupid enough to expect us to fall for that."
She tried to focus on the smaller woman, but something was... off. Dizzying. The smoke in the room, she realized, it was... different. Angrily, she waved it away from her face, but it was too late.
"Is this a trap?" Did her thoughts echo? She thought she'd heard them echo through the room. "Wait, why am I not worried about... Something? What did he say? Wait. Do I know him? I feel like I know him. But... what am I not...? Something after us... right?"
Then, like a gong, the thought rang out:
"TATTERMAN!"
Once again, the tall woman grabbed up her bow, and she spun to face the door.
Laura squints suspiciously and allows her gaze to shift to the door, in case there really is some sort of threat approaching. "Adelar?" she asks in a businesslike tone, "Laura." She indicates herself, and then looks at the others to include them in this revelation.
Then she raises an eyebrow at Desdemona. She approaches the prone form cautiously, and quickly and efficiently looks her over.