"Gahhhhh....." John stammers as the weird shadow detaches from Des and smashes the little rats.
Distracted, he misses the approach of the two giant rats that jump out to menace him. Recovering, he quickdraws his sword and then lashes out with his sword in his right hand and the armored gauntlet on his left.
The sword slices past the rat on the right, missing high, but the gauntlet crashes down on the leftmost rat.
(pwr attack, twf)
John missed the rat on his right but crushed the skull of the one on his right, dropping it to the floor.
John slashes and punches at the remaining giant rat.
(pwr attack, twf)
Rostam casts Bless to aid the party, his halo pulsing and the air around him undulating slightly.
Xander has decided that he really hates rats. He picks up a rock and fits it into his sling, moving to where he might be able to get a shot soon.
Miniel once again can't get an angle to shoot, so she stays put with her holy scimitar drawn, ready to chop in case an enemy comes through the door.
John punched and stabbed but the huge rat hopped away from his attacks. Another pair of magical missiles streaked out of the chasm to explode into Desdemona's chest.
"Wait.... is there a wizard in the hole?" John asks after the magic missiles fly out.
Desdemona cried out as the first blasts hit her, and in her mind, there was a moment of blessed, confusing silence.
Then the second wave hit, knocking her right off her perch.
Raising her hand from her chest, she stared without comprehension at the blood on her fingers. "What-" she croaked.
Her snaking and snakelike shadow flowed over the second large rat, mainly because it was in the way of the lip of the chasm from which the magic missiles had sprung.
Holy crap. The dicebot is ANGRY. :P
Defense:20% miss chance in normal light, 50% miss in darkness. Immunity to death effects, disease, and poison. Evasion.
Offense:
Reach10'. Melee attacks affect incorporeal creatures as if it had the ghost touch weapon property. The eidolon’s melee attacks deal only half damage to corporeal creatures.
???!!!
There were just so many people crammed into the doorway that Broom couldn't see what was going on once the rats started boiling up from the pit. Confused and uncertain about what to do, she hesitated until she suddenly saw Des tagger back fro blasts of magic.
She rushed up and pulled her wounded friend away from the room.
Finally seeing something she can do, Miniel helps Mashiki pull Des out of the way and says a quick prayer, letting healing magic flow through the woman's wounds. As she does so, she feels a surge of power within her, refilling her magical reserves.
Desdemona's shadow battered the remaining huge rat but didn't kill it. It understandably skittered away and bit at the target that wasn't a freakish living shadow- John.
But it couldn't bite through John's armor.
After Rostam goes:
John slashes and punches at the wounded giant rat.
"Somebody tell me what's going on in that hole!"
(pwr attack, twf)
His gauntlet comes down on the rat with a satisfying crunch.
Desdemona gasped as Broom and Miniel dragged her away, leaving a trail of blood on the floor. Her eyes flew open in surprise when Miniel's healing magic coursed through her, and she sat up groggily, one hand outstretched toward the threat.
The shadow, on the other hand, wasted no more time on the rat, flowing toward the enemy that had revealed itself. Snaking across the floor, it stretched out with impossibly long arms, as though the light had burned low at sunset, reaching for the threat with serpentine speed.
Defense:20% miss chance in normal light, 50% miss in darkness. Immunity to death effects, disease, and poison. Evasion.
Offense:
Reach 10'. Melee attacks affect incorporeal creatures as if it had the ghost touch weapon property. The eidolon’s melee attacks deal only half damage to corporeal creatures.
John finished off the last huge rat and Desdemona's shadow slithered into the chasm to attack their tormentor. A grey haired ratling scrambled out of the crevasse, hands up. [b]"You wait, you wait! Surrender, I surrender!"[b]" He looked older than the ratlings they had all encountered in the library and he wore a very fine cloak held closed by an equally fine brooch.
Ratling- acted/moderate damage
"Good gods! Another talking rat!" John exclaims as he takes a step back.
"Oh! Wait! This is all just another misunderstanding!" Broom called, raising her hands to show the ratling that she was unarmed "We are sorry, We didn't mean to intrude. We were just trying to fill in this hole so that nothing could come out of it."
Broom stood up, now at ease. "We are so sorry that we killed your pets, this place has been so awful. Its too bad that everyone's first instinct is to attack."
"Why are you down in that hole? And how did you get there?" Xander demands. Then he takes a second to breathe so he doesn't sound quite so hostile. "Please understand, we are searching for answers in this place. Some terrible tragedy has happened that has monsters roaming the corridors of this, ummm, hospital. If you have any information at all, it could prove quite valuable to us."
Desdemona shrank back, both afraid of the dangerous ratling - and of what her shadow might do.
But it was once more the shape of her, stretching out long on the wall and mirroring her actions.
An unexpected surge of anger brought her to her feet.
"Why did you attack?" she demanded with the confidence of a noble wronged, not sorry at all for the dead rats, giant or otherwise. Her fingers twitched. She longed to destroy the ratling.
In some corner of her mind, she was astonished at herself.
"What do you mean 'this is an understanding'? There's no misunderstanding, that's a talking rat!" John replies to Mashiki.
"Yes! Just like Genny Two Tails. They just want to get home like we do." Broom says in earnest.
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"Quit talking back to it, you're encouraging it!"
"Rats aren't supposed to talk."
"Come on, it's a ratling, not a rat. Just as smart as you or me." With Des looking relatively healthier, Miniel stands up and moves back to the doorway. Realizing her sword is still in hand, she puts it away to be just a little less threatening.
The ratling flinched back from John every time he yelled, but kept his hands up and his focus on Broom once she revealed they shared a language. He spoke quickly, sounding frightened and excited to those who didn't speak the language of the depths.
He gestured down at the chasm.
It gestured at Rostam and the others who had tried to pull down the shelves and collapse the entrance to the bottomless chasm.
"Make it stop talking. Rats aren't supposed to talk."
"Hang on there, John. We might get some good information." He turns to Broom. "Alas, that's not a language I speak, but please, let us know what he's saying."
"This is where the Genny and the others came from, this is the hole that leads down to their home, but its collapsed now. Genny and the rest were sent to look for another way back, but if they couldn't find one this was their best chance of trying to dig back to their warrens. This guy was left behind to guard the hole until the others came back." Broom said breathlessly, getting as much out as she could to try and explain the situation before a fight broke out again.
"See? They aren't bad, they are just as trapped here as we are. He did promise to tell us stuff if we leave him alone."
She turned back to the ratling
The ratling looked fearfully all around, particularly at dark corners of the room and out into the gloomy hallway. He dropped his hands and took a few steps closer to Broom, taking an appraising look at John and Rostam, the most obviously martial of the group, then glanced quickly at Des and her shadow and curiously at Miniel, Xander, and Reine and hopped a few steps closer to Broom, dropping his voice conspiratorially.
He looked around at all the blank faces and shook his head. The ratling held up a hand to forestall John from attacking while he dipped a hand in his spell component pouch. He looked back at Broom.
"It's pointing at me!"
"Its Ok!" Broom said excitedly as she put out her hands to John to try and calm him down oblivious to how her own nervousness undercut her request for calm.
"He just wants to cast a spell that he says will allow everyone to understand him. He said something about the Shredman and Dreamkiller. You think that might be whatever is in the yellow fog?"
She looked at the rest of the group then back to John. "Is it ok if he casts his spell? If not, maybe we can use this again."
There was a subtle hint of anticipation in her voice as she pulled out a small square of cloth and unwrapped the formless lump within. Though a little charred on one side, it was the strange incense that had allowed everyone to speak to each other with their minds back at the doctor's office.
"Tell it to go ahead." John says to Broom.
to the rat: "Be warned little rat-thing, if you try something treacherous I will settle with you."
"Relax, John. I'll keep my eye on him."
The ratling cast a spell and then cleared its throat. "That should work." Everyone could now understand him.
"So, I will tell you what we've gathered from the books here and listening to people talk, and you will leave us alone, yes?"
"The Shredman is old. Very old. This island was once home to ancient folk. Humans who lived here before the demons came. Old, you see. They worshipped a host of gods- heroes, monsters, angels, demons, ancestors, spirits- all gods. But some gods had no mercy for them. No amount of sacrifice or prayer could satisfy these blood soaked... entities. It was a time of madness, a wild age of violence and murder. So a... creature came among them. A shepherd to keep them safe from demons in the dark. A king, yes? But not a king. A King."
The ratling hopped a couple steps closer to Broom and gestured for her to lean in. "They thought it was a spirit or an ancestor. It came in guises. Finally, though, it showed its face and came in glory. It came a yellow king. Do you see?" He dropped his voice to barely a whisper. "The King in Yellow." The disgusting creature clapped his hands over his lips and hopped back a few steps, eyes darting all around as if he expected to be attacked at any second. When nothing materialized, the ratling went on.
"They made their pact and It sent them a protector. A guardian to ward their minds and shield their dreams. A shepherd to keep away the wolves. All just for the price of their souls. Of course, they did not know the price. Some may have paid it anyway, but It made them think they were still worshipping their old gods." He shook his head. "It is a great manipulator, the greatest of liars."
"The Dreamkiller, the night hunter. Protector, shepherd, guardian." The ratling paused dramatically. "Intermediary. Gate and veil. Bloody handed murderer, assassin and slaughterer. You may have met him already." He laughed hysterically, clapping his hands over his mouth to stop himself. The ugly little creature looked absolutely mad with its hands over its mouth and its eyes practically bulging out of its head as it tried to keep the laughter in. After a moment it put its hands down and went on.
"Time passed and time passed and the Tattered Man was nearly forgotten. As time went on, a Kellid witch- the Briarstone Witch learned of the story of the Tatterman. She knew the Final Dream was a servant of It, one of the Outsiders. She knew because he was associated with one of her own foul gods - the Black Goat with a Thousand Young, the Mad Mother of Monsters. Seeking to use him as a tool, the Briarstone Witch roused the dream hunter. She discovered a foul ritual to raise him and the Tatterman walked and killed at her side as a loyal servant. Only mortal, eventually she died and presumably the Shredman returned to his demesne in the Dimension of Dreams."
"This island has always been a weak spot between worlds. Madness makes the veil between the real and the dream pull and tear. Sometimes things came through. Some minds, stronger or weaker than other minds, attract things. Dreamers, artists, thinkers- their creativity draws attention." He gestured north, toward the Administrator's office. "Then someone tried the wrong kind of magic and tore the veil aside." The ratling's voice was rising and gradually getting louder.
The ratling gestured vaguely all around, shifting nervously from foot to foot. "This? This is all a dream. We are in the dream hunter's world now. We're looking for a way back, but there's no hope." His grin grew wider and wider and turned manic as he started to jump from foot to foot. "Don't tell Two Tails, but I know where we are. We can't get back. Yellow mist outside, tunnels that lead nowhere underground. We're trapped. Trapped! And the Shredman hunts us like lambs in a pen!"
The ratling capered back and forth as he yelled and tore his hair. "No hope! No hope! The Tatterman's gonna kill us all! No way home! Trapped! We're trapped! Trapped in a dream with the dream killer!"
Broom bent down and listened to the ratling intently. As he became more and more hysterical she tried to calm him down "Its ok! Its ok, we are going to find a way out.". She had a weird urge to pick him up and pet him to calm him down, however this was tinged with a revulsion to the idea of actually touching him and also a realization that she didn't know anything about how he might react to the gesture.
"Maybe you could come with uhhh... We mean, maybe you ... could" Broom cut off her own sentence, catching John's glare. "Um, never mind" she whispered as she shrunk back under John's gaze before once more becoming emboldened. "See, they just want to get home like we do. He helped us, this is all very interesting, isn't it? We don't know what any of it means, but I bet Xander does!" she said, excited once more as she looked to the half orc.
"Here, have a little of this" she said, pulling a bit of food from her pack and placing it before the ratling. "If we find a way out of this dream, we will help you get out as well. Until then, we can leave you alone as promised. Right?" she said, looking to the rest of the group.
Miniel nods in agreement with Broom. "Come on, let's leave him be and go. We're not finished with this wing yet. And if what he says is right...well..." Her voice drifts off uneasily mid-sentence as she grabs at the holy symbol around her neck. At least, even if this was all a dream world, the Dawnflower was still here with her.
"That's the craziest thing I've ever heard." John says after listening to the rat chatter on about witches, dreams, gods, and yellow kings.
"I don't care what you say little rat, I am going to find a way out of here."
"Let's explore the rest of this place. There's bound to be someone who knows how to put things right."
"Let's assume for the moment that these are the ravings of a mad man, at least until we have no other choice. If he's right, the evidence will assuredly reflect his hypothesis." Xander paces back and forth. "If he is correct, and we are, perhaps, in a dream realm, then perhaps there is a passage back. If the veil is thin on one side, it stands to reason it should be thin on the other, yes?" He really hopes the ratling is wrong... very wrong. As he paces, he starts thinking furiously, trying to recall anything he might have read about a king in yellow or dream hunter.
With that roll I'm just gonna give you the whole blurb about the King in Yellow. As with many of the Great Old Ones, Hastur is imprisoned on a distant world. Yet unlike most of the imprisoned Great Old Ones, Hastur can manifest an avatar on other worlds as long as the light from the strange star in the sky of his prison world shines upon the targeted portion of the second world. He requires the assistance of powerful magic in order to manifest this avatar, known as the King in Yellow, but such magic need not be consciously wrought.
His cultists are masters of subtle magics that can trick unsuspecting victims into opening the way for the King in Yellow. Hastur’s symbol, the Yellow Sign, is often used in conjunction with such magic, and often those who find the Yellow Sign become doomed to host the King in Yellow in their own minds, slowly transforming into his agents. Some of
his followers regard him as a patron of shepherds, believing that the bulk of humanity are but sheep to be gathered for an unknown future use.
None know what Hastur looks like, for he has been imprisoned far longer than mortal life has existed. Those he takes as avatars when manifesting as the King in Yellow appear as entities clad in what seem to be frayed and tattered yellow robes. Only upon closer inspection are the “robes” revealed to be the creatures’ flesh, and what lies hidden under the darkened hoods is horror incarnate.
Bolded to remind you that this is what the Tatterman looks like.
Since you rolled so high I'll also throw something about the Great Old Ones. This is a taboo subject among arcane and religious scholars, so Xander must have read a lot of really restricted books to know this much. Along with Hastur, Xander knows the names of a few other Old Ones- Azathoth, Bokrug, Cthulhu, Mhar, Nyarlathotep, Shub-Niggurath, Tsathoggua, Xhamen-Dor, Yog-Sothoth. Even among those who know this subject, speaking their name is considered foolhardy.
The gods of Golarion are diverse and varied, and while some are newcomers to the ranks of the divine, others date back millennia. Some of those worshiped when the first architects of Azlant were drawing up plans for their nascent empire are still venerated today. But even in those early days, there were older gods whose existence dwarfed even those who helped shape the course of written history. These are the unimaginably ancient and inconceivably potent Great Old Ones, who in turn serve and worship the even greater Outer Gods. Scholars call these entities by many names, but on Golarion, their faiths and the entities themselves are known as the Elder Mythos.
The Great Old Ones and Outer Gods do not reside within the outer planes of the Great Beyond. Some visit or dwell in regions or dimensions adjacent to those distant planes, but the vast majority of those who make up the Elder Mythos dwell on the Material Plane. Yet they are anything but mortal. Death holds no claim over the Great Old Ones, who merely dream when defeated, waiting for another opportunity to work their wills once again when they inevitably waken. And the Outer Gods themselves have always been there. As far back as one dares to peer, evidence of their influence can be found.
Some scholars propose that the Outer Gods predate even the oldest of the gods, that they existed before time, and that they recall the birth of Pharasma, and thus the birth of life and death. Worshipers of the Lady of Graves regard these theories as blasphemy, yet the wisest among her clergy know better than to delve too deeply into such matters, for the truth may not be something even the staunchest of Pharasmin minds could bear to accept.
Cultists devoted to the Elder Mythos are often quite insane. As such, it is the cultists who most often threaten mortal affairs, not the gods themselves. And in the end, even the most faithful will succumb during those strange aeons when the stars are right and the Elder Mythos rules again.
The ranting, capering ratling let the party leave without further incident, distracted with his ravings and mad story. The group made their way back into Administrator Losandro's office and to the remembered door. The door opened onto a long, dark hall, empty except for the remains of smashed lanterns littering the ground.
Six doors led off the hallway, with the one to the east leading back into the dayroom that had held the river of blood.
John advances and checks the first door on the left for danger.
John didn't see anything obviously dangerous about the door and it seemed unlocked.
John puts a finger to his lips and motions for the rest to be quiet, then he carefully opens the door and looks inside.
Broom watched Xander with admiration as the half orc talked his way through his own thoughts. She wasn't certain what some of the words meant, but she was sure that given a little more time he would figure out what was going on and come up with a plan to get them all out of the dream.
As the group proceeded to the next door, she looked on with dismay at all the broken lamps. "Watch out for the broken glass" she warned John as he moved forward to investigate the doors.
While he checked the area for dangers, Broom conjured up the floating balls of light to illuminate the dark corridor in an effort to help John's investigation. She then pulled out her broom and quietly began sweeping the broken glass and debris off to the sides of the hall to clear the way for everyone else.
John quietly opened the unlocked door onto a dusty storage room full of racks cluttered with boxes and sprawling collections of haphazard junk. Straight in front of him, about 30 feet away, was a dirty, barefoot man in filthy, tattered yellow robes with a lantern on the shelf behind him. He seemed to be giving a lecture to a row of mismatched dolls.
John also heard, but didn't see, someone rummaging around through the junk to his right on the other side of a rack of boxes. He did see, though, light from another lantern spilling through the rack on his right.
Just as John was about to tell the others what was in the room, the lecturer glanced over and looked right at him. The dirty man looked at John, a surprised look on his face. "Uh."
"Stay right there...." John announces in a booming voice.
He extends his longsword with his right hand and watches carefully. He will respond to any hostile action on the crazy hobo-teacher's part by quick drawing a dagger with his left hand and throwing it at him.
(favored enemy)
The doll-lecturer reached out and grabbed a crowbar off the shelf next to his lantern and rushed John. "Aaaaaaaaa!"
"I warned him...."
Broom clutched her broom tightly as she was startled by the sudden sounds coming from inside the room
"What's going on up there? What did you see?" Miniel, at the rear end of the hallway, has no idea what's happening.