Felrin smiles grimly at the note, then turns his attention to the next test.
"I'll go first," Felrin offers, "as Cardinal Thorn named me First among us." With an unusual wry smile, he adds, "Though I'm quite sure that is not what he had in mind."
He draws a silken rope from his backpack and ties it around his waist, handing the other end to Erevan. "I'll be ten feet ahead or so, but I'll want you close enough to benefit from your sharp eyes. Two of us scanning for surprises will keep us all safer. And I'll keep calling on the blessing of the Dark Prince as we go."
Turning to face down the hall, he sketches a quick star on his chest with a long, bony finger, then moves into the hallway, cautiously making his way toward the far door. As he goes, he periodically scans for magic as well.
Felrin can see that the torch sconces appear to be part of some sort of mechanism, but it's not possible to determine what. Nothing detects as magical.
As Felrin and Erevan proceed down the corridor, they can see that the eyes have been cut from all of the figures in the paintings: you can see clearly through the holes in the canvas to the brickwork behind. With the flickering torchlight, it almost looks as if the people in the paintings are watching you with blank, red eyes.
The door at the far end of the corridor swings open noiselessly at your approach. From the doorway, you can see another perfectly square room, of the same dimensions as the one you left. There the similarities end. Where the previous room was paved with pink marble, this is old stone, badly-maintained and thick with dust and grit. Instead of torches, a single vast oil lamp hangs from the middle of the ceiling, casting a steady - if feeble - light into the room. On the left wall, the damp has evidently got in: there is a thick carpet of furry mold covering almost the whole of the wall. Patches of green and yellow, but the predominant colour of the mold is a brilliant purple. It almost appears to be pulsating in the light of the lamp.
The entire room is cold - cold enough that you can see your breath steaming in front of you. You can see frost on the side of the oil lamp: all along its left side. It doesn't appear to be melting.
Importantly, there is more than one door out. Directly ahead of you, there is a door. To your right, there is another door. Both doors look identical.
No mouth appears this time; instead you hear the voice, disembodied and muffled, as if coming from a distance.
As they reach the room, Erevan hears the disembodied voice, once again not understanding the meaning behind the strange words. It is not a language he knows, he easily understands that much, but it does annoy him somewhat, not knowing and relying on someone else to translate for him. And it is perhaps this annoyance, however little and brief, coupled with the thought that perhaps he should take the time to learn this infernal tongue if given the chance that distracts him from the task at hand just enough to not pay as much as attention to the room as he normally would.
"Fools indeed," the Doctor mutters to himself, eyeing the room warily as he follows the other two men. "I rather suggest staying away from those doors," he warns the others after eyeing the floor for a few moments. He then proceeds to study the fungus on the wall, from a distance, of course.
<--To identify the fungus.
Letting Felrin and Erevan lead the way, Etna walks down the corridor, narrowing her eyes at the paintings when she notices that the eyes have been cut off.
Eerie. I wonder the purpose of something like this...
Staying near the edge of the room like Tkaara, the ifrit shivers for the sudden change in temperature.
"I preferred the summer air from outside..." the woman mutters to herself as her hair lose some of their color, trying to find something odd in the room.
"Isn't it strange that there is frost on only one side of the lamp? The one that hasn't any door?" she asks to the party "And why do you say we should stay away from those, Doctor?".
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Suddenly realizing what Etna said, the once and future barrister pulls her cloak more tightly around her as she suddenly feels the cold seeping into her emaciated body.
It is cold. What do you think is causing it? Perhaps we need some fire to warm the place up. Tkaara pauses for a moment before continuing. Although that seems too simple for a test in this place.
Still focusing his attention on the fungal growth, Ottakar answers Etna's question distractedly. "The clue for this room indicated we are not to follow the herd. There are old many old tracks leading up to both doors, presumably left by said herd. Considering the nasty surprise waiting at the last apparent door, I think it is safe to assume that these are also trapped, and there is another secret passage to be found. As for the temperature differential..."
Felrin translates the spoken message for his companions, then studies the room ahead for a moment. "Lots of tracks in here, at least a dozen people came through here, but it was weeks ago if not longer," he points out. "I wonder if we're not the first group tested? In any case, all the tracks head for the doors, as you'd expect."
"Following the herd is for fools..." he mutters, then moves over to the left-hand wall and studies it, careful not to come in contact with the mold.
But the purple mold, the one that covers most of the wall? No idea.
As Felrin approaches the mold, even though he doesn't touch it, he apparently gets too close. He can tell, because the purple mold suddenly pulses much, much more quickly - and sucks most of the warmth from his body. It's not subtle; or pleasant.
Instantly the mold grows, feeding off his warmth - where previously there were patches of mold of other colours, there now aren't: the entire wall is one, homogenous, unbroken purple expanse.
Felrin has never been bothered much by cold, or intense heat. In fact, once, many years ago, a bolt of lightning struck a house near where he was walking. Most folks in the street complained of great pain from the lightning's energy, but Felrin scarcely felt a thing.
Unfortunately, this cold is unlike anything Felrin has ever experienced, but he finds he's able to resist some of the effects of it. He backs quickly away from the purple mold, saying, "Wow, that's cold! It seemed to drink the heat right out of me before it grew. I'd guess if we want to make it smaller, we need to make it colder...how do we do that?"
Resist cold 5, so only 8 hp taken.
Status: 13/21 hp
Ottakar shakes his head. "I have no such components upon my person. Why? Are you familiar with this variety of warmth-stealing fungus? Will cold, other than that which it obviously generates itself, kill it?"
You hear a slow handclapping from behind you.
"Well, dearest." Tiadora's voice is flat, giving nothing away. "Finding this a little too challenging, are we? Here."
She places three flasks on the ground: a vial of liquid ice, a vial of alchemist's fire, and a vial of acid. "One of these will not help you, one will likely get you killed and the other will get you through. But first, there is the matter of payment."
She walks slowly up to Felrin, ignoring the rest of you completely. It's as if you aren't here. "So." Now the dripping contempt and scorn are back in her voice. "So. You want to serve Him, do you?"
Her mouth twists into a cruel sneer as she grabs Felrin's left arm, twisting him off his feet and face-first into the cold stone floor. She spends the next few minutes slowly breaking some of the smaller bones in his left hand.
"Learn this lesson well: our Infernal Father"
*crack*
"does not"
*crack*
"tolerate"
*crack*
"FAILURE!"
*gristlegristlegristlegristlesnap*
With that, she vanishes, leaving behind the three flasks.
Her CMB beats your CMD so no need to roll for the grapple.
Felrin, you take points of ability damage, spread across Str, Dex and Con as you choose.
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I figured with the rather odd description of the lamp, that it was somehow magically enchanted to give off cold. Oh well, worth a try.
Tkaara cringes inwardly as Felrin's hand is mangled.
I will have to remember this when it is time for payback. Not that I care about the half-human, but it needs to be included in the pain that b!tch suffers as she is brought down.
Tkaara looks down at Felrin and helps him to his feet once the ice queen has left.
There is little that I can do for the injury she has caused. I think it will heal over time, but for now we will have to proceed with you at less than full strength.
Etna waits, silently, as Tiadora twists Felrin's hand, closing her eyes. Even if she doesn't look as the woman breaks the tiefling's bones, the sharp crunches still make the ifrit uncomfortable.
When the otherworldly being leaves, Etna moves to Felrin. "Can you still move your arm?" she asks with a tinge of apprehension in her voice.
Felrin has proven to be more than capable by now...our chances of success will get considerably slimmer if he can't fight.
After Felrin confirms that he's still (relatively) okay, the ifrit examines the three bottles. "I suppose that we should use this flask of Liquid Ice, yes? If that mold grew larger as it sapped Felrin's body heat, maybe it will shrink if we use this."
Winston whimpers when Tiadora appears. As soon as she disappear into thin air, the Basset Hound rushes to the tiefling on the ground.
Much more empathetic than his mistress, the dog licks Felrin cheek, waiting for the man to get up.
"Woof!"
'Further proof that only a fool would choose the mantle, nay, target that is the title of leader,' Ottakar thinks to himself. Despite being a trained healer, he spares not a moment's thought for the man's injuries; such trifles are most easily handled by magic.
He turns, instead, to Edna. "If I may, fraulein." He holds out a hand. "I have considerable experience with all things alchemical.
He hefts the flask in his hand, judges the distance to the mold-covered wall, and suddenly explodes into movement, hurling the arboreal liquid at the purple growth.
cold damage + 6 points cold damage within 5'
As the icy liquid hits the wall, the mold shrinks away from it, withering, blackening and falling to the floor and releasing a vile stench.
As it dies away, it reveals another door, this one set flush into the wall. As the mold clears back from it, you can see the mouth that spoke earlier; it speaks again, no longer muffled:
Felrin’s eyes widen in horrified amazement as Tiadora grasps his hand and begins to destroy the bones in his fingers. The pain is so sudden, unexpected and intense that words fail him, and he can only howl wordlessly as he struggles in vain to break free from her grip. In moments, the damage is done and Tiadora is gone. Felrin kneels on the floor, moaning and cradling his hand, ignoring the attempts of his companions to help him.
After a few moments, he lifts his head and says, in the darkest voice any have heard from him, ”She is mine. Some of you may wish to hurt or kill her, but she is mine. A day will come when I tear her apart with my bare hands, making it hurt as much as I can. And I’ll kill anyone who would deprive me of that.”
He reaches up with his good hand and accepts Tkaara’s assistance in getting slowly to his feet, giving her a nod of thanks. He tests his arm gingerly, then says to Etna, ”Yes, I can move it, though I don’t know how much use this hand will be when we get in a fight.” Flexing his hand causes him to grimace and grit his teeth in pain, and he shakes his head in cold fury – this pain will remind him of what Tiadora has done, and only strengthen his resolve to end her life one day.
Once the door is open and the message given, he lowers his hand and asks, ”That was two lessons? Don’t follow the herd, and be prepared for anything? Whatever they are, it means we’re through a third of our challenges.”
Ability damage spread: -2 Con, -1 Dex, -1 Str
Etna nods at Felrin, both at the state of his arm and his desire to get rid of Tiadora.
I doubt that someone will mourn such an unpleasant woman...
Standing near the newly appeared door, the ifrit waits for the others.
"May I?" Erevan moves towards the door carefully, keeping his eyes open for anything interesting or unpleasant even before he reaches it and certain as soon as he is close enough to open it. He seems quite unperturbed by Felrin's torture, but he does spare the tiefling First a look and a nod. Truth be told, he certainly does not mind being the First among his companions, especially if the position is accompanied by such... boons.
"Perhaps I should take the lead? Although I would not say no to the good doctor lending his own heightened senses to such an endeavor," he remarks casually as he examines the door, opening it after feeling certain that it will not blow up in his face or something along those lines.
"You will try," the Doctor murmurs to himself, fixing the idiot tiefling with a brief glare before moving to investigate the next room whilst slipping the remaining alchemical flasks into his bandolier.
The door is not trapped (as far as Erevan can tell); opening it reveals another corridor, much like the previous one, but shorter: perhaps only 20 or 30 feet in length. It too is lined with paintings, with the eye-holes removed.
The torches here are freshly-lit: as in still smoking off the pitch accelerant freshly lit (the reek of which drowns out anything else Ottakar might smell). You've seen no one. You've heard no one. But fresh torches burn, nevertheless.
At the far end of the corridor is a door. This door is not like the others. This door is a thing of metal, and bars, and bolts. Locks. Many locks. This is a door that states, very firmly, that there is a Right side and a Wrong side; and that anything In the Wrong side is not meant to get Out. Fortunately for you, you appear to be on the Right side: a large iron key dangles from a hook on the right hand side of the door.
As you approach, another devilish mouth appears in the centre of the door, speaking again in the Infernal tongue:
Etna nods to herself as she examines the door. "Well said. A certain someone we know could learn from that..." she comments, thinking back to how Tiadora acted the day before: while Felrin's punishment had a certain logic behind it, the woman's comment on the death of the doctor's wife was more than uncalled for.
"Do you think we are supposed to open this door? If that is the case, I suppose we should prepare for a fight..." the ifrit adds, eying the door from a distance.
You look at one another. You look at the door. The door (metaphorically) looks back at you.
The torches continue to burn.
Time passes.
Ignoring the key, Felrin approaches the door and studies the locks, trying to ascertain if there is some trick they have missed here. Using his many years of experience working with intricate machinery, he ponders the locking mechanisms of the door. He then turns his attention to the key and its hook, wondering if perhaps the answer lies there - though he's careful not to touch anything, given his recent experiences with such things.
"Found anything?" Etna asks to Felrin when he's finished with his examination.
Considering the recent events, a trapped door would not be too far-fetched of a possibility...best to be careful.
If the tiefling confirms that everything is in order and opens the door, Etna prepares to cast a spell in case anything in the room tried to charge them.
Taking a look of his own, Erevan finds that it is indeed a door with a lock and a key to that look. He still has his doubts though, looking at the offending object suspiciously.
Then, with a soft sigh and tightening his grip on his spear, he takes the key and uses it, unlocking and then opening the door. "I hope you do not mind," he says to Felrin, his tone and look jokingly apologetic.
The door (in common with all the other doors you've tried in this place) is not trapped and - once unlocked - opens easily.
The chamber beyond is dimly lit: no torches or lanterns burn here. A pair of iron braziers burns in each of the far corners of the room: their coals glow a sullen orange that does little more than pick out the various metal implements the room contains.
Foremost among these is a great iron rack, bolted securely in the middle of the room. A number of barbed hooks and chains dangle from the ceiling. On the far wall, between the braziers, a series of hooks hold metal tongs, shears, branding implements, pokers, knives, saws and other tools.
The smells of sweat, blood and fear are clearly in evidence, even to those of you who don't have the Doctor's keen scent.
The room holds two other things of immediate interest: on your right, in the centre of the wall is another door. It is open - perhaps only a fraction, but enough to let in a small chink of light from whatever lies beyond.
On your left, curled up in the corner, as far away from the braziers as he can manage, is a youth with a mop of ash-blond hair and wearing a tattered, dirty blue tunic. He has his face buried in his arms and appears to be in some distress. He hasn't noticed you yet.
Etna sighs when she sees the torture implements.
I really hope we don't have to use those:t he screams would probably get irritating. Now I wonder who are we supposed to use them on-ah!
When the ifrit notices the man curled up in a corner, she moves closer to him, trying to muster up her best soothing voice.
"Excuse me, is something the matter? What happened to you? You can tell me, I've no reason to hurt you..."
...for now. The mouth said something about punishing those who fails you: maybe we have to convince him to do something?
The youth jumps when Etna speaks and looks up, sheer unreasoning abject terror evident on his grubby tear-stained face. "No! Please - I - I didn't! I did what you said! I haven't moved - I -" He blinks and peers at Etna through the gloom, and looks confused. "Oh! I thought you were her, but you're not are you? Please? Please don't let this be a trick..." A few more tears leak from his eyes, and he wipes them with the bloodied sleeve of his left arm.
He can't be more than 14 or so: his voice hasn't broken yet.
Doing his best to regain some sort of composure, he sniffs, loudly, before speaking again. His voice is uncertain, but Etna's tone appears to have calmed him - for the time being, at least. Trying to focus on her in the minimal light from the glowing braziers (which he resolutely refuses to look at, by the way), he addresses the Ifrit. "Did you come to rescue me? Did my master send you? Did he come too?" The boy looks around, as hopeful as a puppy.
"Your Master?" Etna tilts her head slightly as she asks the boy "Do you mean Lord Thorn? Why did he left you here?".
Best hold on on our cards until we understand the situation better...then we'll know what, and how much, to tell this boy. I bet with her he means Tiadora (damn trollop): showing him that we aren't in friendly terms with her, too, could sway him to our side.
Felrin waits to hear the youth’s answer, wondering if they’ll find themselves using the ‘tool’ of cruelty on the boy before too long. Perhaps the boy will serve us in some fashion – this lesson said that service should be rewarded. We’ll see.
"I doubt this boy's master goes by the name of Thorn, Sir or Lord or otherwise," Erevan says as he approaches him, spear held more as an aid for walking rather than a weapon. There is a friendly, even warm, smile on his face as he crouches down, bringing his face level with the youth's.
"As my friend said, we are not going to hurt you," he says calmly. "We may even be able to help you. But first things first. My name is Erevan. What is yours? And who might your master be? And after acquaintances are finished, perhaps you can tell us what are you doing in this... unpleasant place?"
Erevan checks for any manacles or anything else restraining the boy, though he refrains from unlocking them just yet even if he finds any. Looking at Tkaara, he adds, "And perhaps afterwards we can do something about those wounds."
The youth looks in trepidation at Erevan's spear, but relaxes as Erevan speaks to him in a friendly manner.
"You are right, sir - Erevan. I do not know of any Lord Thorn and I do not serve him. I am Timeon of Ballentyne, squire-aspirant in the Knights of the Alerion."
Ballentyne is one of the forts of the Watch Wall, or the Accadian Line as it's known in scholarly circles. It guards the borders with the Savage North, where bugbears and other horrors lurk, according to the tales.
Doing his best to stand to something like attention while cradling his left arm, Timeon stands up (he isn't shackled). You can see that his blue tunic is in fact a tabard, with the Alerion arms: Mitran sunburst on a quartered field of azure and white.
He looks proudly at Erevan. "And my master is Sir Balin of Karfeld. But I don't know where he is!" He looks troubled again. "We were attacked by a witch-woman, who knocked me out. When I woke up I was here. She's strong - she broke my sword over her knee! She said I was here as a test and that I wasn't to leave, even though the door was open. She said if I so much as moved by the time she came back, she'd hook me to the ceiling and cut off my-" He flicks an embarrassed glance at Etna "and punish me." He gulps.
"Anyway, she said even if I left there were horrors through the door that would destroy me. She even listed them!" His composure temporarily fails him again and he sinks back to the floor. "Why has Mitra let this happen to me?"
The Doctor steps forward, the glow from the braziers reflecting weirdly off of his spectacles to hide his eyes. His teeth gleam in what could charitably be called a smile, but decidedly more predatory.
"Sir Balin, you say, boy? How... fortuitous. Tell us of these horrors; should your information prove useful, you shall be rewarded."
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Tkaara steps over and makes to examine the boy's arm and speaks with him as she does.
A woman attacked you and defeated the great inquisitor Sir Balin or Karfeld? Was this strange woman so powerful? Or is Sir Balin's reputation perhaps slightly exaggerated?
Diplomacy:
Heal: <-- nope, she never studied medicine
Timeon looks distinctly nervous at Ottakar's approach; looking to Etna and Erevan for reassurance, he frowns in thought. "She said... um... oh yes - there's metal snakes, and dead men who rise when the shrieker calls, and, um, the way out is a hidden door opposite the staircase. She said that the shrieker calls out when it sees light or movement. It's all a bit of a riddle, but I was so scared... I didn't see what happened to Sir Balin, but she's powerful: my sword just bounced off her! That was when she took it off me and broke it. Then she did this to my arm."
He proffers the injury for Tkaara's inspection. The boy's left arm is a mass of cuts, like claw-marks; the blood has dried but Tkaara can't determine any more than that. As Tkaara inspects him, her sleeve falls away revealing the runic "F" branded into her left arm; fortunately, Timeon is preoccupied with her question and doesn't notice. He frowns. "Sir Balin is very powerful, he caught some Forsaken and put them in prison! I hope he's escaped this place. I hope he'll come back for me if he has. Mitra help me, I've been so scared... I'm glad you are here."
He runs his good hand through his hair (he has had the same pudding-bowl haircut inflicted on him that most novices and aspirants have in common; perhaps it's a way of teaching humility, or shame, or something) and smiles hopefully at you. "Will you let me come with you, please? Don't - don't leave me here..." He looks at you, beseechingly.
In this light, he can't see much - but what will he see by torchlight? You are all branded with an "F" on your left arm and Felrin is clearly nonhuman and carrying a symbol of Asmodeus.
A shade of worry crosses Etna's face when the squire mentions Sir Balin, and when he almost sees the runic F on Tkaara's arm.
Here goes my hopes to resolve this as quietly as possible...maybe there's still a chance to convince him to go with us willingly: there are always the braziers, if that doesn't work.
"Yes, I agree. We should press on." the ifrit says to the squire and the others. "Felrin, could you please check if you can see what's in the next room without entering it? Wouldn't want to walk right into the mouth of any metal snakes, undeads, or other Mitra-forsaken fiends.".
"May I?" Etna asks the boy, while the tiefling peeks into the next room. After she mumbles a couple of arcane words and taps the squire on his shoulder, a spell cleans up some of the blood and dirt on Timeon's face and tunic.
"Better?" the ifrit asks with a friendly smile.
I really couldn't stand to watch something that dirty. Pah! To think that until a couple of days ago I were in much worse conditions than him...
Felrin keeps quiet as the lad explains who he is and who he serves. He’s not surprised to hear that Tiadora can hold her own in a fight, but the fact that she bested Sir Balin does catch his attention. As Etna suggests he make himself scarce, he quickly takes her hint, turning away from the boy and tucking his holy symbol inside his shirt as he moves.
Striding to the door that’s been left slightly ajar, he lines an eye up with the narrow opening and peers into the next room.
Felrin sees that beyond the door is another small corridor - little more than an antechamber, 10 feet by 10 feet. An oil lamp hangs from the ceiling, shedding a warm light. At the other end of the chamber is another door.