Katalin Szabo holds a barony in the land of Dorvinia, east of Borca. She is known as an accomplished wizard, but also as a cruel mistress. Peasants invoke her name to frighten children into obedience. Those who cross her are rarely seen again.
That she is a vampire is not part of her public reputation, but such things are rarely common knowledge.
Tybalt inspects the wall panel and looks for a latch or release. He finds a crack in the stone that contains a switch, allowing the door to open easily.
The space beyond is more of a large closet than a real chamber. Stashed within is a collection of arcane items, a small chest containing coin and valuable items, and a prominent pedestal with nothing on top.
Contents:
+1 scale mail
Belt of giant strength +2
Boots of the mire
3 potions of cure light wounds
An antique gold serving set worth 800 gp
A mundane gold amulet set with lapis lazuli worth 1400 gp
5 onyx gems worth 100 gp apiece (suitable for animating the dead)
A ruby worth 300 gp
750 gp in coin
To also include what you found on Monerre:
Pearl of power (2nd level)
+1 frost dagger
2 scrolls of false life
The comedian brethes out loudly at all the expensive goods in the wardrobe; "That's a heck of a haul!" His tone taken-aback as he motions the others over to look at all the treasure contained with.
"Someone could retire off this!" He adds softly, though in the back of his mind there's a nagging of the potential disaster that's in motion.
Leandro whistles softly. "The wages of sin," he remarks, "Though we can use them in the cause of right."
Andrzej keeps a tight smile and before anything is taken, asks the obvious, "why didn't Monerre use these items for his own benefit? Maybe we should be just as cautious? I do not wish Monerre's curses on us."
Perhaps I cannot tell but is there a way to find out if these items bear ill will.
The magus turns his back to the treasure trove.
"Some things would harm him rather than help, after his acceptance of the "Gift." Others, maybe he could not use. I could have told you back in my world if there were curses attached, but not in this one. Evil seems to be in the very rock and air of this place." Leandro shakes his head sadly.
"The Land of Mists fogs many things including your divine sight." The magus walks away after that. And checks that the vampire is still dead and gone.
Res looks at the spoils that Leandro and Tybalt have found. "So Lady Katalin, has a week's head start on us. The question is, does she return to her keep or go directly to Lord Tetslin? Given the tone of her letter, I suspect it is the former. She seems too arrogant to rush. I have lost track of the time in this foul basement. I don't know if it is day or night. I think it is time now to leave this place. But be it night when we emerge, I think we should spend one more evening here rather than travel in the night with our energy diminished."
Chickenbone had assured you that you would have several hours of daylight remaining when you got to the necropolis. It was only about noon when you arrived, and it took maybe two hours to explore these crypts. You could be many miles from the necropolis by sunset. He made it clear that this is not a place you would want to be at night.
"Would that we could cleanse this place, but it is best if we gather what may be salvaged and leave. What of Monerre's head? Burn it here, or take it with us to show the locals that evil can be fought and defeated? Burning it before them may give them hope as well as reassurance that this place may be safe. Safer."
"I'd say push on slightly further into the crypt, but I'm not expert. Though the area's may be well hidden it shouldn't be too extensive - having been built on a swamp." Tybalt looks down the through the outer chamber to the corridor beyond.
"Why don't you and I take a look, Tybalt, while the others pack up the salvage?" Leandro suggests, taking up his glaive and handing Monerre's head to Res, "We can yell for help if need be, and at the same time ensure nothing evil lurks here to threaten the locals."
Andrzej grimaces at the practical logic of Leandro, and starts making preparations to leave. "We should stay together. Separating is overrated and a curse among my people. We have stopped the vampire and anything else seems a dangerous risk. But I shall go with you Tybalt, you are a steadfast soldier."
"We all go, then. I hate to leave any evils in this place. Agreed?"
Leandro leads the way down the lesser-used hallway and around the bend, lantern in one hand and glaive in the other, supported by all who care to follow.
The hallway is cloaked thickly in dust. It does not seem to have been entirely abandoned, but it has been some time since Monerre or any of his minions have come this way. The corridor bends sharply to the right, and opens into a small, dark chamber.
Ancient iron candelabras stand guard over the corners of the room, still clutching dusty, crumbling candles that do not appear to have been lit in a long time. A few low stools made of cracked wood occupy the center of the chamber, and the far wall bares a heavy tapestry, darkened with soot and age. The fine detail of the tapestry depicts the interment of several corpses, followed by panels that show the bodies rising again as undead. In subsequent panels, the undead feast upon the living that interred them, until finally those individuals, too, rise to join the undead horde. The imagery of the scene seems to exult in the triumph of the dead over the living. The manufacture of the tapestry is exquisite, although the subject material is uncomfortably macabre.
The room has no other exits, and appears to have had no other purpose than as a location to display this artwork, or perhaps as some sort of meditation chamber.
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Leandro sheathes his glaive and stomps over to the tapestry, tearing it from the wall. "Fuel for the fire," he growls, dragging it with him.
The rent tapestry is fairly weighty, as Leandro drags it disturbing the dust behind him.
"Thankfully, this place isn't any bigger." Tybalt says with relief as Leandro rips down the tapestry. "I guess the swamp is as good a place for that as any, it'll soon fall apart."
He turns to Res and Andrzej; "You're right however let's get out of here before darkness descends." The bard starts to get all his things together and ready to head out into the damp outdoors.
The party returns the way they came - back through the profane chapel, the bog mummy's chamber, the catacombs guarded by the crypt thing, and up the steep stairs to the desecrated church on the surface. The undead creature lies where you smote it before the ruined altar. You make your way down the apse and through the heavy doors to the necropolis outside.
The afternoon in the swamp has grown very overcast, and a pall of dull gray hangs over the tombstones. In the distance to your right, you hear movement, and look to see the gathering of many of the walking dead, looking for the living that eluded them earlier. The shambling corpses begin to approach, too numerous to count.
"The way to the gate is clear. The mindless dead do not leave these unhallowed grounds," Anuqa reminds you with some urgency.
"If they cannot leave, then we can. Let us begone on our mission, knowing the living are safe from these creatures as long as they avoid this place. We can return and cleanse it after the greater evil is conquered." Leandro heads for the gate.
Res resists his instinct to attack and falls into line behind Leandro. He takes an end of the tapestry and helps Leandro carry it to its ultimate destruction. Monerre's head dangles unceremoniously at the end of a rope tied to Res's backpack. It bounces to and from in sync with Res's heavy gait.
"Leandro,once we are well clear of this necropolis, I'll help you dispose of this disgusting rug and Monerre's head."
The party hustles onward toward the stone archway that marks the edge of the necropolis. The shambling zombies are in pursuit, their number seemingly ever growing, as more emerge from mausoleums and even holes in the ground. They reach toward you with inhuman hunger.
But they cannot overtake you, even hauling the heavy tapestry. You reach the archway and pass through. The ordinary sounds of the swamp return - chattering insects, croaking frogs, and other sounds of life surround you.
The zombie horde reaches the archway and stares at you without intelligence or understanding. They watch, and do no more.
A large raven perches on a nearby branch, hoping from side to side and regarding you with recognition.
Tybalt leads the way through the ominous swamp, the sounds of the wildlife seem unnatural after the silence or undead groaning of the old crypts. From his pocket, Tybalts small owl looks out and hoots softly at the raven.
"So do we burn them or just lob it into the swamp?" Tybalt asks.
"Burn them if we can, on a convenient dry spot. See if you can find tinder. Hurry! We do not wish to tarry here," Leandro replies, then looks at the raven. "Do we?"
The raven responds by hopping to another branch further off, and then another, before returning to where it began. It does this again, displaying the same pattern of guidance a raven offered in bringing you here. Still, it looks at you with some patience, and does not seem urgent or frantic in its communications.
It is not easy to find suitable tinder in the swamp, but you gather a little. It is enough to create a flame, and the tapestry itself is old and dry and very flammable to begin with. Without much difficulty, you are able to set it alight upon a small, dry rise surrounded by the fetid mire.
"Sir Res, care to have the honors of disposing of that thing's head?" Leandro bows the holy man towards the burning tapestry.
Andrzej goes to help Leandro but Res steps up first. He places himself at the rear and slices his scimitar back and forth in preparation for any faster undead. It proves unnecessary. The zombies fall behind and eventually the marsh provides relative safety.
"Since it matters this much to you, let me help a little. I can burn the rug, unless it is protected against fire? Maybe the head too."
Andrzej sets the tapestry alight with the gout of flame. As the fire spreads and consumes the foul work, Res tosses the undead necromancer' severed head upon the flames. He watches with satisfaction as the fire consumes it.
"Well done, Sir Plamen." Leandro looks mightily pleased as both the tapestry and anatomical remains are cremated.
The fire consumes the tapestry and the head, and smolders to ash. The raven watches with curiosity until the flames are dying down. Then it begins hopping again as if to draw your attention. It seems to be eager to move further from the necropolis before nightfall.
Following the raven as you did once before, you make your way through the grim swamp. He path is treacherous, but your guide continues to find routes that keep you safe and dry. It alights over a clearing as he sun is setting and rests upon a crooked bough. It seems to be telling you to camp there for the night. It's guidance is true, for the spot turns out to be dry and you pass the night without incident.
In the morning, it is still there to lead you the rest of the way. Although this is more-or-less the way you came, it is slightly less unpleasant without the awful fishmonger as your guide. The raven stops where the swamp ends and the plantation fields begin, just as afternoon passes into evening. In the distance you can see the dark mass of Port d'Elhour crowding the coastline.
The raven does not respond in any obvious way to your thanks or goodbyes, but simply watches as you depart the murky swamps.
You cross the fields toward the city, and darkness has fallen by the time you arrive. Still, the crowded, filthy streets are bustling with activity - merchants headed home for the night, couples out walking, beggars, prostitutes, and drunkards of all sorts are out for he early evening. Windows and doors stand open in the vain hope they may capture some faint breeze in the humid night air.
You return to the Marshflower Inn where Dr. Savarre told you to await his communication. The barroom is bustling with evening patrons as you enter, but one in particular captures your attention - a familiar face you did not expect to see...
A man sits at a table on the other side of the Inn’s barroom, situated with a clear view of the entrance door. He sits with his back to the wall, with the hood of his cloak drawn up despite the warm humidity of the night. The barroom bustles, but the other seats at the man’s small table remain empty.
As the group of traveller’s enter the inn and look about, the man rises and takes a step forward, pulling back the cowl of his hood to reveal a gaunt tanned face with dark deep-set eyes, a hawk-like nose and a somewhat scruffy beard.
Nathaniel Greenfellow stares at the group for a moment, a quick play of emotions twisting his face, before it settles back to its usual stoic countenance, although his dark eyes continue to shine with moisture. He nods once and raises a hand in greeting across the room.
"Nat!" Angalia exclaims, heedless of their surroundings. She runs toward the ranger and throws her arms around him. After a moment she pulls away and wonders allowed, "What are you doing here?"
Nathaniel hugs the woman fiercely in return. “I didn’t know if I’d see you again,” he murmurs into her ear. “Are you alright?” He releases her, slightly embarrassed at the public display of emotion when she pulls back.
“Doctor Savarre,” he explains. “After I eventually recovered from my fever he sought me out – helped train me to fight the monstrosities that keep coming upon us in these lands. He sent me here to meet you – all of you that is.”
Nathaniel reaches into a pocket sewn inside his weathered cloak and pulls out a sealed envelope. "Doctor Savarre sent this letter," he passes the letter over to Angalia.
Andrzej steps back and clicks his heels together as he bows to the finishing embrace, "introductions perhaps? I am Andrzej Plamen, a vistani sword-dancer and you are .......Gnat?"
"Nathaniel," says the ranger, nodding in greeting to the Vistani. "Nathaniel Greenfellow, a former companion of Angalia, Res and Eliva here."
"And briefly of Leandro," the paladin declares, striding forward to wring Nathaniel's hand, "Well met, again. It is good to see you well." Though he is smiling, the paladin looks a bit worse for the wear, with signs of dank woods and swamp travel on his previously spotless armor.
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Angalia reviews the letter from Dr. Savarre:
Dearest Friends,
I hope this message finds you well. I am sure it will be well-received, being delivered by a familiar face. With luck, at the time you are reading it you will be in possession of the artifact for the acquisition of which you embarked on your trek to the swampy morass of Souragne.
As I write this, Mr. Greenfellow and I are safely in Mordentshire, beyond the reach of any of the vengeful wererat coven. My colleague Professor Binwick is unfortunately away for a time lecturing to a group of scholars in Lamordia, but promises to return in just over a fortnight. We have corresponded, however, and I have no doubt his insights into the collection of artifacts being sought by the court will be invaluable to understanding their motives.
I am dispatching Mr. Greenfellow to you, as there are few other messengers I would trust to convey you back here. He will be sailing to Port d'Elhour on board the White Lady, a merchant vessel that has undertaken many journeys upon the Sea of Sorrows and knows its perils. I have arranged for the ship to convey you all back to Mordentshire when it makes its return journey. I have a room in Mr. Maynard's boarding house in town. You may seek me there when you arrive.
Should it befall any of you to suffer any unfortunate transformations, be sure to restrain one another thoroughly. We can address the matter when you return.
Yours always, Dr. Jean-Eric Savarre
"Likewise Leandro," Nathaniel returns the handshake gravely.
Once the others have had a chance to read the letter, and the round of greetings and introductions have been made, Nathaniel speaks again.
"The White Lady is due to sail in four days' time," he explains. "Just after the full moon," he adds significantly, glancing out a window at the night sky. "Doctor Savarre was very specific in relation to the last line in his letter." The man lowers his voice, looking about to make sure no one is likely to overhear them. "We'll get you settled in, then talk more in private about how to deal with any ... issues." He doesn't meet the others' eyes in talking about such unpleasantness.