Volidrian shakes his head, "I have potions to cure physical wounds but my understanding of them is that they would be of no use against the type of damage suffered by Leandro."
"I don't have any, we'd need someone of faith to heal the spirit?" Tybalts says softly. "I can help soothe the injuries, though."
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Res goes over and kneels next to Leandro. "Do not worry my friend, we have not come to the end of our journey together," he says to him. He touches Gorum's holy symbol around his neck, closes his eye, and begins to pray. "Gorum, help this mighty warrior regain his mind." Res lays his hands on Leandro and casts lesser restoration.
The paladin's breathing changes with a hitch, increasing from the nearly imperceptible respiration of his coma.
After a few moments, his long lashes part and the grey eyes stare at the rafters without comprehension for a moment.
As his eyes being to wander over the room and the faces of his friends, an expression of soul-deep horror grows on his face, and he lurches to his feet with a wordless shriek that goes on and on...
Tybalt moves over to comfort Leandro, cradling his head as one might a crying child. Gently stroking his brow as the paladin screams, with a soothing shushing sound - knowing that the screams are probably not unusual in this house.
"Shush, shush, it'll be alright." He tries to comfort the heavily armoured man as he looks to see if the wounds are physical as well as spiritual.
Volidrian stands around for a moment not knowing what to do. He opens his mouth briefly as if to say something before thinking better of it and turning his attention to the room behind him.
Assuming it is not trapped Volidrian will open the box.
Leandro seems unwounded, though he pulls away from any attempt to touch or restrain him. His keening continues, and he begins a random, unfocused wandering the room in an apparent attempt to leave, pounding on walls when they appear in his way.
Tybalt tries to cautiously corner and approach the larger paladin, as you would a shy horse or frightened dog. Softly making shushing noises and trying to ease the poor man's state of mind.
Upon his face is a bland neutral expression carefully kept. Then he has an idea, from his pocket he gets out a small block of soap, he then Prestidigates it so it's shiny and sparkly. Hoping to keep the mans attention whilst the rest of the gang deal with the box.
Dr Tovanarish rummages through his healer’s kit, muttering to himself
“I...I think it’s here. Damn head is so foggy. “
He holds up a vial of cloudy blue liquid. He calls to Tybalt
“Lad, I have a potion of lesser restoration here. If I hadn’t have been attacked by that fiend myself I would have remembered it sooner. Perhaps it will help young Leandro recover his wits a bit more. You know him better, try to get him to drink it “
He hands the vial to Tybalt
The tiny box is dusty, and does not appear to have been opened in many years. A simple clasp, delicate from years of disuse, holds it shut and is easily opened. Within, Volidrian sees a collection of trinkets: An old ring, a cloudy pearl, a tiny figurine of a bird, and tiny figurine of a tree.
Unrelated:
Volidrian leaves the items inside the box for the time being.
"There's a collection of unrelated items in this box. Given the situation, it seems likely that they are magical but I lack the expertise to make a proper diagnosis."
Getting back to business, Res says, "Dr. Tovanarish and Tybalt, I trust you have Leandro in hand. Volidrian, let me take a look at those items." Res examines the items in the box, and casts detect magic to identify them.
A look of frustration crosses, Res's face as he looks at the items. "Alas, I cannot identify these items. Maybe you will have better luck Anuqa." He then goes to the child size coffin, pauses and then says, "However, in regards to the coffin, we must put this child and her father finally at rest. Her spirit has been tortured for who knows how long by that Allip. Let's give her and her father a proper burial so that they may rest peacefully for eternity."
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"Hmmm...those trinkets look magical in nature. I shall study them to figure out their qualities."
"Fascinating. This ring offers a modicum of protection, the pearl replenishes a spell for, hrm, prepared casters, the bird-inscribed feather allows one to send a short message to someone else, and the tree-inscribed token creates a gigantic oak tree."
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The paladin drinks the potion thirstily. After a moment, he shakes his head groggily and peers around the attic, finally focusing on Tybalt with a look of dismay.
"Did she take you, too? But you're just a lad." He gently tilts Tybalt's chin up and peers at the bard's neck. "She hasn't gotten to you yet. Good."
He looks around at the others. "We must escape. But... there are enough of us now. We could kill her."
He picks up Thorn and brandishes it. "Look, I have my weapon! Let us go kill her. But don't look into her eyes! Don't let her ensnare you!"
"It's alright, we're all good brave Sir Knight. We are going to take these bodies to the church and the Merciful Sisters and bury them...lay them to rest for good." Tybalt looks to the others in askance.
"We'd best lock up the shop. Was all the staff waxen replica's or do you think some of them may turn up?"
"And what of Monsieur de Monte? In his current mental state he cannot be trusted to act in a rational manner."
“Once his child is put to rest, I am certain that unhappy ghost shall move onward to Pharasma’s Realm”
Dr Tovanarish rubs his temples
“Gods it feels as if a fiendish Sabbat has commenced within my head. “
"Well then lets pack up these bodies with some reverence and if you strong gentlemen would like to help me carry the boxes we can got to the Sisters. Probably best to leave via the rear entrance...." Tybalt says as he starts to go about his plan.
"If anyone else wants a quick scan of the area, before we leave feel free." the bard says softly; "We put the girl and her father to rest and hopefully their spirits will ease?"
"Yes. Yes. We lay her victims to rest, then we settle for their lives with the demon Katarina," the paladin agrees (after a fashion.)
"I would have expected a spectral foe to have a less mundane method of elimination but I'll admit that I am not at all knowledgeable in this sort of endeavor."
Res helps Tybalt place the bodies into the crate. He then looks around to see if there is a hand truck or cart available in the shop to make transporting the crate easier. . After securing the crate, Res moves to the other end of the crate and lifts. "Ooof, this is heavy," he exclaims as he lifts.
Res is able to find an old hand truck to help with moving the crate.
The group attracts little attention moving the crate through the sultry streets of Port d'Elhour. The trip becomes treacherous as you maneuver through the muddy warrens of the poor where the Sisters of Charity have their mission.
Upon reaching the mission, your greeting is rather warmer than the last time you were here. Sister Magritte ushers you inside. "What tidings do you bring? I am surprised to see you alive and well. When last we spoke, you were planning a journey into the swamps. I did not expect you to return. You must have found good fortune with your choice of guide."
"Aye, and now we're here to slay Katarina Szabo. Where is she? If you could point the way to her chambers, we will free you from her grasp!" Leandro brandishes his glaive.
Tybalt looks wide-eyed to Sister Magritte; "Errr..... Our friend Leandro here, is a bit tired. He was hurt in an attic, and is hallucinating. We could use your help however."
Tybalt looks to his friend with a shrug; "We could also do with some help putting some bones to rest, in Hallowed ground."
Sister Magritte nods with understanding. She seems accustomed to living in a land where one does not ask too many questions about human remains.
She regards Leandro with some concern. "He has seen much. Sometimes time is the best healer for those sorts of wounds."
"Come, we will see to this," she says to Tybalt. "My back is not what it was, but you lot look more than capable of moving your cargo to the cemetery."
Tybalt smiles and nods to the nun; "Of course, my back is yours for this task - I'd never ask for you to do that hard work. However if you could point the way to the graveyard and have you or the head priest say some words over the bodies."
Sister Magritte says, "There is no priest here, but perhaps your friend would do the honor." She indicates Res.
She leads you through the filthy streets of the Port d'Elhour slums, headed to the outskirts of the city. The poor and wretched cling to low stoops, sheltered from the sweltering sun.
In time, she comes to a low stone wall, weathered with age, where she stands still, surveying the scene before her. The stone wall encloses a massive necropolis, densely packed with statues and mausoleums. You see none of the neat rows of headstones to which you are likely accustomed, but instead an endless series of stone sarcophagi standing on the sodden ground. Most are quite simple, some even stacked atop one another. Further into the necropolis, some larger mausoleums loom, some topped with worn statues of mourning angels and other depictions of grief.
She leads you through a gate to the necropolis. Sensing your questions, she says, "We do not bury beneath the ground in Port d'Elhour. The dead do not rest well there. The high waters of the delta would heave them to the surface in time. And anyway, no one can dig a hole here without it filling with the swamp water."
She leads you along a path through the necropolis, stopping before a large stone structure dotted with small stone doors. "Here," she says. She opens one of the doors to reveal a small space within, sized for a simple coffin. "I will let you do the honors. And if one of you wish to say a few words..."
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Tybalt solemnly follows her to the cemetery carrying the coffin with the others. The dour mausoleum speaks of not just death and decay, but of an uncaring grim horror and inevitability.
He helps place the coffin within the small alcove of the sepulchre. "If I may, could I start....though my words have little inspiration for such a sad time. Maybe they can soothe the spirit and others can help her soul. For doubtless you are better versed in theology and the spiritual in such morose times." His words are as soft as the sea breeze on a autumnal eve.
"Though life is short, shorter for some than others....filled with grey times and isolation. Let us join together to attempt to make things right. To try and reflect upon the life that has been cut so short; though no fault of her own." Tybalt starts and then has to softly cough into a grey handkerchief as his throat tightens.
"Redemption, a purpose is something we all seek and for some unobtainable. Life seems to drift by like a lazy stream or crash upon the boulders of the rapids... never obtaining the peace or pleasure of experience. I hope that, this poor soul may pass over - pass to somewhere where she can have experiences and joy so denied to her for the brief life she led."
"May she see dawns and blue skies with friends, may they find contentment and warmth... if not in this life, then the next."
Dr Tovanarish clears his throat
“Although this is a tragedy, and there is always a sadness when a child passes, I think we can take comfort in the fact that our actions have freed these two souls from the shackles of Undeath. For although it is never easy to lose a life, to have their souls enslaved to that endless torture is far worse. We have done a righteous thing by putting them to rest. May they find their way to judgment “
Volidrian stands at attention, his face a mask of grim determination, though his eyes start to glisten wet towards the end of Tybalt's speech. After the Dr's words he opens his mouth as if to speak and then thinks better of it and remains silent.
Sister Magritte nods solemnly and closes up the small crypt. "You have all done a good thing in this dark place. That is rare."
"With the darkness of the mire and the murders in the night, this is not a place well acquainted with kindness."
Dr Tovanarish nods gravely
“I will mention that we encountered... constructs ... in that dwelling. Small dolls that were animated in some foul fashion. We fought and killed some, but there could be more. That house needs a cleansing, too to bottom”
"Yes, we can go back there. Better to stop any other poor soul encountering them unprepared. Then on the morrow we can leave on ship." Tybalt agrees with the Doctor.
”Your efforts may have spared some unfortunate a dire fate. Thank you,” Sister Magritte says.
If you return to the toymaker’s residence, you will find no additional animated dolls, nor signs of restless undead.
I am prepared to advance to your departure, unless you are looking to buy equipment or do anything else in Port d’Elour before you depart.
After the building has been confirmed empty.
"Now that my quest is complete I have agreed to aid you in yours, however I would prefer if you could share with me where we are going and what we will be doing"
The party is able to make use of one full day of rest and recovery before the appointed date to set sail for Mordentshire. No doubt all are relieved to see Leandro recover his sanity with the help of Res's magic. All about them, the city bustles with its usual severity under another day of sweltering sun.
The following morning, you make your way through the grimy narrow streets to the waterfront. While the port may be the lifeline of this hazy city, it is relatively compact affair, with only a few wooden jetties along the waterfront to accommodate the shipping traffic. Still, the docks are busy with the activity of longshoremen loading and unloading the cargo from the few ships at port.
With so few vessels, the White Lady is easy enough to spot; the name of the vessel is emblazoned on the hull in fading white paint. The ship's timbers are dark with age, and seem to sag as if fatigued with so many crossings across the Murky Sea. Looking about at the other ships in port, all seem to carry the same aura of twilight about them, as if the perilous shipping routes themselves have stained the ships with the essence of dusk.
Before the gangway stands a grizzled sailor with a coarse demeanor. He is speaking to two individuals dressed in traveling garb. He waves them aboard and then turns to you. "Aye, what business have you here?"
Tybalt strides forwards a dour look crosses his visage; "Aye sir, these are troubling times and your caution is sensible. We are hopefully going to be passengers aboard the fine vessel."
He sighs looking to the ocean; "Though we are no sluggabeds, not lazy land-lubbers, we are happy to help in what ways we can - or that you deem we could be capable of?" Tybalt tries a smile, for although he'd not talked to the rest about helping out, they are no wilting violets that shy away from work or helping people.
The terminally landlocked bard, has no idea what one does upon a vessel - though he is sure there's a lack of female companionship.
”Another fancy talker,” the man says dismissively. ”We’re not lookin’ for deckhands - just payin’ passengers. Fifteen pieces of gold per soul for passage to Mordentshire. Have you got the coin?”