The group cautiously moves forward nearly 40' before reaching the blasted remains of the corner tower. Rocks and burnt timbers have long ago collapsed, leaving your narrow track littered with weathered and worn debris. It will take careful steps to avoid loosening anything from the pile and potentially causing an avalanche that may wash the unwary off the track and into the moat, possibly under the raining remnants of the war-wasted structure.
Pausing for closer investigation, you find no ready way to enter the moathouse from here, albeit the track Conner spied previously was further along the wall, possibly another 70-90 feet along the eastern wall, near the rear of the outpost. As Sir Gareth moves to make his way around the structure, he picks up a foul scent on the breeze, worse than what you have already experienced of the ruined place. Mixed amongst the sulphrous and methane emissions of the swamp, a strong mixture of ammonia and offal mixes into the wind, overpowering the other odors. The marshes remain quiet as you move, only the occasional bird call, a varied splash in the distance, or the odd snapping of timber echoing from beyond your sight in the maze of mangroves past the moat and wash surrounding the Blackmire.
Sir Gareth leads.
Seeing the possibility of falling into the water again Angel pauses.. She starts to unbuckle her armor just in case.. "Sorry i just feel unlucky today.." Then she'll tie her rope around herself and toss it to Sir Gareth after hes across..
30' movement, moving at half would be 2 checks..
Conner looks up.
Seeing the possibility of falling into the water again Angel pauses.. She starts to unbuckle her armor just in case.. "Sorry i just feel unlucky today.." Then she'll tie her rope around herself and toss it to Sir Gareth after hes across..
30' movement, moving at half would be 2 checks..
[dice=Reflex]1d20+7
[dice=Reflex]1d20+7
With a 30' move, Angel could reach the other side in one round of double moves, 15' and 15'. She would only need the first Reflex save, and she successfully made the other side.
Conner spends time looking over the walls close to the damaged section of the fort. He realizes that although the granite walls were once polished smooth and coating with something to give them a lustrous shine, time and the elements have eroded much of that away. The damage done during the siege of the moathouse by rival Chelaxian forces further degraded the sheen, and cracks and clefts are more common than the builders once intended. Along this section, the large blocks are scalable, though his stonemasonry skills are stretched determining if the stones are fully intact, or deeply damaged from the previous battle.
Once across Angel will quickly put her armor back on and toss the rope back to the others.. "Tie yourself up should you slip.. Sir Gareth would you mind grabbing this end with me?"
After scanning the wall, Conner ties the rope on himself and the next in line for the crossing.
Sir Gareth grabs the end and attempts to not enjoy the show too much.
A hurried double movement sees the tiefling across the unsafe terrain.
"Next time, can we find a cult hiding in a nice, open field?" D'witt jokes.
Stunned at the display of acrobatics Angel just shakes her head and tosses the rope to Xavorin.. "Yall sure you didn't come from the circus?"
While the rest of the group waits for Xavorin to make his way past the crushed tower, the group feels even more exposed and open. The eastern side of the moathouse is now beneath the sun as it reaches it's peak, casting shadows short and close. The area from the walls to the trees beyond is open and better lit than what you felt on the southern side of the structure. The stench is worse here than what Sir Gareth first experienced, pointing out a large pile of offal dropped within feet of the ruin you just climb over. Flies and maggots crawl over the mess, an area roughly the size of an average dog. It reeks strongly of ammonia and sulfur, such that you must cover your mouths and noses to keep from gagging. There is only the smallest edge along the wall that will allow you to pass without traipsing through the stool, becoming stained with it's taint.
In the distance, probably several hundred yards into the marsh, you hear a crashing of breaking limbs, a dull animal cry, a sharp pained bark of a deer, then silence once more. Something other than you hunts today, and it has found a prize before you.
From this vantage point, you are about 70' to the beginning of a larger tower, one which formed part of the nor-eastern corner of the structure, and part of the main hall of the moathouse. The closest corner of that abutting tower is open, a gash rent into the structure as part of it's upper level collapsed over and into the moat. Stones and timbers spread in a rough path from the wall across the waterway ending roughly 7-8 feet from the far bank. This rough passage of debris appears for the most, fairly worn and weathered by the passage of time. The dark unintended entry to the fortress stands roughly 10' wide and maybe about the same high. The ground about the opening is not as green, fresh, and unattended as the rest of the area, but gouged and flattened from something large that has either entered or left the structure here, often both from what little else you can imagine at this distance.
Xavorin grabs the toosed by Angel and starts making his way across.
Staring at the huge pile of poop Angel will draw her sword.. "It appears something large has been coming and going through there and leaving its droppings here.. Be on your toes gents.." She'll move towards the opening when everyone else is ready..
Conner approaches the opening and aims an arrow inside as he peers intently within.
With a firm hold on the rope, and a good tug from Angel at just the right moment, Xavorin is saved from a misstep upon the rocky pile, prevented from tumbling into the moat. He sheepishly makes the other side and apologizes for his near disastrous step. Spooked I guess. Sorry.
Conner moves forward to scout the opening, determining something large and reptilian has passed this way recently, perhaps out hunting for it's daily meal before returning to it's lair and the warmth it lends for the chill of the nights. What strikes him strange is the increased sulfurous stains to the droppings. He closes as close as he dares to the opening, hearing no noises beyond and detecting no movement in the fine particulates drifting on the air just inside the jagged entrance. Stooping down, he picks something up from the matted grasses, then jogs back to the others.
In his hand he holds out a reddish scale, tinged along the edges with a dark green limning. The hard, sharp edged scale is about three inches in side, nearly diamond in shape, the shortest edge more rounded and blunter than the others. What do you make of this? Looks like it scraped off coming through the entrance. The tracks are for a good sized beast, four toed and fanned, with a heavy tail that drags lightly and rarely. The air beyond the opening had a reek as well, foul but slightly different than out here.
A distant snarl faintly echoes from the mangroves as a flight of loons startles out overhead, heading after the bird that startled you earlier, these fowl more akin to normal, comfortable sizes.
Spaced here, along the wall, a dark and foreboding hole to one side and a calamitous rubble pile to the other, you feel exposed and watched. the hairs prickle along the backs of your necks and heads as you whisper to one another, Onwards?
"Yes lets continue.. My guess is it would not be good to be caught in the open by whatever lives here.."
Sir Gareth looks over the scale while Angel and Conner look on. He turns it over, testing it's hardness, the edge, and the flaking of the greenish tint. It is no dragon scale, at least none I have heard tell of before. The limning is reminiscent of stains I have heard some extra-planar creatures might exude, but I know of none offhand that would have something like this. It is strange. Does anyone else wish to ponder, or shall we get ourselves out of sight and on with our mission? Father Dunrat must surely be within.
Come, let's advance.
With bow drawn, Conner leads the others into the keep, as he ponders the scale.
As Conner approaches the opening into the moathouse, he remembers where he had once seen a scale similar to the one found here. A sailor had lost a pair of boots in a drunken card game with an old guardsman friend, claimed it came from a flame frilled brush lizard. The patterning is very similar, though for this scale to be right, the lizard that grew this one needed to be as big as a horse. If Sir Gareth is right about other worldly origins, this may be one very mean, very nasty reptile. Guys, if this beast is what I think, watch out for it, they can charge quickly and have a vicious temperament.
Conner arrives at the entry, the others in tow a little off behind him. Giving his eyes a moment to adjust, it appears the chamber beyond is, or rather once was, a bedchambers. The floors above have collapsed, forming most of the debris, but the room beyond appears safe enough.
Moldy black curtains hang in tatters along the walls, the furnishings long ago stolen or broken beyond identifying. A partially smashed glossy red marble mantle and fireplace rests further up from this gaping ingress, along the eastern wall. What may have been a doorway and door is smashed through in the southwest corner. The roughly 30 x 30 chamber is dark, dusty, and currently deserted.
Sir Gareth casts detect magic and looks around.
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With Conner covering the other doorway, standing just out of the way of the outside light, Sir Gareth moves a little ways into the chamber. Standing by the fireplace, he casts his eyes slowly over the room, watching for anything of note or any mystical energies. While the stones of the floor themselves give off a faint reflection of his energies, nothing else seems magical. He does notice, in the northeast corner, what appears to be a tall, thin cabinet, partially obscured by a fallen timber. The partially warped and water damaged enclosure has cracked near the bottom, reflecting a bit of the outside light from the angle where Gareth stands. Treasure perhaps... He becomes distracted from the treasure though, looking at the red marble mantle. Images and runes once delicately carved into the stone have been hacked and marred by severe blows, the stone itself sundered, though someone has attempted to repair the foundation, not entirely successfully. What was carved into the marble cannot be gleaned by the little light coming from outside.
Angel takes the tail end and moves into the room after D'Witt and Xavorin are in..
Angel watches the moat and surrounding environs, awaiting the others to enter the chamber and begin the exploration of the Blackmire. She cannot suppress the shudder that comes to mind as she looks at the waters, the surface smooth, unblemished by the types of horrors she knows too fully can take place beneath that taunt skin sheen. The chill in her bones is mostly from the granite walls, once more exuding their mood dampening pall, but in the back of her mind she still wonders, Was that my beloved? Where is he now? Is he somewhere below? Won't these two hurry themselves?
Sir Gareth has no interest in plunder and ignores the cabinet. He looks for a portal into the rest of the castle.
As Sir Gareth awaits the others arrival, he draws forth his brooch and mutters it's "command word," drawing forth a glow similar to the common tavern torch. The current room is cast into normal brightness, the far corners and wrecked cabinet shrouded in dim shadow. Behind him, the wiped clean red marble reflects his light, casting faint red flickers upon the ruined ceiling. The nobleman gets a better look at the southeast corner, where Conner indicated a passage, noting that indeed a thin curtain wall once stood to form an entry hall into this bedchamber's proper, but something has further smashed and expanded upon the original structure's damage. The lintel and jambs have been ripped from the entry, tossed aside into the clutter, the side walls battered into a rough 8' wide gap. The area past the "doorway" is shadowy and dark, the light upon Gareth's chest limiting his eyes from adjusting to the deeper darkness beyond.
Guys, if this beast is what I think, watch out for it, they can charge quickly and have a vicious temperament.
"Joy." Not sure what the scale came from D'witt takes a moment to double checks his pepperbox before following into the room behind Sir Gareth. He scans the room with the pistol at the ready.
Xavorin follows behind D'witt with hand out ready to cast a spell if need be.
Xavorin whispers "See anything D'witt?
Once everyone is inside, Sir Gareth unsheathes his greatsword and leads.
Angel takes up the rear. Her greatsword unsheathed as well.. She will scan with her detect evil in a frontal 60' cone..
Conner searches the area for anything of interest as he has an arrow drawn.
Conner and D'witt both notice the smashed cabinet in the corner, the one Sir Gareth is making an unconscious effort to ignore. Further, they also notice the more recent repair job performed on the red mantle behind Sir Gareth, it's surface defaced of it's original markings. Sir Gareth glares moodily at anyone that dallies from his attempt to lead the group onwards, not used to his commands being ignored.
The chamber beyond was quiet and faintly lit. From Sir Gareth's point at the doorway out of your current room, he sees this was once the great hall for the Blackmire. The area is just over 40' by 40', with the south west corner cut off by a set of massive double doors, long ago smashed and carted away. A few ceiling timbers bow heavily witht he weight of the above structure pressing down on them, but seem to be holding well. What furnishings that remain, a great hearth, a few arrow slit emplacements, and the wrought iron chandelier are all that remain of the room's former glory. Even those bear the markings of time, worn and weathered, with debris long piling in the dusty corners. The hallways lead from the chamber one mid center west, the other mid center south. A smaller passage likewise marks the northwest and south east corners, smaller in size, more likely servant passages. The indirect light of the sun casts this chamber in dim light, the additional light provided by Sir Gareth's brooch agitating the only current occupants of the room.
A swarm of black swamp flies buzzes angrily at the intrusion, dining as they are on the corpses that litter the room. In the center of the chamber lies a figure wearing violet colored robes, a heavy mace clutched in it's hand. Flanking him are two large, humanoid bodies, possibly canine, dressed in studded leather armor and wielding broken tipped long-spears. Near the smaller northwest corner lies a corpse of bloody blonde hair, studded leathers, and a shortbow laying nearby. Gender features are difficult to determine in this light, made worse by the fact that it appears the heads are missing, at least from the figures in the center of the room.
Moving after the others Angel notices the corpses.. "Is the robed figure Geirheart?" "Well now this doesn't look good.." Scanning with Detect Evil Angel will make her way to the robed figure to look for distinguishing marks of her husband..
She places her Ioun stone over her head as she moves, providing another light source..
Conner and D'witt both notice the smashed cabinet in the corner, the one Sir Gareth is making an unconscious effort to ignore. Further, they also notice the more recent repair job performed on the red mantle behind Sir Gareth, it's surface defaced of it's original markings. Sir Gareth glares moodily at anyone that dallies from his attempt to lead the group onwards, not used to his commands being ignored.
Sir Gareth looks for magic knowing Angel detects for evil. He makes sure to stay out of melee with the bodies expecting a trap... everywhere.
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D'witt notices the cabinet, but Sir Gareth seems intent on pushing on deeper. He makes a mental note to take a closer look around the ruins later, once this is al over with. The buzz of the flies reaches the tiefling before he can actually see the bodies.
"Well now this doesn't look good..".
"That's a understatement."
D'witt glances at the hairy humaniod bodies as he moves toward the bloodied, blonde body.
You detect no evil within the chamber currently, and the bodies have been dead too long to have any lingering aura, though as it faded the stench surely increased.
Sir Gareth does detect magical emanations from the body D'witt approaches, as well as the body Angel stands over.
Angel notices the head is indeed missing from the corpse she observes, one arm holding the heavy mace, the other clutching an amulet with a strange, jagged spiral. As she leans down, thankfully realizing the form is too short for Geirhart, she realizes the arm holding the mace is backwards, as if the shoulder had been severely dislocated and the arm twisted around to hold the mace. The stone beneath the space where the head once rested is strangely pitted, small discolored divots along the outline, the neck strangely burnt, smelling of sweetly rancid, like ill churned butter left to spoil.
D'witt similarly smells the same odor as he approaches the body in the corner. A shortbow and spilled quiver lay nearby, other equipment still attached to the dark, supple leathers. The face of this blonde haired corpse, with bloated, slightly wriggling small breasts, is giving off the same strange, burnt appearance and the rancid smell Angel comments upon. Both explorers notice the dog bodied corpses have been partially eaten, and it appears perhaps a few other bodies have been dragged across the room and out the front doorway.
The flies resent your approach, and angrily buzz around you, pestering and alighting upon you, a few trying to sting you into leaving or submission, to no effect thus far.
Sir Gareth concentrates to pinpoint the magic and attempts to determine the school of magic of the emanations. "Be careful, my friends. Something is not right. Xavorin, I detect magic. Can you determine the type of magic?"
Conner simply stands warily within the room allowing his companions to investigate the surroundings and wondering why no one has gone into to investigate the busted cabinet.
Angel goes back to guard mode after she realizes the body isn't Geriheart.. "What kind of beast could do this? Any ideas?"
Xavorin nods to Gareth and cast Detect Magic.
D'witt's nose gets a good whiff of the smells as he looks over the corpse. "Whatever did this, it might still be near." He says as his face screws up at the smell. Using his foot to nudge the blonde corpse he looks for any identifying symbols or markings.
The group slowly enters the room, taking care to watch the four other approaches into the chambers. Everyone is alert, fearful of assault with every breath. Each creak of aged timber or pebble stumbled across rattles and shakes the will. The chamber is chill and gloomy, even in the light areas. It is as if the hall is aware of their approach, and does not approve. Perhaps the rumors are true, the Blackmire is cursed.
Angel observes there are faint lines woven into the robes of the body at her feet. She steps back a bit, trying to take the entire image into stock, thrown a bit by the way the figure's arm is snapped and twisted backwards as it is.
Sir Gareth shifts his gaze from the mystical auras he detects and the movements of the others, trying to keep everything into focus.
Xavorin casts his own mystical gaze around the room, finding the auras Sir Gareth suspected. Momentarily closing his eyes, he focuses his mind, clears his thoughts, then begins intently and intensely plucking at the pulses of energy, hoping to discern their natures and origins.
Conner glances back at the smashed cabinet, then into the chambers with the others. We will not leave that with investigation, but I will not leave the group ill-defended. He slowly walks his bow back and forth across the room. The hairs on the back of his neck prickle nervously. Something is watching us. I can feel it, even if I can't see it he mutters to himself.
D'witt studies the body before him, noticing a splash of blood dried upon the stones. At first he thinks it is that of the victim, but realizes it leads away, towards the passage in the corner. This body was not wounded and came this way, it surely stood and died in place. Someone else escaped the slaughter here. As he turns to mention this to the others, a shifting shadow flashes briefly past his vision, a few bits of dust and mold floating down from the crushed ceiling, illuminated in a small ray of sunlight from above.
D'witt's mouth closes as something passes overhead, obscuring the light from outside for a moment. The tiefling's eyes narrow in concentration as he scans the ceiling the his pistol.
He keeps his voice low, but makes sure the rest of the group can hear him. "Something is moving around up there. Conner, is it still clear behind us?""
"Perhaps we should identify the items later and continue on.. I don't think lingering is a good option here.."
"Lingering is not good; we are not tomb raiders. But the mace is magical and might be useful to someone. Who wants it?" d'Orionus whispers his reply reminding everyone that they are trying to sneak up on the bad guys.
Conner indicates all remains clear in the previous room. He can see no movement outside and hears no sounds above. The forest is quiet, though it dawns on him there are fading ripples in the moat. Perhaps something crossed over a few moments ago.
Angel notices that the man's robe, the fine embroidery, forms a large maw, round with jagged teeth. Two large canines protrude from the top "jaw" at angles, joining with a forked tongue rising from the bottom "jaw" in the shape of a rough Y. Angel scans the ceiling with her detect evil, but whether it is the amount of rubble or the taint she sees in the stones themselves, she is unable to get an accurate read on what, if anything, is moving above.
Sir Gareth focuses his attention on the bow, determining it too is magical and may be of use to the group. Xavorin, would you gather the item from that bodies' pocket. We may want to examine that as well, quickly before we press onwards.
Xavorin approaches Angel and the body, drawing forth the pocket a battered scroll case. He moves back to Sir Gareth, opening it has he goes. It contains a few pieces of paper, only one of which gives off a magical aura, a scroll written in a tight, flowery style in no language Xavorin understands. The other two pieces of paper are Carnat de Passages, official looking travel documents that would indicate the bearer and associated baggage are not to be searched or detained, but to be afforded special envoy status. The first appears to represent the nation of Andoran, the second that of Taldor.
D'witt takes a quick peek past the body he guards, noticing that beyond the smaller passage, a set of stairs leads down below. The blood trail stops, as you see a small boy, a large hole burned through his back left side. You at first assume it a boy, but then realize the hairiness and smell marks it as the halfling who rode with Father Dunrat.
"Looks like we're heading down.. Conner would you mind covering the back so i can move my sword up front?"