"Check upstairs first, make sure nothing else is waiting to spring out."
Eostre activates her magic sight and takes a look at the items Evelyn can't identify.
"Can't determine the potion either, but the cloak's just like the one Conner's got, boosting your protections against fell magics and stuff."
Her face wrinkles in disgust as she recognizes the unholy symbol.
"I've seen that icon more times than I ever wanted to in Riddleport. It's of Norgorber, the faceless god of thieves and murderers. Gives us a little insight as to who's behind this whole mess of undead. That means we're not just dealing with undead: we're dealing with undead religious fanatics looking to kill for the sake of killing. Gods, it's like Nualia all over again!"
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The upstairs of the farmhouse is in considerably better shape than the downstairs by virtue of appearing untouched.
Outside, a surprising sight awaits the party--aside from the ghoul corpses the party left behind around the barn, there are at least a dozen more dead ghouls strewn about the farm's grounds. The bodies are in various states of dismemberment, missing arms, legs, heads, and sometimes even entire halves of their torsos.
And standing in the middle of the scene is a blood & ichor-stained Ven Vinder, a beaten chain shirt strapped to his heavy-set frame and his woodcutting axe caked in ghoul fluids. His meaty fists are bruised and covered in filth.
"How're things going here?" He asks, resting the head of his axe on the ground.
Eostre's jaw drops.
"Ven?! What the-WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!" she cries. "YOU COULD HAVE CAUGHT GHOUL FEVER FROM THESE BASTARDS! Evelyn, make sure he wasn't bitten!"
"Sir...perhaps Evelyn should look you over?" Quite respectful
Evelyn looks at the massacres ghouls, then at Ven. "I doubt any of them got close enough to touch you before being dismembered."
"Though it may still be a good idea to look you over, just to be safe," she adds, looking at Nicat's mighty soon-to-be father-in-law with a whole new level of respect.
Ven frowns and approaches Evelyn for a checkup. "Well, you'd be wrong in that regard."
An examination of Ven shows that his chain shirt has been clawed at in several places, and there are a couple of minor scratches on his arms. There are no bite marks.
As his shot destroys the ghast, Nicat’s eyes widen in surprise and he looks down at his bow curiously, studying it to be sure it’s the same one he usually carries. With a grin, he shrugs and says, ”Desna sure does love me!“
He makes an attempt to identify the remaining potion, then joins the others outside.
On seeing Ven - and the incredible damage he has done to a host of undead - Nicat blanches and wobbles a bit, but does not quite faint as he realizes just how deadly Shayliss’ father really is. As often seems to happen around the man, Nicat is uncharacteristically quiet, waiting while Evelyn checks Ven’s Injuries.
A look to Nicat, and a whisper, "I think there maybe bells in your future , friend. Wedding or funeral, I'm not sure which"
Conner looks at the field of re-deaded. "Ven, I think you were holding out on us."
Ven shrugs. "You're welcome."
"My wife always said I was stubborn as a mule."
"There aren't any bite marks, so I can rule out infection," Evelyn says after examining Ven.
"We need to press on to the Misgivings, but we cannot leave them." Evelyn nods at the two infected women. "Maybe if we take them along with us, I can keep them as healthy as possible so their bodies can fight the infection?"
"That seems like a good idea, Evy," Nicat responds, "though maybe Ven - er, Mr. Vinder - could take them back to town and have them seen to at the temple?" Studying the blood-stained father of his sweet Shayliss, Nicat reconsiders and says, "Or he could come with us, in case we need a whole bunch of things dead."
Ekan , as is often the case, defers to others. In this case, he is distracted.
"You sure you wanna bring them with us? That ringleader did a nasty number on them, and their master's sure to pull similar tricks. They nearly got killed. Getting them back to the temple would mean Father Zantus can cure them," Eostre replies.
Evelyn looks from Nicat to Ven, awaiting a reply from the latter.
Ven frowns. "I can take 'em back to town. Continue on if you need to."
He starts gathering the two women up and helping them to their feet. "Don't let that son-of-a-b~~+@ get away."
Nodding vigorously, Nicat says, "Course not, Mr. Vinder, we'll take care of him! And you take good care of these ladies, and we'll see you back in town in no time!"
He turns to his friends, striving to maintain an air of confidence as he considers what lies ahead, and says, "Okay, gang, like Evy says, we should press on!"
Eostre nods.
"We won't, Vin. He's not going to stop until we stop him. In order to keep more from suffering the way he's made these poor women suffer, we need to put him down as quickly and efficiently as possible."
She smiles a bit at Nicat's speech.
"We should get moving, the longer we take the more surprises he'll have for us."
Eostre plants her glaive next to her.
"Ready when you are. Odds are it's only gonna get worse from here."
"Whatever will be, will be, we will be us and react accordingly" As if quoting a maxim, he is ready to go.
"Thanks," Evelyn says to Ven.
She briefly places a hand on the man's arm. "We'll get him," she says reassuringly.
Time to deal with my murderous stalker...
The party parts ways with Ven, letting him leave with the sickly women and themselves departing to the south, making haste.
The road to the south is a long & winding one--days pass as the party makes their trek along the Lost Coast Road, night flowing into day and back again, with only the sounds of chirping birds and blustery gales to accompany them. Eventually, they leave the Road to follow what the locals call the Foxglove River--the Misgivings supposedly lie at its end.
As the sun sets on the third day, they see it off in the distance.
Perched at the top of a seaside cliff is an old manor, opulent & imperial. Time has not been kind to its timber & eaves--in many places, the wooden supports for the old, two-story house have been ravaged by blight and decay. Its shingles are cracked, and the stone gargoyles perched on the corners stare into the distance with their carved, grotesque features. The waves crash against the bottom of the cliff, the only sounds breaking the silence that pervades the grounds.
The Misgivings await you.
Conner stares up at the old house. "Let's just burn it."
"What if he has hostages or innocents inside ?' a pause, "Admittedly it doesn't seem likely."
Evelyn bites her lip. "We can't risk it... Though if any of you has a way to confirm the absence of innocents; yes, let's burn it."
She shoots a glance at Eostre, because Eostre knows a lot of magic and magic does stuff.
"I'm sorry, Evelyn. I'm a transmuter, not a diviner. I know a few divination spells, but nothing powerful enough to, say, scry and fry my enemies."
Eostre shudders a bit.
"That was one of Tammerhawk's favorite tricks."
There's a look of unease on Evelyn's face. "Straight up to the front door it is then..."
Evelyn takes out her buckler and begins her approach to the old manor.
Eostre casts her armor spell, this time improved to last longer.
Having rather enjoyed the peacful journey here, Nicat makes a loud gulp as he considers what they're about to do, then shakes his head and mutters, "We took on that big ghoul monster thing at the farmhouse, we should be able to handle this wimpy noble...right?"
He slips his bow off his shoulder, reaches over his other shoulder to be sure his quiver is in the right spot, then says, "Right, let's do this."
The climb to the manor's front door is arduous at first, trekking across surprisingly rocky & rough ground as the party moves through the tufts of grass surrounding the lonely moor. What remains of a stone outbuilding sits before the manor itself, bereft of human life.
It's impossible to tell how many floors the outbuilding that stood here once had, for all that remains are the sooty, scorched stones of its foundation. To the east, a four-foot-wide stone well sits, partially collapsed, in the corner of the ruins.
A pair of sickly-looking ravens sit perched on the building's flagstones, watching the party as they approach.
"Hey, gang, let's check out this ruin and well first, then head up to the house," Nicat suggests. "I'd hate to have some surprise lurking behind us because we didn't take a look."
Tapping a finger to his temple, he adds, "Always thinking, I am." He then strides into the ruined foundation and heads over to the well, remembering to keep his eyes a little bit open for surprises.
"And sometimes that thinking IS actually useful," Eostre comments. "Good idea, Nicat."
She follows after Nicat, her dwarf eyes much more used to seeing in the dark.
"Well, the well is deep. I'm glad we established that."
"I'd suggest tossing a coin with a light spell down it, but I fear that would certainly alert anyone below that we are here."
"Well if we can't burn it, might as well go inside and see what's there."
"I imagine, being this close the ocean, you wouldn't be able to get a good blaze going in the first place, Conner. But you're right. Nowhere to go but in."
The ravens eye the party judgementally as they make their way to the manor's front doors.
The dirt path splits off to the north, leading to a set of intricately-carved maple doors, bearing images of wildflowers in bloom. The set of double doors in front of the party are carved of sturdy oak, and decorated with carvings of blazing suns.
Evelyn, fidgeting with her feet, waits for one of the big guys to open the door.
"I wonder what's become of him," she mutters solemnly.
Eostre glares back at the ravens. Most dwarves respected ravens, but she'd seen enough of the bloody birds acting as Cyphermage familiars that would spy for their owners.
Conner approaches the door. "Everyone ready?
Conner opens the door. As he does, the house seems to *CREAK* and settle for a moment.
The sound of the house straining and creaking gives the long, high-ceilinged entrance hall an additional sense of age and decay. The place smells damp, the unpleasant tinge of mould lacing the air, as surely as it stains the wooden floor, walls, and furniture in pallid patches. Mouldering trophies hang on the wall to the northeast: a boar, a bear, a firepelt cougar, and a stag, yet they pale in comparison to the monster on display in the centre of the room. Here crouches a twelve-foot-long creature with the body of a lion, a scorpion's tail fitted with dozens of razor barbs, huge batlike wings, and a deformed humanoid face.
...
...it sounds like someone upstairs is crying.
Eostre grimaces as she detects the scent, and then her eyes widen as she identifies it.
"Does anyone else smell that, or is this place messing with me?"
She looks around to see where it might be coming from.
Not seeing anything, she turns her attention to the centerpiece of the room.
"Looks like one of the Foxgloves was quite the hunter. Takes guts to hunt a manticore and then find someone brave enough to taxidermy it..."
"Don't assume it's dead."
"I didn't smell that, but.. I do hear, crying upstairs"
"That's...ominous. You all really don't smell something burning? SomeONE burning?!" Eostre asks.