Daxniss looks around, trying to locate a path for everyone to traverse as they had two things to watch out for at the moment: The lava and the dragon. Of course these were the only two things at she could see, that could spell their demise. " Perhaps, and I hate to be the naysayer at this moment, we should back up a bit, find a spot of cover, and let Wrathe recharge his magics and do some more flying. Argon might have a decent plan for moving forward, I'm worried about tumbling down having a very unpleasant lava bath, or having an acid bath. " Daxniss says with a nervous chuckle.
"Considering I run about as fast as drunken dwarf, that should not be difficult," the dragonkin says completely serious while still looking up at the dragon. Looking back at Argon, a grin cracks his Masked muzzle. Looking over at Daxniss, Ssilax chuckles.
"I doubt either of us are more interesting than a kobold to it." the dragonkin says with a snort. "From what little I have uncovered, my line stems from magically created dragon-human race that was capable of reproducing on its own. What I recall reading about your own races generation is an off-shoot line of half-dragons that reproduced with other half-dragons." Ssilax drones on for a few moments. "Not terrible relevant, but I tend to remember odd things when nervous." Ssilax adds with a shrug of his shoulders.
Not an any way, shape, or form was Ssilax skilled at climbing. He keeps a keen on what Argon is doing. As best as the dragonkin can while getting Dog into his rope harness. Looking up at the climb, a slight frown flickers across his scaled muzzle.
"I wonder if there is another way in? Well, up in this case." Ssliax looks over at Wrathe. "Are there any traces of magic around the area? Maybe we could get lucky and find a hidden entrance. Which sounds a lot better then that climb looks." The dragonkin grins at his friend.
"I suggest we get closer first, by going up the pass. Once we're close to the portcullis, perhaps we can look around for other ways in. Though flying does sound nice, a lot easier than walking. Is that feasible, Wrathe?" Argon glances again up a the dragon.
Dark impulses urge the monster to slide from its snowy perch. The ancient chromatic dragon lazily takes to tattered wing and sinuously closes the distance between you. Near the maximum range of a shortbow it flies overhead with breathtaking speed (200' flight) seemingly to savour your fear. Every part of your psyche screams for you to remain stock still, as even your animal brain understands that there is no ability flee or find shelter from death incarnate (frightful presence).
Only for a fleeting moment you are in the presence of an ancient reptilian god, and you understand it to be cursed, as plague and pestilence emanates from it. It is scarred horrifically, with sallow and blackened veiny flesh, cracked and twisted like badly cooked meat burned dark where it isn't blood red, able to be seen where its scales have peeled in patches. Its thick blood splashes the ground. The dragon is decaying and dying from some unknown plague.
(please include a DC 25 will save vs. frightful presence in your next post to avoid being frightened or shaken for 5D6 rounds)
As quickly as the monster appears...it is gone, once again atop a frozen mountain.
"Each casting of the magical flight drains my reserves. It can be done, but it will reduce my effectiveness for later magics."
Wrathe draws a line in the ground and stands strong, his hands clenched in fists, almost challenging the dragon to come in range of his magics, so he can mount its head as a trophy on his walls.
(critical success)
Argon freezes as the terrible, magnificent beast approaches. His skin reminds him of the burning of the acidic rain outside of Caern, and he knows deep in his soul this dragon's acid will be ten times worse. They are going to die, dissolved to nothing, and be forgotten. If the world is saved, the history books will have no chapter for them, no footnote even. Grendel may explain how the four disappeared, never to be heard of, not knowing that dried acid pool contains all the detritus that remains of them. To Me'lar, Argon will be a distant memory, one of many from her past who mean nothing.
rounds.
Ssilax could only stare as Winged Death dives towards them. His mind seemed to slow time down for the dragonkin, making the experience seem to last for an eternity. The dragonkin does note the disease that eats away at the ancient wyrm.
Unasked, the dragonkin analyzes the rot that infest the dragon, his Healer's training kicking in as the rest of his mind blanks. After his mind begins to function once more that is.
Daxniss sputters as the dragon passes over head almost stunned that the dragon had flown over the head of the party. Daxniss also made note of the rot, not having much of a clue on what would cause the rot as well which, was interesting to say the least. Then the fear aura washes over Daxniss, having little way to fight against the fear her mind tries to marshall some defenses against it.
Shaken
Her mind was unable to bring up a proper defense against the dragon's aura effect, the id of her mind retreats, succumbing to aura. After words when she regains control of herself again, she finds out she was on the ground rocking back and forth. " I take it we all got to experience that little effect from the dragon passing by over head again. Everyone I take it saw the rot on it's scales right? "
Rheumy slitted eyes coldly mark the group's slow progress to Enwas. Hissing green acid drips from the fanged maw of the great wyrm Khosainat as its reptilian stomach works to digest the rotten bronze dragon flesh it had gorged itself upon earlier some miles from Kinwyr. The pleasant sensation of maggots wriggling within her stomach keeps her almost content until the insatiable hunger inevitably returns.
Ssilax's expert eye diagnosed signs of both plague and pestilence within the ancient dragon. Such wasting afflictions are likely the result of an impossibly powerful curse, since there is no natural cause known that could affect such a creature. Its cold reptilian blood has stained the ground near you, making you all wish to remain as far from it as possible, lest it might affect you with its infection.
It takes time for the shaken party to regroup, especially as it affects the dragonkin more than the others (twice duration for Ssilax's critical failure).
Humid air, super heated by streams of lava, surround you as you pick your way forward. It is a still and unnatural place. Treacherous ground with long patches that were covered in dank, fetid water, thick and overgrown with gnarled trees, and thorned vines that grab and clutch at you. Roots and other unknown items were always underfoot, waiting to cause the unwary to stumble. Among you are the ravaged remains of Enwas, it's dark stone buildings little more than a few scorched rocks piled atop one another, and rotten undergrowth infested the outcroppings of worked stone strewn about. Hundreds, if not thousands, had lived here once, until something horrifying happened that even the history books turned their backs upon.
(Daxniss and Ssilax, please include a DC 19 Fort Save vs. Very Hot Conditions or take 1D4 points of nonlethal damage. Please note that this roll may be affected by the use of the survival skill for Fort Saves versus Severe Weather, though this will add additional rolls since you will be moving at half speed. Note: A character who takes any nonlethal damage from heat exposure now suffers from heatstroke and is fatigued)
Working around a large rock slide, and a wide stream of splashing lava from above, you stand at the base of the mountain, your eyes fixing on the castle's portcullis 2000' above perched like a sentinel atop the mountain range's central spur.
(Daxniss and Ssilax, please include a DC 20 Fort Save vs. Very Hot Conditions or take 1D4 points of nonlethal damage. Please note that this roll may be affected by the use of the survival skill for Fort Saves versus Severe Weather, though this will add additional rolls since you will be moving at half speed. Note: A character who takes any nonlethal damage from heat exposure now suffers from heatstroke and is fatigued)
Cunningly carved into the dark stone are tight switchbacks that provide a steep, harrying lava-strewn path to the castle.
(Daxniss and Ssilax, please include a DC 21 Fort Save vs. Severe Heat or take 1D4 points of nonlethal damage. Please note that this roll may be affected by the use of the survival skill for Fort Saves versus Severe Weather, though this will add additional rolls since you will be moving at half speed. Note: A character who takes any nonlethal damage from heat exposure now suffers from heatstroke and is fatigued)
(Daxniss, Ssilax, Argon, and Wrathe please take 3 different instances of 1D6 points of fire damage versus Extreme Heat with no save for breathing the air as you navigate the lava fields. In addition, please include three Fortitude saves, DC 22, 23, and 24 for Daxniss and Ssilax, and 19, 20, and 21 for Argon and Wrathe, or take 1d4 points of nonlethal damage. Please note that this roll may be affected by the use of the survival skill for Fort Saves versus Severe Weather, though this will add additional rolls since you will be moving at half speed. Note: A character who takes any nonlethal damage from heat exposure now suffers from heatstroke and is fatigued. Note these rolls are affected, or can be negated entirely depending on the roll, by resistance to fire, though gear can still be damaged)
Plumes of warmth steam from your panting mouths as you finally find your way to the frigid heights next to portcullis. The temperature during the climbs burned your lungs a number of times, though this far up the mountain you find yourself shivering from the elements, except when near the wide stream of lava that surrounds the castle and slides in a ring down the side of the top of the mountain. It must be a striking image in the depths of night to see the top of the mountain glowing just beneath Castle Enwas.
The portcullis lies open and no sentry or obvious threat can be seen within, though Daxniss feels something is not right.
With a voice that shows an iron resolve wrought in the fires of Hell, the Xthian chuckles, "Dragon? That winged freak was nothing but an overgro..." Glancing about he realizes how much the passage of the creature had affected the others. Instead of levity he helps the others to focus and gather their centres anew.
(fire resistance negates all)
(fail)
(fire resistance negates all)
(fire resistance negates all)
(resisted)
(resisted)
(fire resistance negates all)
(fail)
(fire resistance negates all)
It is a bedraggled and exhausted Wrathe that finds his way to the top of the mountain (41/42 hit points, 23/35 mana), though his ancestral resistance fends off the cold as it had protected him from nearly all of the heat.
Argon forces himself to continue moving after the dragon passes by, but keeps a close eye on it. His hands shake as he moves forward, and says, "Rot? I didn't notice. All I could think of was acid eating my face. I hope it does not come back!"
He has techniques for helping to resist injury from the lava, but he figures it is better to hurry up, and using such techniques would slow them all down. He does help the other hurry past the lava when necessary. His own innate resistance to fire staves off any injury, but he hurries to get everyone away from the lava as soon as possible.
(Fire resistance 5, no damage taken)
(saved three times)
Upon reaching the open portcullis, Argon scans the area for watchers.
Argon also looks at the castle itself. He appreciates the designers of such a place, and hopes to one day have the time to study such things.
Asking who need protection from the elements, specifically against heat, Ssilax had glanced at the lava with a wry grin. Seeing that only Daxniss and Dog would require protection, Ssilax concentrates for a few moments. After saying a short prayer over the two, the elements lose all of there sting (Endure Elements, 24 hours)
The journey up was interesting and yet unpleasant at the same time. The sight was something that stole the breathe away, and the heated air actively tries to make one unable to breathe. Once again, he is glad he had cast the spell of the two. If it was unpleasant for him now with the boon granted to him by his ancestors, Ssilax would have hated the journey up without it.
As it was, the dragonkin was slightly more comfortable around a lavafall then he was around a bonfire. As they get closer to the top, Ssilax quickly prays, casting a more powerful bane against the super heated air for the two (Resist Energy Fire, 1 hour).
Finally reaching the top, Ssilax leans over, resting his hands on his knees and pants heavily.
"Not impressed by..., making that trek..., in armor," the dragonkin utters in between gasping for air. Catching his wind, the dragonkin stands up right ans looks around. Ssilax realizes that there are no guards, not to mention the portcullis is up. "Does it strike anybody else as odd that there is no one present?" Ssilax asks quietly.
Daxniss feels the wash of heat travel over her and hisses at the feeling, not thrilled or enjoying the extra heat from that was encircling the bridge. Glad that Ssilax had cast his protection magics to prevent her from taking undue damage from the level of heat.
" Alright hold up for a few, I think there might be something off about this spot, stay 20 ft back while I'm searching this spot. I feel like there might be some sort of trigger, or perhaps a pressure plate around here or something. " Daxniss says to the others while starting her search of the area in front of her.
Clerical magics shield Daxniss and Dog from the heat.
You stand upon a stone drawbridge that spans the wide ribbon of lava that acts as a moat around the walls that surround the castle. The chains for the drawbridge and the portcullis are rusted, likely fixed in their current position, the mechanism having fallen to disrepair, something that is not a surprise with the temperature extremes the metals have to contend with. The outer stones of the walls are pitted and partially-melted in areas.
Argon's focus on engineering reveals a number of changes that could be made to restrict the lava's flow, so it no longer flow down the switchback-festooned path, or into the valley below. The only watchers he observes (critical success) consist of the great wyrm atop the distant peak.
Daxniss locates 2 pressure plates, and a tripwire, which she can navigate the group past, or it can be disabled if she would prefer and is willing to accept the risks associated with such a venture.
Ssilax finds himself shivering in short order.
The structure looks to have been built for giants, modified for use by much smaller creatures, and appears to be a contradictory mix of dwarfen design with elven touches.
Past the outer walls you see a courtyard that has been scourged by what looks to be great volumes of acid. Dwarven statues lay disfigured like overconfident snowmen that ignored the oncoming melt. From your angle you can see that every edge and straight line constructed has been rounded, several feet of snow had piled up against each building. There is nothing soft about the snowfall, as it was icy and brutal, harsh and unforgiving. An eternal winter had come to smother the life from this place.
You see evidence of the footfalls of many, which lines up with what you have seen all along. An army marched forth from this place, though the wind and the falling snow obscures all but a few details here and there.
Daxniss smiles " Aye there we go, I'll see if I can mark them so we can bypass them. If not I'll try to disable them for us, watch your steps. "
Nimble fingertips begin the excruciating process of following nigh invisible wires back to their origin points, and determining how to best tackle the problems brought on by their designers. Two pressure plates lead back to arrow traps, and the liberal application of wedges ensures that they will not be firing anytime soon.
The tripwire is trickier. Daxniss pulls harder than she had expected, and she feels a horrific sinking in her stomach as it is triggered (failed by 5 or more). There is a moment where ears tuned specifically to hearing a mechanism going through its motions, that prepares her for the afterlife. Nothing happens, and the tripwire hangs limply.
Perhaps not what she had intended, but successful nonetheless, and worthy of taking credit for, as if this was the plan all along.
"If there are mechanical traps here, there could be more. If the bridge collapsed.... Or magical ones here or deeper inside. Wrathe, what magics do you see?" asks Argon.
Each stone that makes up this castle looks to have been cruelly torn from the bones of this very ancient mountain.
Wrathe glances about, finding magics moving about within the courtyard, which become clear after a time. Suits of magical plate armour walk sentry duty, their movements unnaturally silent, but make no move against you, or seemingly take notice of you. No other magics are seen.
You move across the snow-slick courtyard, laced with ice, occupied by statuary and other items associated with a working castle, in search of intruders or other denizens of the darkness seeking to slake their thirst for blood. Your feet leave little trails in the snow to mark your passage, playfully erased by the freezing wind. There is an ominous feeling to this place. Each of you think you hear moans, whispers, footsteps, the feeling of a hand upon your shoulder, laughter, strange echoes, the feeling of being watched, are all constant companions.
The tall burned-oak double castle doors stands slightly ajar. From within you feel the flooding of warmth, and the heady aroma of sumptuous repasts, both wood and soma smoke, and a rather exciting single-malt whiskey. Within the medieval castle doors you can see tents everywhere, and their have all been burned by acid.
The frost rimmed tower door is magically locked. From beyond the door the rogue hears muted screams of multiple voices assailing her ears.
(door will require a DC 30 disable device check to open)
Wrathe takes a moment to exploit his vantage point (detect magic at will), his eyes sweeping about the area.
His mouth drops agape and his hand raises to point out the magically-silenced suits of plate armour walking sentry duty around the castle grounds.
Daxniss whispers to the others " I hear faint screams, I'll try to get this door open for us, beware, stay back 20 ft please. "
Daxniss glances around, hearing Wrathe's words, her eyebrows lifts skyward letting out a silent whistle at Wrathe's observations.
The Arcane Tower of Enwas stands at over 600' in height, perhaps 100' taller than the castle itself. It is a cylinder shaped tower carved from an enormous block of black stone streaked with veins of scarlet. Flanking the main tower is a 400' minaret. The door leading into the Tower are made of polished bloodwood, covered with arcane glyphs that appear to be magical to the wizard's eyes.
With ease that comes from a lifetime of mastering a trade Daxniss searches for traps, disables them, and slides the bolt open. It is by far the most complicated lock she has ever encountered.
Within over a thousands steps the "Death Walks" leads up the hollow tower, with 33 landings and a number of floors. No handrail is present to keep people from falling over the side of the steps.
What were muted screams outside echo horribly within the central chamber. They come from above.
Spectres slide about the inner chamber, and pass right by you, where their spectral essence touches yours leaves you shaken to your very core, and the flesh frozen (1D4 nonlethal damage). As the plate guardians, they make no move against you, or even seem to acknowledge you.
Ascending brings you to the library, with shelves groaning with mouldering tomes bound in the skins of dead animals placed vertically and horizontally, their bindings hidden as often as not. The shelves overflow despite the rolling ladder's best efforts to maintain order. What the wooden shelves, that lined every wall, could not hold, were piled high on every surface that could not run away, in the manner of a hoarder of knowledge. Musty tomes, their spines cracked, mingle with more modern books of every description and were interspaced by the numerous dusty wine bottles strewn about. Within is a warm, fire lit room. Its large fireplace crackling, several eternally-blazing braziers, and a lot of comfortable furniture scattered around in scattered nooks.
Upon the closest table is "Isenatha Risa", laying out a bit too conspicuously for you to find. The book is not magical, trapped, and within is a treatise on the return of dragons and dragonkind.
The screams became louder as you had ascended to the level of the library, and you appear to be just above your current floor.
Clawed fingers twitching eagerly at the sight of the immense library, horror grips the dragonkin. The state some of the books where in was absolutely deplorable. He shakes his head at the sight of the books bound in hide, or flesh. 'Foolish, flesh doesn't hold ink as long as paper will,' the cleric of Nethys thinks to himself, shaking his head once more.
It was not difficult to tear his attention away from the tome's contained in the lich's libraries, the constant screaming helped. Mostly, it was the sight of the book they where sent to retrieve. "Isenath Risa," lay out, in the open, almost as it had been left out for them to find. The dragonkin's eyes narrow as he considers that point, looking around the room. Hastily, he sidesteps a shade, letting it pass by.
The last one that floated through him had felt like it stopped his heart . Even with the spell he had cast on himself earlier to stop the onslaught of cold (Endure Elements), the soul chilling absence of life was a type of cold he hope not to experience again. Not to mention the flash of it's memory that he had glimpsed when they touched.
"I think the emptiness of this place has to due to our friend running distraction, so we should not tarry. Given the acid destruction that obliterated the campsite, it could be possible the sick dragon outside is part of that," Ssilax says to his friends quietly. Speaking around so many trapped dead seemed somehow like poking a hornet's nest.
The dragonkin's sapphire orbs slide over to the book just laying out. He half expected to find a note written in spidery text telling them that they could borrow it, just be sure to return it when they where done with it. He shakes his head at the thought, suppressing a laugh at the thought of a robed skeleton writing the note down. He is unable to suppress a wide grin on his scaled muzzle.
"Part of me wants to grab the book and beat feet, while the other wants to peek upstairs, than grab the book and run. I cannot help but wonder if either action would cause the guardians to suddenly notices us," Ssilax whispers to his friends as he eyes the book once more.
A verbavore by Devilish circumstance and training, Wrathe walks about the library, his fingers tracing lines in the dust of the tomes' spines. There was solidity in logic, and he had spent his entire life in the pursuit of same.
Drawing down a tome down from a shelf, he flips through its fragile pages, seemingly oblivious to any danger that such an action might represent (dangerously curious). Such words were power manifest.
Only then does Ssilax' words process through the cloud of amour that surrounds him. A tad sheepishly he places the book back, while nervously glancing around and expecting 1000 shades to come cut them down.
" Aye it feels a bit too easy at the moment, Wrathe you mind looking at the boom with your eyes and not your hand. I would hate to go to grab the Tome and then have all sorts of things after us. " Daxniss says in a low voice and gives a shudder.
Footsteps continue to echo invisibly, as does a soft laughter, which echoes eerily about the central chamber.
Wraiths silently glide about, ghostly creatures that are little more than dark shapes with two flickering pinpoints of light where their eyes should be, their incorporeal bodies sliding through solid objects as if they are not even there.
Dog whines and tries to crawl out of its furry skin, considering fleeing from the wraiths, but certainly will not move any deeper into the tower unless successfully guided by a firm hand (must make a DC 25 handle animal, ride, or wild empathy check versus unnatural aura).
Wrathe slowly backs away from the books with a sheepish smile and a little wink, though his eyes lustfully wander about the room to drink in the titles of the closest books.
Watching a wraith goes by, he tries to remember anything he had read or heard about them.
Argon stands perfectly still, until a shade comes too close to him; then he moves out of the way, but goes back to the same place and stands.
He looks about the room, without moving from his spot, searching for watching eyes (a familiar, perhaps) or potential traps.
"I would postulate that whoever gave you this task, Dax, does not expect to see you back alive. Nor even want to," he says in undercommon.
"Plan A: Take the book, replace it with one of similar size and shape, and set a trap to go off as soon as it is discovered. To delay them. Whoever 'them' are. I was thinking a vial of Alchemist's fire that falls on the floor... "
"Plan B I like less: that is, we go outside, Wrathe takes the tome and shifts out with it, though I don't know how far you can shift. Or if this room will even let you. That's why I like this less."
Wrathe shakes his head, "I need to be able to see where I am going, and the range of that power is very short indeed."
The thought of burning this library makes the wizard chew on the inside of his cheek, and ravenous eyes consider filling his satchel with books and fleeing before his friends catch him.
Argon sees nothing suggestive of threats, potential or otherwise, other than the wraiths that glide past.
Argon also tries to estimate the weight of the desired book.
Daxniss looks around the room and starts slowly moving forward, trying to avoid the wraths as much as possible. Since Wrathe himself didn't tell Daxniss about possible magic traps around the book itself, Daxniss focuses on her footsteps, applying as little weight to the floor on each step as possible.
Daxniss was glad that her training had focused as much on her mind, along with more footsteps, allowing her mind to see traps when there wasn't any at all. Daxniss falls into an almost trance state, letting her training guide her along with her experiences, and where she might place traps for the unwary.
Fear was a constant companion, as in the background she could hear the screams of possible dying folk or, perhaps it was magic that making those sounds, thanks to the trip wire she didn't disable. Standing around and doing nothing wasn't going to solve anything, as it might be the smart play since she didn't have all the information.
Stealth check if needed, since I'm not sure I can take 10 on my check due to the non lethal damage flying around the room. If I can take 10, my stealth checks will be 25
Fast stealthing like a mofo:
Perception check as Dax is moving for traps
Perception check for the room, and making sure to glance above Dax
Stealth check for the next round if needed
Perception check for traps
The goal is in get to the table, however I will bypass traps/ disable device check them if I locate any.
Looking at Dog, he could hear his familiar muttering, "Don't want to be here," over and over. He lays a comforting hand on Dog's, scratching behind his ears with his claws.
"I know, buddy, not much longer and we can leave," Ssilax says quietly to Dog. The canine whines quietly, but wags his tail weakly.
Ssilax shares a horrified look with Wrathe at the mention of setting fire to the library, lich or no lich. The dragonkin shakes his head "No".
"I doubt the alchemical fire would even effect a lich. And if we did manage to set fire to its library, it would have a really good reason to hunt us down. One book missing, might be written off as misplaced. Ssilax says quietly to Argon.
"After consulting with my good friend and colleague, Dog, we have come to a conclusion. Once Daxniss determines things are safe, I will pick up the book, and we can get the Hells out of here." The dragonkin looks longingly at the library, and all of the knowledge contained within. "I wish we had the time to look for some choice, rare tomes," whispers the dragonkin with another long look at the piles of possibly lost knowledge.
'Aside from the "Isenath Risa," a few backpacks full of rare books would be splendid,' Ssilax thinks with a small grin as he dreams.
"Just let me know when you are ready, Daxniss," Ssilax says, glancing at some of the shades that wander about. Quickly, the young cleric thinks about the trapped souls and what he knows about them. Just in case things turned sour for them.
Argon estimates that "Isenatha Risa" weighs just over 3 pounds.
Glacial winds whip swirling eddies of snow into the lowest parts of the tower, its moaning much more intense than it was moments prior. The polished bloodwood door leading into the tower is ajar. Glancing to one another, you are positive that you had shut the cold out behind you as the last of you entered the pitch black of the tower.
Glancing down you recognize that there are extra tracks of snow leading up the stairs, though the winds have conspired to erase much of their details. Argon is confident that the fresh steps suggest a corporeal walker that weighs around 8 stone; a mass that matches the light steps of a desiccated corpse made animate by foul necromancy. The snow tracks stop after a time, around the point where you also had kicked off most of what had accumulated, though while yours pooled in the library, the other tracks continue about 8 steps above the level of landing that leads to the library.
Something had walked right past the group, moving within as few as two paces, without being seen.
It feels as the mouse must as it flees from the stalking cat.
Daxniss slides about the large room, clearing it of potential threats, magical and otherwise, confident that there were no traps to be found in the library. The book is not magical, trapped, and within is a treatise on the return of dragons and dragonkind.
While the wizard does not find magic in the room, beyond the glow of the eternal braziers, he stops for a time to wonder how Daxniss moves so impossibly silently (critical success on stealth check).
Tormented screams harry your decision making process of what to do next.
Wrathe finds himself torn in consideration of al the evils associated with Lich Lord Azthoh and this impressive collection of knowledge. It is a strange realization that his passions might be more in league with this creature of unlimited evil, though he is confident that his morality is more in line with those with those he travels with.
Wondering if fire would affect the lich, he considers what he knows of liches.
Considering Wrathe's past, his head snaps around as Ssilax suggests leaving without attending to those screaming in agony, "You would just leave them?" There is a bit more biting judgement to his words than he had intended, but his eyes blaze with unmatched intensity.
You realize that he'll do it alone even if everyone else chooses to leave.
Ssilax carefully picks up the book "Isenatha Risa" as one might a highly-explosive alchemical mixture. Nervous breaths are held.
Nothing happens.
Wrathe is confident that while a lich is completely immune to cold-based attacks, possibly part of the reason this location was chosen for a dwelling, fire will burn its papery flesh. As to killing it with alchemist's fire, the lich's exploits are such that you wonder if it could challenge the very gods.
Ssilax and Wrathe compare notes and together have a incredibly comprehensive understanding of the wraiths that dwell in the Arcane Tower of Enwas (http://www.d20pfsrd.com/bestiary/monster-listings/undead/wraith).
For those with darkvision, glancing up the central corridorn while standing upon the landing, you see the open door that the screams emanate from. Your eyes are dragged perhaps another 100' further up as a door opens momentarily, letting out some light, and then closes.
"Okay, but at least replace the book, to satisfy any cursory glance. Also, Dax, you should make room in your new pocket for the book. About three pounds, I estimate." Argon will be more than happy to get out of here, if they can get out of here.
"Also, a skinny creature just walked past us, invisible."
" Aye I'll put the book away. " Daxniss makes a gesture and takes the Tomb into the Spirit Pouch, after a moment she closes the pouch with a grunt.
" the screars could just be part of a magic effect maybe. I don't know if we have any real way of harming anything in this area. However if you wish to go, I will go with you of course, I would ask that you keep a mind that we could be drawn deeper into the towe with no way out. " Daxniss whips her head around at Argon's words and mutters under her breath.
"Are they real? I guess they might be." Argon sighs. The feeling in his gut is like an iron ingot, heavy with worry, hot with guilt.
"Well, it's been easy so far, though I get the feeling that that's because we've been ignored. Shall we go check it out?"
He takes out his bow, nocks a magic arrow, and starts up the corridor, quietly.
(Fast stealth, normal move rate)
Finding a tome that approximates "Isenatha Risa" is not difficult in a room with thousands upon thousands of books, and by the time Daxniss is ready to leave (spirit pouch takes 1 minute of full concentration to open) the tome is in place upon the table and the clever ruse is set.
Finding no saliva in his mouth, Wrathe turns about and glances around, feeling uncomfortable that they also have to contend with invisible foes in this excursion.
The thought that they were being drawn deeper into an elaborate web was one that haunted his every move, but he was a slave to innocents at the whims of despotism.
Wrathe is busy while the rogue is at work, casting a spell to counter the glamer of invisibility for the entire group ( (41/42 hit points, 15/35 mana). His effectiveness had greatly depreciated, especially after wasting so much spell energy for joy rides, but that choice had already been made, and he pragmatically moves on.
(provides the ability to see invisible objects for 1 hour each)
Though slower than those who specialized in skulking, he normally can hold his own if there's enough time to pick his steps.
"Given that we are surrounded by trapped souls, I am going to say it is not a magical effect. Think about who lives here, do you really think it would put up some weak illusions? More than likely what we are going to see is a bunch of sentient beings in completely agony being tortured in some sadistic, nefarious magical fashion. And it will be another thing we are powerless to do anything about it. Instead, we will have the lovely memory of the sight forever burned into our brains." The dragonkin looks towards the area that houses the screams. "And no, we cannot functionally harm really anything here. I might, and emphasize might, be able to keep some of the weaker undead from attacking us, when things go sour, because it is us, something will go sour."
Ssilax felt bad about his choice to just leave, he certainly didn't want to leave them to suffer some nameless horror. The sight of the arcane users that he had failed to save burned at the stake would haunt him until the end of his days. He was more concerned with Wrathe. He was well aware of Wrathe's obsessive need to escape death. The dragonkin was certain that if the the caster had a chance, he would deal with another devil to attempt to free himself. He had gone blue in the scales trying to tell the arcane user that undeath only leads to stagnation. He would have a better chance with magics that would extend his natural life and slow his aging. It wasn't a cure, more of a way to get extra time to figure out the riddle, if there was a solution. Unfortunately, the only thing he could think of that could break a Devil-God's curse, would be another god. And Wrathe would rather hand his soul over to Asmodeus wrapped with ribbons then parley with any deity.
Having said his piece, knowing his words would fall on deaf ears, Ssilax sighs and follows the others. Attempting to move quietly, Ssilax keeps a comforting hand on Dog, the other was gripping the handle of his battle aspergillum.
None could have walked so close to the party without being heard, even with the party constantly hearing phantom sounds. A simple silence spell would suffice though, which suggested an item, a bard, or a cleric was involved.
Ascending a dyad of landings brings you to next open entryway, its polished bloodwood portal hanging slightly open to the empty passageway reaching out into the black. Following the passageway brings you to another door, which also stands ajar. Beyond the door is a spiral stairway, which leads up 400' into the tall and thin minaret that has no handrail to keep people from falling over the side of the stone steps.
Ragged screams echo down, greatly amplified by the hollow nature of the smaller tower.
You step into Lich Lord Azthoh's bedchamber. Crawling away from the top of the stairwell are battered hardwood floors, black stone with veins of scarlet, and eternally blazing braziers providing a comforting warmth, which is momentarily jarring considering the imagined horrors that dragged you to this place. Everything within the expansive confines has a gothic feel with hideous gargoyles, aged by the years, glowering down upon you upon perches in the corners of the 20' ceilings.
In what looks to be an experiment gone awry, the lich's bed is a mangled mass of foul acids dissolving the fine silks, down pillows, and handcrafted woodwork. The acid makes it difficult to breathe in the room for long, though of course a lich would not care about such things.
From the statuary, to the tapestry, trophies from the centuries, the too-wide erratically-designed spiral staircases, to the solidity of the aged wood furniture, everything has a slightly twisted feel about it.
Speaking of twisted...
Fragmented rays of light splash in through the haphazard stained planks of wood that board up the small window slits. As your eyes slowly adjust to the dim of the room, your olfactory senses kick in. An overwhelming stench of metallic sweetness, urine and rotting foecal matter draws up bile as you quickly turn to mouth breathing. What once looked like a bedroom has been converted into a mortician's theatre. Pieces of torn flesh, muscle and broken bones dangle from dead bodies. Their flesh quivering and squirming as tiny holes slowly formed in the decaying flesh as thousands of maggots chew their way to the surface. Perhaps as many as 13 elven bodies could be reassembled in this room if one had enough thread, and a penchant for the macabre.
It is at this moment that you realize the cause of the screaming.
5 elves still draw breath, and they are using that breath in the hopes that someone can make the agony stop. You notice a tear trickle down the hacked up cheek of a pair of eyes that are staring up at you...it is then that you see the eye lids. One lid having been torn away dangling over the side of the temple, the other having been pierced back onto the forehead. There are multiple pans collecting every drop of blood underneath the cots of the individuals...not a drop is wasted. Beside each individual is a tray of rusted tools, your mind marvelling at the uses of some of the gadgets.
Fragile golden chains come out of the very stone to hold the elves in place, which Wrathe sees as magical, and Daxniss sees as child's play to unlock.
(DC 25 Disable Device to pick each of the locks)
Ssilax and Argon's expert eye scours each of the beaten, and filthy forms, that huddle defensively in the corner, assessing injuries and finding most of them superficial. These are wounds meant to extract a maximum of pain and horror, while not wishing to risk a death at an inopportune time.
The elves will all recover given sufficient medical attention.
A great deal of damaged furniture is strewn around an area of the room, which looks like someone had an epic tantrum here.
(please include a perception check in your next post)
Staring at the tortured elves, the dragonkin was shocked. Not that he had been wrong, that happens way too much for him to be surprised. But the fact that sadistic torture taking place was physical in nature, giving him a slice of insight into the Lich Lord nature. More confirmed what he had suspected, that the lich was a sadist of perhaps the highest caliber.
Eyes moving over the remains of the other elves that are strewn around, Ssilax let's his Healer's training take over. The cleric focuses on what he can do, operating on logic, emotions wrapped up and sectioned off in his mind.
"We are here to help," the dragonkin says quietly as he carefully moves forward to the lich's..., playthings. The cleric realizes that is all the lich views the living. Nothing more than fleshy meatsacks that made interesting noises as they experimented on. The dragonkin's sapphire orbs sweep the room as he approaches slowly.
Looking over the wounds that where designed to the as painful as physically possible, the dragonkin couldn't help but acknowledge the skill the wielder of the torture devices. The lich clearly knew how to hurt people. It had certainly had enough time to perfect this skill.
Before Ssilax was going to channel positive energy to heal the group, he wanted to fix some of the injuries. He didn't want eyelids healing stretched out of place. The cleric's mind was thinking about how they where going to get the elves out of here. Magic was certainly going to be involved, the question remained on if the teleportation would work for the elves. 'That's a problem for later,' he thinks briefly.
"There is a chance that when I channel energy to heal them, it could attract the wrong type of attention," Ssilax cautions, glancing over at his friends. "Also, I am glad that I was wrong considering what we found." The dragonkin adds the corners of his scaled muzzle twitch as he almost grins. Looking over at Wrathe, Ssilax adds, "Are the chains magical, and if so, is an Alarm tied to the chains?"
After checking the wounds, Ssilax channels a burst of healing energy. If they are not immediately set upon by undead, the cleric will channel a second burst. He hoped that they were "concealed" by the desecrated nature of the tower.
Argon looks about the room while Ssilax starts his ministrations.
After a quick look, he hurries to help out the cleric, suggesting, "Can you watch the door, Wrathe?" Once Daxniss takes them out of the chains, he helps to hold each elf and lay them down if necessary. He says to Ssilax, "I can do a less powerful channeling, if necessary."
In order to stop imagining the pain these folks must be in, he tries to remember that they will soon be healed, and out of that pain. The question of how to get them home would come later.
Daxniss snarls at the sight glad that she had followed Wrathe's actions, she had went first and was shocked for a heartbeat or two. Daxniss looks around at the rest of the room.
Daxniss moves forward, keeping an eye out for traps, as she feels her blood boiling from the treatment of any being tortured, as she feels her rage start to grow to an almost out of control point. Taking a few deep breaths, even that was difficult due to the stench that seemed to permeate the air and gathers her resolve, there would be little point in destroying anything due to the current rooms stature.
Moving forward she spends time looking over the locks and the chains themselves, wondering what traps would lie in the devices, and what she would have placed in order to prevent those that were in them. Slipping on her silk gloves to help prevent a contact poison she moves to the first elf and says in Elvish " We are going to get you out of here at the very least we can get you out of these chains. "
Daxniss understood and spoke the Elvish tongue as part of her training and it had been rather easy to learn for her, steeling her resolve she goes over the locks and the chains, then attempts to open the first lock. Things were going to be precarious to say the least, as no one knew what was started crafted with these chains.
Perception check for traps on the chains
Perception check for traps on the locks
Disable device check for trap on lock if there are any
Disable device check for trap on lock
Disable Device check for Lock
Lather rinse repeat for the rest of the locks and chains:
Chain number 2:
Perception check for traps
Disable Device check for traps
Disable Device for lock number 2
Chain number 3:
Perception check for traps
Disable Device check for traps
Disable Device for lock number 2
Chain number 4:
Perception check for traps
Disable Device check for traps
Disable Device for lock number 2
Chain number 5:
Perception check for traps
Disable Device check for traps
Disable Device for lock number 2
In Undercommon:
" Look we should get out of here, now, I'm not sure we should push our luck any more then we already have. We will take them out of here, that much is certain and start traveling from this place, after they have received care we will see about getting them where they are from, provided they still have homes to go to. "
Wrathe nervously stands guard, his magically-augmented eyes sweeping the stairs for invisible threats.
With an absent wave of his hand he sets his magics to help clean the elves so his companions can see the truth of their wounds.
Wraiths glide through the room at erratic times, but do not seem to even notice the party.
Magic has strengthened the chains far more than they would appear, to the point where something the size of a woman's gold necklace is nigh-unbreakable, but Daxniss finds no obvious traps. Two of the elves had pulled their way out of their bonds, though at great cost as one had lost a great deal of flesh in doing so, making you wonder if she chewed on her own flesh to accomplish the task, and the other had shattered her forearm in the process. Each lock satisfyingly snaps open and all the elves are free, the chains crumbling to dust as their purpose is discharged.
You find fine silk sheets that you can wrap the elves in while you apply your initial ministrations. One elf has a broken bone, one has had her tongue partially cut out and another two have lost their tongues altogether, several have superficial wounds over the entirety of their body, all are likely tortured by their experiences, all have lost a great deal of blood and are weakened as a result, another has been eviscerated, and all have been infected by pestilence and plague. A splint is applied to the broken arm, the worst of the wounds are bandaged, and magical healing is provided, which assures you that all of these elves will survive.
The closest wraith is another matter as each wave of magical healing washes over it, causing it to flee through the closest wall as quickly as it can.
You find clothes for the emaciated elves. Not all the outfits fit perfectly. One of the outfits barely fit the elf anymore, making you wonder how long she had been incarcerated here and if you are seeing nothing but a shadow of the vibrant being she once was. Perhaps she was once beautiful, but now little more than a shadow with her tongue half cut out, impeding her speech and making her words difficult to understand. Despite the damage she is the most lucid of the lot, and it is she that offers thanks in a damaged version of the elvish tongue.
Slightly sweet tortured grapes tantalize Argon's nares. It is an unexpected smell in such a place, for one does not expect the undead to partake of wine. Moving to the area of localized furniture destruction he imagines that one was once a plush walnut settee upholstered in thick material, and the other a walnut console table with marble top. Within the area of destruction he finds shattered crystal bordeaux glasses, and judging by the bases there were four of them, and they were full of red wine at the time of their demise. A bottle of wine, once half full, has been brought down to its component parts. Among the wreckage is a torn piece of parchment, which drips red wine as Argon lifts it. Perhaps as many as 12 words are written on the parchment, in an unfamiliar language to all, and the rest is lost as the red wine caused the ink to run, obliterating the message beyond any chance to decipher its intent.
(requires DC 30 linguistics check to decipher the words)
Items are scattered among the wreckage, and while many have been decimated, some have survived. These are thoughtful gifts, which line up to those in the room so perfectly that it causes one's teeth to itch.
It appears you were expected.
(please pick items totalling up to 25,000gp for your character, with no single item can be over 14,000gp)
Argon helps take care of the elves, speaking in Common since he doesn't know Elven. He moves to a spot out of sight of them, and opens his spirit pouch, pulling out all his food and water. After closing the pouch he brings the nourishment to the elves, encouraging them to drink and eat a little now, and more later.
Smelling wine and finding a strange piece of paper, Argon lifts the parchment and says to Wrathe, "Quick, dry this," knowing the wizard can remove the liquid and prevent further damage. He tries to figure out what language is written there, but doesn't even recognize the script, much less the words.
He then hands it to the linguist Wrathe to decipher, should he feel so inclined. He considers taking another bottle, either from here or from downstairs, but decides that anything like wine or food from this place is to be avoided.
"This wine bottle was broken recently. I wonder why..." He looks to the elven woman for a possible answer.
After searching through the room, he finds a few items of worth he decides to keep.