The two ‘daughters’ are initially unresponsive, just sobbing and clutching each other. After a few minutes, they finally find their voice. ”We...we were taken from the village some time ago! Our father...he’s at the...the Lion Sleeps Inn. Could you...please take us back there?”
The daughters begin sobbing again after an apparent moment of clarity, realizing what just happened. ”That...woman you just fought, she took us!”
|
If we believe we have explored everything, Gilliby will suggest that we return to the inn noted that it seems quite odd that their father did not mention their disappearance. Otherwise, if we have not swept the remaining areas, the gnome will second Delduwath’s suggestion to continue to the next unexplored area.
The Pathfinders return to the Columbarium and once again find themselves on a large medusa carving on the floor.
An examination of the medusa carving reveals the following unusual aspects of the medusa seal: a keyhole in its right eye (for the key you found); a starburst indentation in the left eye (for the amulet found worn by Lucretia); a thin slot in the mouth (for the dagger); and an oval indentation in the chin (for the gem found in the jawbone). When all of these items are placed in the proper positions, the crest automatically teleports those who step onto it to another level of the tomb. The teleported Pathfinders arrive in this great, domed chamber standing atop a mosaic of the cross-eyed medusa in the center of the floor.
The ceiling of this grand chamber peaks forty feet overhead, and is covered with frescoes depicting the prophecy of Aroden’s return. In mockery of this, however, a massive fresco on the northeast wall depicts an infernal figure, black as soot, with the head of a goat and hairy bat wings. The devil holds a wicked looking scythe in one hand and with the other feeds a brazier fire with pages from a book entitled The Prophecies of Aroden. A huge, defiled symbol of Aroden, its wings clipped bloodily, occupies the southeastern wall.
A 25-foot-tall iron statue of the Medusa Triumphant dominates the west end of the chamber. It depicts a naked medusa standing over a decapitated corpse, holding a sword in her right hand, blade parallel to the ground. The other arm is extended, grasping her grisly trophy by the curls, gore dripping from where the head was severed from its body.
|
Xavier’s eye twitches slightly.
A place for the dead that dishonors the dead. Despicable.
Xavier looks around the room for anything of interest when he spies a curtain on the east side of the room .
”Perhaps a way further?”
Once he knows his companions are ready, he motions for Obsidian to open the curtain .
Obsidian leads the way in the direction Xavier points.
Four shimmering pools occupy this barrel-vaulted chamber, each about a foot deep and displaying a highly detailed mosaic of a cockatrice at its center, composed of fake precious stones.
Xavier easily spots a secret door across the room.
Even without examining them too closely, Xavier thinks that the cockatrice mosaics are trapped! If you touch one or look closely at it it’ll trigger a magical trap that can turn flesh to stone.
|
|
Gilliby immediately shuts his eyes as his heart begins to race. Memories of his own petrification begin to swirl in his mind.
”Breath Gilliby,” the gnome coaches himself with a long deep exhale.
After a short moment the green haired man seems to have regained his composure. Intent on avoiding the mosaics, he focuses straight ahead on any exits in the room eager to move on from the current hazard.
Obsidian, with no apparent concern for the mentioned trap, moves over to the door that Xavier insisted was there and attempts to open it.
Obsidian opens the door and sees a hallway ahead.
Obsidian moves through the hall and stops at the first juncture with the door. Obsidian peaks through the door.
This massive domed chamber, peaking at seventy feet above, is painted with knotted geometric designs in muted reds and golds. Another Medusa Triumphant statue dominates the alcove at the room’s western end. An inscription decorates the statue’s base.
“Come out further on our Ledge
Sheathe in me the Family’s Edge
Take the Soot inside my Core
Scatter Ash past Stony Door
Walk into the Scarlet Light
Witness when the Dead had Sight
Two Sad Tales are both revealed
Truth and Fraud, No more concealed
Newfound Wisdom tastes of Bile
And never shall We reconcile”
Further investigation of the iron medusa statue reveals a narrow slot in its chest—the slot is wide enough to accept a longsword blade.
Obsidian withdraws his head from the door, "No obvious threats, lets go." He then proceeds to open the door and walk up to the statue.
Obsidian walks over to the other 'door' and peeks through.
This chamber’s twenty-foot-high ceiling is held aloft by pristine granite pillars. The walls are covered in murals depicting battle scenes, while a twelve-foot-tall aquarium occupies the west end of the room, framed in iron and with thick glass. Four elaborate chairs of carved mahogany sit before this water-filled tank. A great Qadiran rug of intricate geometric designs covers the floor.
There’s just another Medusa statue.
Obsidian shrugs after pulling his head back into the room. "There is another medusa statue."
Front and center in the aquarium floats a bloated, unusually preserved corpse, its arms and legs shackled with chains attached to floor and ceiling, clad in an extraordinarily wrought breastplate emblazoned with the cross-eyed medusa, and bobbing in the green-hued water. The pommel of a sword protrudes from the body’s belly. The floating cadaver’s dead eyes are wide open, and its black hair wafts back and forth, as though cast about by a gentle breeze. A bronze plaque, green with age, mounted on the glass above, reads: “‘Then Let Them Drink’— Bartolomae Adella, 4496–4542.”
The blade protruding from the corpse’s abdomen can be easily drawn from the ancient wound, but when this is done, the northern pillars instantly melt into foul-smelling filth, transforming into slithering, semihumanoid forms made of sludge and ooze, but with hideous gaping mouths—omox demons.
The pommel of the ancient sword bares the name Infensus Mucro and is engraven with a phrase in Azlanti: “This Is Our Answer.”
In the previous room, when the blade is inserted into the medusa statue’s chest, it slides in easily, a sharp click reverberating about the chamber as it locks in place. At this time, the stone block at the chamber’s eastern end descends to reveal an alcove wherein stands a second medusa statue. An instant later, the first medusa statue animates and attacks . In the debris of the medusa statue is a now magical Infensus Mucro as well as a fair amount of sooty ash that radiates strong transmutation magic.
Once a handful of the strange ash from the destroyed statue is scattered onto the floor of the alcove, the air in that area shimmers and glows with a crimson radiance. One round later, blasts of light radiate outward, striking every creature in the chamber. Suddenly, everyone’s sights changes vastly as everyone—suddenly in the form of ghostly apparitions—are flung to a vastly different area.
*
Braziers light a general’s command tent. The general himself—a towering man with handsome features, clad in elaborate breastplate armor—stands on the edge of an elegant Qadiran rug. A gaggle of junior officers, priests, and aristocrats stand before the tent flap and an armor mannequin.
“Well, let’s get it over with,” the general intones haughtily, gesturing to an Arodenite priest carrying a fancy cage containing two fine roosters. The general casts several types of honeyed grain on the ground to the waiting fowl, but to everyone’s chagrin, and the general’s fury, the sacred birds do nothing. After an impossible silence, one of the nobles mutters in an awkward tone, “They… do not eat.”
To everyone’s horror, the general grabs the sacred animals by their feathered necks, storms over to an elegant bathtub and holds them under the soapy water, hissing, “Then by Aroden’s damned eyes, let them drink!”
The shocked gathering is paralyzed by the general’s hideous blasphemy. He stands seething at the edge of his tub, the limp, dripping carcasses gripped tightly in either hand, glowering at the witnesses to his monstrous sacrilege. Finally, a junior tribune blurts out, “Brother, I will fetch your warhorse!”
The general rouses from his rage and drops the ruined birds on the rug, striding to the tent’s entrance.
“Tribune!” he shouts to the nearest lieutenant, indicating the long map-covered table. “Gather my battle plans! We march on this Qadiran rabble at once!”
The military tribunes scatter to their duties. When the general attempts to plow past the collection of onlookers at the tent entrance, a red-haired prelate grabs him by his rich cape and speaks in a cold, furious tone:
“I know not what will happen this day, Bartolomae, but be assured of this: the tree of thy family shall wither and bear fruit no more. This is the last of your blasphemies in Taldor’s name. From this day forward your name will be cursed along with that of your whole arrogant brood!”
The general shoves the indignant cleric to the ground, and shaking his blade hisses, “You may thank your damnable Aroden that I have other blood to spill today, lackey; otherwise I would take Infensus Mucro and run you through!”
The blade he shakes is familiar—it is Infensus Mucro itself.
The vision blurs and rapidly fast-forwards as several hours pass in a span of seconds before resuming.
The general’s tent is now empty. The mannequin lies on its side, the dead birds still heaped on the floor. The brutal cacophony of battle can be heard in the distance. Suddenly, the general bursts through the tent flap, gore-caked sword in hand, face smeared with dirt, blood spattered over his flamboyant breastplate. The military tribune who broke the silence earlier follows him, also splashed with the filth of battle.
“All is lost, Cadimus,” he pants to the younger man. “Those damned dervishes rolled up my left flank as though it were made of paper!” Cadimus’s silence is his assent.
The general shakes his sword before his own face, cursing, “You! You have done this to me! All of it! You have murdered us all!”
He turns to Cadimus, nodding as though finishing a conversation. “‘Sheathe me in my master’s blood’ was the line, no? To put the damned thing back to sleep?”
Cadimus nods back, still speechless. Staring into space, trancelike, the general whispers hoarsely to him.
“Do what you can to salvage this, my brother. Beldam would have our heads. Pressure Micheaux to aid us—he will be king before long and we must use what leverage we have. Perhaps you could prevail upon our dear sister to utilize her... relationship, with him? If not... ha! Maybe Asmodeus will assist. I go to face the gods’ wrath. You are the head of our House now, brother. Bury me with sufficient irony.”
A strange look of calm comes over the general’s face as he gets to his knees at the corner of the rug. He plants the pommel of Infensus Mucro and lifts his armor at the waist, allowing the blade’s point to taste his bare abdomen. With a suddenness that makes Cadimus gasp, Bartolomae springs forward, forcing the blade up into his chest—a torrent of blood splashes out onto the Qadiran rug, the florid stain spreading as he collapses to the ground. A moment later, a vertiginous blackness sweeps everything away.
*
A fire burns in the hearth of this well-appointed room. Three men stand about a bed—a handsome man with rolled-up sleeves holding a crying newborn, and two others. In the bed lies a frightfully pale, sweat-drenched woman, her dark hair cascading over damp pillows. Her bedclothes are soaked with blood, and her eyes stare into space; she is not breathing.
“Just as well,” the handsome man says, a single tear running down a cheek, “with all her ranting about seeing the boy grow up. She knew she could never have been a part of his life.”
His attention turns to the child he holds. He nods approvingly, wipes the tear from his cheek, then lays three fingers on the squealing infant’s forehead.
“Stavian,” he croons. “You, too, shall be king in your turn.”
“Our bargain, Micheaux,” stammers Cadimus, almost absently.
The other man’s eyes flash with grief, and then fill with anger as he whirls upon Cadimus. When he speaks, his voice is cold and grim.
“Our ‘bargain’ died with your sister, Cadimus. You are the last of your damned line, and even that is too much. But I shall grant you one last mercy nonetheless—leave Taldor by dawn, and I’ll not send my army after you. The next time I see an Adella face in my empire, it had best be in a grave.”
He turns with the baby in his arm, walking regally for the door, oblivious to Cadimus’s trembling fury. “We go to meet our destiny,” he coos to the squealing infant.
In the same bedchamber, now oppressively hot, the same woman lies lifeless in the bed, though someone has mercifully closed her eyes. Micheaux and the infant are gone and Cadimus hands a baton to the apron-clad man.
“Hide this downstairs before we leave, Parsimus. I know you saw it in the bastard’s eyes. He has no intention of honoring even his last promise—he’ll have his thugs on us within the hour. We must seek the only safe place left to us—the Tomb of the Iron Medusa. There we can rest and regroup and make plans for the future. The baton contains the key to finding the tomb—if I die before you, ensure that someone you trust knows where you’ve hidden it. Someday, someone will need to know the truth.”
He looks over at his sister’s dead body. “And secure a coffin for my sister. I am not going to leave her here. She comes with us.” He turns to face the other man, who still seems frozen in shock.
“Go, damn you!” Cadimus spits, and finally the other man turns and leaves the room.
“The Adellas are truly abandoned by Aroden,” Cadimus says with dismal certitude to an empty room. “The gods laugh at us... but perhaps my brother was right after all... perhaps there is one left who might listen...”
He pauses, a look of dread and determination washing over his countenance. He takes up his dead sister’s hand in his own, holds it to his brow, and then utters a prayer of blasphemy.
“Asmodeus! Asmodeus, I call on thee! Blood and my everlasting soul if you would but allow me to protect my family and bring my dear sister back to me!”
A sudden light flickers in air, shimmering as if heated by fire. Then the shimmer grows more substantial, becoming a shapeless mass of tangible evil and immense power. A voice sweet as honey and sharper than any razor emanates from the malevolent presence.
*
The visions subside, revealing that only seconds seem to have passed, when four ashmede devils appear and attack the Pathfinders, which the Pathfinders dispatch.
And thus is the end of Tomb of the Iron Medusa.
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Xavier makes his way back to his home of Oppara. He stops by his estate and throws a small satchel of gold to his adopted son, Masayoshi.
”There will be a Pathfinder just inside the marketplace—short, green-haired fellow; I made an order for an item. Pay the man with that gold and deliver the item to me. You know where I’ll be.”
His smile fades as he is reminded of the parchment in his coat pocket. Xavier impulsively grimaces—he realizes his reflexive facial expression after a second and contorts it back into a neutral one, hoping that no one saw.
A roar of applause erupts as Eutropia is officially crowned empress—peasants and nobles alike cheering and hollering, for a new age for the empire has begun.
Xavier joins in the raucous celebration for only a moment when a message creeps into his mind:
”Right outside. I’ve got the scroll for ya.”
”Thank you. I’ll be out in a moment.” he replies.
Xavier sneaks off from the crowd and meets up with his monkey-tailed son outside. He hands the noble a scroll.
”Thank you, Masayoshi.”
“No prob. What’d you need it for? That spell isn’t too good for a scroll.”
“Masayoshi, you know that I respect you and see you as a son...”
“I am your son.”
“...but I’m sorry that I have to say that I can’t tell you. It is a personal matter.”
Masayoshi raises an eyebrow then shrugs. ”Whatever. I’m going to the tavern.”
“No. I’m going to be out late so I’ll need you to watch the estate.”
“Come ooon!”
“Do it and I’ll pick up your tab.”
“Deal.”
*
Xavier stares up at the stars in the night sky, the crackle of a fire filling his ears. He looks down on the city of Oppara from a hill as he contemplates what he’s about to do. Xavier pulls out a parchment and stares at the words:
Grand Prince Micheaux the Magnificent
Lucretia Adella
”The royal line is descended from a—“
The word catches in his throat. He told himself that he would never say that word again, but he cannot keep himself quiet anymore.
”...bastard.”
Memories swarm back to the elf—his childhood growing up on the streets of Absalom. Armed only with his wits as he strives to survive. Chased by guards for stealing and hiding from those who wished to clean the city of “such filth.”
His life changed when he was approached by a Pathfinder—Lady Gloriana Morilla—who offered him transport to “his estate.”
Lady Morilla explained that Xavier was the lost heir to a sum of fortune, and that fortune was his to inherit.
Going from poverty to luxury was a hard adjustment for the half-elf, and he found that many of the Taldan nobility did not treat him with respect. At first Xavier thought it because of his upbringing, but he soon learned the truth:
The patriarch of House Kallis of Taldor had a midnight tryst with the matriarch of House Torovett of Kyonin. Years later both houses died off, without an heir for either.
That is, save for the child of that tryst: Xavier.
Fearing the public opinion towards the houses of a bastard child, Lady Torovett abandoned the child to the streets.
And the Taldan nobility knew of Xavier’s bastard origin, disgusted at the idea of such an abomination being the air to not one, but two fortunes.
This enraged Xavier—these people refused to acknowledge Xavier’s merits and judged him only based on his conception.
Xavier vowed that he would prove them wrong.
Xavier abandoned his former name, creating a new noble house in homage to his parents’: House Kahlvet. He vowed that he would prove himself as being more than a bastard noble—that he’s more than his conception.
And here he sits, proof that the monarchy is descended from a bastard is sitting in his hands. He’s been in a cognitive conflict the moment he saw this birth certificate—but he finally decided what he’s going to do.
Xavier reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out his recently-acquired scroll. He unfurls it onto the grass as he pulls out an extract of heroism and drinks it. He holds the birth certificate of Grand Prince Stavian I a foot over the fire as he places his hand on the scroll, utters the finishing of the spell, and points at the certificate.
Total: 48
Total: 48
A thin green ray shoots out from Xavier’s finger, hitting the certificate and turning the parchment to dust, slipping from his fingers into the inferno below.
Xavier sighs. He throws the now-blank scroll into the fire and watches as it is consumed in the flame.
He watches the fire mindlessly until it dies down into glowing coals. Xavier Kahlvet picks himself up and walks down the hill toward Oppara, the sounds of the night cascading through him as he moves.