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Kirrote watches Yangrit address one of the locals. The poor fellow just sneers back at her and starts to move on his way. Kirrote steps in front of him, his large green body blocking the man's way. He grabs the man by the shoulders and leans towards him so that his face is only a few inches away.
"The lady asked you a question. I think you should answer her," he grumbles. At the last moment he tries to smile but the look on the man's face makes it clear that the smile didn't look friendly.
The city local's disregard for Yangrit quickly turns to fear for his life. He squirms out of Kirrote's grasp and runs away as fast as he can.
Kirrote turns to Yangrit. "I don't think these people are very talkative."
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Ahmandé turns his attention to the Sacred Cobra, speaking carefully and only with vendors that he's learned to trust over the last hour and a half.
"So, it seems that the actual location of the Sacred Cobra auction moves around. Seems sensible given the attention the Pure Legion has focused on it. Unfortunately, it looks like the Aurum Death has also made them a bit prickly; they're buying fewer and fewer relics for auction to avoid getting any of those relics in their inventory. We'll need a bidder's banner to get into the auction... even more reason to track down Torvald!"
Many passing townsfolk seem cagey and reluctant to discuss the topic of the ongoing plague with the party. However, when one turns around and beholds the form of the beguiling halfling woman doing the asking, he can't help but take the time to dispense a bit of common knowledge. He seems to not notice Gratius next to her.
Yangrit and Kirrote continue to get... looks. Not nice ones. The local accosted by Kirrote not only runs off, but seems to leave a smaller puddle or two along the way. Curious.
Meanwhile, Ahmandé strikes out on his own armed with his bardic guile and discretion. His careful work pays off in breaking into the sphere of information about the Sacred Cobra.
Now three hours have passed. Late afternoon is starting to approach evening. The party has rounded out a robust spread of information, though there may yet be a little more to discover.
After tiring of chatting up locals for information, you collectively decide to head over to the Mendalari estate. With the information you did gain, you're able to locate it easily.
The compound has 10-foot-high adobe walls studded with geometric mosaic designs, and the tightly closed double door is made of red-stained wood.
Once you arrive at the gates, you can smell an unexpectedly strong odor of smoke coming from within and see a damp red stain seeping out from under the door.
As you approach the double door you notice that there is already a key jammed into the keyhole and broken off right at the depth of the hole. This renders the door locked and with a damaged lock.
All is not right here...
Gratius attempts to scale the wall, but it proves too slippery and vertical for him to find holds.
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"The locals are spooked and now that we're here the jammed lock and smoke seems to indicate that someone is not keen on us finding out things." Hootie observes as she finds footholds to clamber over...
"Let's see..." as Hootie not finding any footholds she wants after seeing her strong friend fail to climb brings out one of her most important tools to her trade. A set of metal and wooden tools particular to her skills.
She begins to fiddle with the lock seeking to open the lock.....
Hootie dislodges the damaged lock from the outside, allowing her to easily reach the locking bolt and move it to open the door.
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Ahmandé steps up to Hootie to get a closer look at what she's doing with the lock. "Hootie, you have the hands of Drandle Dreng. I bet people don't compliment you on your nimble fingers much, what with... ahh... everything else there is to compliment, but you truly are an artist of his caliber with those tools."
The party enters the courtyard. .
One dead guard lies slumped against the inside of the gate, another is facedown about 20 feet away, and the remains of both the live-in gardener and the part-time stable hand lie messily draped over the shrubs.
All of the doors leading from the courtyard are closed, though there are signs of activity. There is a set of bloody footprints leads to the western stable door.
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Yangrit takes a quick glance at the bodies with Aldran.
Her head jerks up at the same time as he notes the shouting. "Yes! I hear it too! We should help them! Quickly! And beware of golden beasts with claws! These dead were killed by that method!" Yangrit shouts as she begins sprinting powerfully on her stubby legs in the direction of the shouting. I wonder if beheading them before they rise would prevent them from becoming an undead threat. Hmm...
Gatius, Ahmandé, Yangrit, and Hootie rush towards the West wing. The shouting gets louder as they approach but they find the door locked!
There was a main entrance between the West and East wings that might be unlocked.
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"Drat! Of COURSE it is locked!" Not wanting to wait around for any lock picking attempt, Yangrit immediately whirls around and dashes for the next door she sees, hoping that it isn't locked too. She grasps the handle and pushes hurriedly. "Come on come on come on!" They got in somehow. I hope they did not lock the doors behind themselves!
Hootie is unable to disable the lock, Yangrit finds the main entrance unlocked.
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Kirrote sniffs the air. Earlier they had smelled smoke but he isn't sure where it was coming from. Yangrit and the others seem to be concerned with some shouting but he fails to notice it. "I don't hear anything but I'll help you get in the building. Doesn't anyone notice these bloody footprints. It seems like that would be a concern." He shrugs and follows the others to the main door.
"Ok. Let's go in."
He pushes past Yangrit and into the main building.
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He pushes past Yangrit and into the main building.
"What the--! Kirrote! Ugh! Don't get yourself killed by those golden-clawed things. I'd hate to have to kill your corpse." Yangrit grumbles a bit, but is secretly glad that someone else is in the lead. Meat shields, you know. They're useful. There is a part of her that is ashamed of this honorless attitude, but another part that is brutally practical. The latter wins for now. She follows him into the building, allowing him to take the lead.
The party piles in through the main entrance...
This large room is filled with lavish furnishings, including several expensive antique sofas, beautiful oil paintings, and hand-woven rugs, all spattered with the blood and remains of at least two people. Two double doors, one on the eastern wall and one on the western wall, lead to each wing of the manor.
However, directly across the room are three gold-clad creatures. Standing in the middle, wrapped from head to toe in ancient strips of moldering linen, a humanoid moves with a shuffling gait. At each side of it are hideously malformed, hairless, pustule-covered corpses that move and snarl more like undead hounds than undead men. The trio groan and immediately begin lumbering towards you!
A festrog is an undead abomination spawned when a creature is killed by a massive release of negative energy (perhaps due to planar bleeding, the destruction of a potent artifact, or even certain magical attacks by powerful undead), and then mutilated by an outside force, such as the scavenging of wild animals. Sometimes called dog-ghouls for their ability to run on all fours, the name often causes opponents to misinterpret this creature’s abilities and grossly underestimate its intelligence, for the festrog is in fact a rather canny monstrosity.
Festrogs inhabit remote areas near places where they were slain. It’s not uncommon for a tribe of festrogs to share territories with ghouls. Most festrogs gather in small bands, based on whatever loose affiliations they might recall from when they were alive, and choose dwellings in sunless areas easily defended with group tactics. Like ghouls, they tend to skulk about graveyards, though they prefer ones with tombs and mausoleums so they can hide during the day. They hunt nocturnally in packs, preferring open areas like plains, farmlands, or open forests where they can track down prey with few places for it to run or hide. These packs wander semi nomadically, often traveling miles beyond their dwellings in pursuit of mortal flesh.
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Created to guard the tombs of the honored dead, mummies are ever vigilant for those who would desecrate their sacred ground.
Mummies are created through a rather lengthy and gruesome embalming process, during which all of the body’s major organs are removed and replaced with dried herbs and f lowers. After this process, the flesh is anointed with sacred oils and wrapped in purified linens. The creator then finishes the ritual with a create undead spell.
Although most mummies are created merely as guardians and remain loyal to their charge until their destruction, certain powerful mummies have much more free will. The majority are powerful clerics, and are often kings or pharaohs who have called upon dark gods or sinister necromancers to bind their souls to their bodies after death—usually as a means to extend their rule beyond the grave, but at times simply to escape what they fear will be an eternity of torment in their own afterlife.
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Hootie
Ahmande
Yangrit
Aldran
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Undead "Hound" (Red)
Undead "Hound" (Blue)
Wrapped Humanoid (Green)
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Gratius
Kirrote
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Ahmandé remains by the door, raising his longbow as he calls out to the Pathfinders. "You all know the Blakros Museum, right? A manor house not unlike this one, some strange things happened there once, with unusual artifacts that began possessing the collection! I see so many similarities to our current predicament. Pathfinders succeeded there; we can too!"
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Yangrit calls out concurrence with Aldran. "Yes, and those festrogs are smarter than they look!"
Not wanting to get too close to the golden undead monstrosities, Yangrit draws and loads her sling, firing off a bullet at the festrog.
"Gah! Curses!" She had been standing too close to Kirrote, and had pulled her shot to avoid clocking him. She takes a five foot step away to give herself more room for her next shot (if the festrog doesn't close in on her, that is).
Hootie is the first to get off a shot, and it lodges deep into the forehead of the festrog to the right of the mummy! It howls and makes a horrible noise before falling to the ground, inanimate.
As the elf starts singing, Aldran releases a burst of divine energy, causing the mummy to slow and the remaining festrog to howl, making a terrible, unbearable noise. Yangrit winds up her sling but when the bullet it released from it, it ricochets off a far wall at the side!
The grotesque festrog runs on all four feet, directly to the one who just showed them a holy symbol...
It immediate lunges at Aldran to bite him...
It only chips its teeth on the cleric's armor, then recoiling and howling at him more angrily.
On realizing that the wrapped humanoid is a mummy, a sudden feeling of despair starts to settle over most of the party, mixed with intense waves a fear...
Suddenly, in your despair, you seem unable to move!
The mummy lumbers towards Yangrit.
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Round 1 (continued)
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Gratius (Paralyzed, 1 round)
Kirrote (Paralyzed, 1 round)
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Round 2
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Hootie
Ahmande
Yangrit (Paralyzed, 4 rounds)
Aldran (Paralyzed, 3 rounds)
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festrog (Red) -16
festrog(Blue) -3
mummy (Green) -3
A paralyzed character is frozen in place and unable to move or act. A paralyzed character has effective Dexterity and Strength scores of 0 and is helpless, but can take purely mental actions. A winged creature f lying in the air at the time that it becomes paralyzed cannot f lap its wings and falls. A paralyzed swimmer can’t swim and may drown. A creature can move through a space occupied by a paralyzed creature—ally or not. Each square occupied by a paralyzed creature, however, counts as 2 squares to move through.
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As the elf starts singing...
"Pathfinders are experts in dealing with strange magicks and dangerous artifacts; this is our wheelhouse! This is what we do!" He looks around at the frozen statures of his friends, and even despite his own misgivings, his words carry weight and continue to inspire his allies.
Keeping his bow up--ineffective as it is in only one hand--Ahmandé fishes in his bag quickly with the other for a wand; retrieving the one he wants, he begins the complicated process of activating this particular spell.
Unable to move Aldran sends another wave of positive energy out to the undead.
Channel energy]1d6
Oh Torag, hear this humble servant's plea. Give me the strength to hammer these fowl undead foes back into their graves.
The undead seem slightly stuck by the positive energy burst. The festrog shakes its head violently, as if trying to rid itself of a condition imposing a deficit of clarity. It looks at Aldran momentarily, considering whether to proceed with him...
Hootie nervously fires off another shot, and while it sticks in the mummy it seems to simply get lodged in its wrappings, not really detracting from the "meat" of the corpse.
Kirrote and Gratius can only stand by and watch the arrow fly between them at the mummy, privately hoping it's drawn away from them.
Despite the party's immobility, Ahmandé's inspiration continues to provide them with little comfort. He reframes their fears against the collective competence of the Pathfinder Society, within which they are acting. Many heroes have been here before, and will be here again! Many do prevail and so shall they do so today!
The elf begins the summoning ritual...