|
It doesn't inspire me confidence. That's somebody who we can't simply take down. And I'm not good at tiptoeing around.
He advances anyway.
To the Socialite: We are in a city here. So behave yourself as in a city. I try to do my best that for.
Society:
To the Acolyte: Be honest, the gods don't want to see you in such a mess with a drunk one. Do you imagine what they must think of you?
Religion:
|
Rubbing the salve that you were given onto the Naga statue has an instant effect - hard stone gives way to reveal beautiful blue-green scales, which shimmer in the light.
The Naga bows its head to Dran'Thor.
"I thank you for that."
It then gifts the party a pearl necklace (worth 12gp), before beating a hasty retreat from the mean streets of Absalom!
|
|
The trip out to the Flotsam Graveyard is unremarkable, and eventually, you come to the relevant wreck.
The weathered boards of the ship’s main deck are cracked, warped, and thoroughly covered in a thick, stinking carpet of algae, seaweed, and barnacles. The sodden mess squashes and scrapes underfoot, while squawking gulls circle overhead. The ship once boasted three masts, but they are now broken off only a few feet above the jagged railings. Whatever other distinguishing features might have once existed on this vessel are either long lost or utterly obscured. Empty doorways lead into cabins to the fore and aft, and a dark opening descends into the lower level.
"Hmmm..." Thorax stares skyward with squinty eyes. Quick as a flash, he draws his shortbow, knocks an arrow, and shoots at a gull directly overhead.
He scampers over once it collides with the deck and gives it a solid *chomp* on the head to silence its flapping.
Using the arrow shaft as a handle, he holds his prize up high and exclaims, "Now we either have lunch, or food for whatever's down there!"
|
|
Sharp beams of sunlight light filter down through cracks in the main deck to cast this cargo hold in a dim light. Though the ship’s original armaments are now little more than rotted ballista mounts, this area shows signs of recent activity, including intact shipping crates, a recently broken crate, a few boxes, and faint trails worn through the slippery vegetation growing over the deck. Wooden doors in finer condition that the rest of the boat stand to the north and south, but the stairs leading further down now lead only into dark, scummy water.
Next to the broken crate is neat pile of bones.
As the party spreads out into the room, a creature that looks like the result of a blind surgeon stitching together the pieces left over after an explosion in a zoo, squeezes out from under the stairs, and starts sniffing the party.
Everyone *except* Adalan gets the impression that the creature is just hungry...
|
|
Oh, she's simply hungry. Do you want to eat something? Wait I will give you something.
The druid use his Wild empathy to talk to the animal. He pulls out a ration of food and place it on the floor. He moves a bit backwards to let the animal come nearer to take the food. Then the druid speaks to him again.
Do you want we take you with us to bring you somewhere you will get food and water every day?
|
|
The creature happily follows along behind Dran'Thor.
This cabin’s floor has been cleared of the algae present everywhere else on the ship, and a simple table has been set up in the center of the room, with a few chairs pulled up around it. The aft wall bears a large carving of a coat of arms, visible even despite the wear of the elements. An antique lantern hangs above the carving, casting a faint light over papers strewn over the table.
No-one recognises the coat of arms, but the antique lantern is actually an everburning torch formed into a lantern rather than a simple torch, and the lantern’s glass can be manipulated to change the color of light it sheds.
The papers on the desk are a bundle of writs of inspection approving the cargo crates for export from the Nexian capital of Quantium.
|
|
In stark contrast to the rest of the ship, this cabin has been somewhat cleared of algae and cleaned. Six simple beds, complete with fresh linens, are crammed into the space. A few small footlockers are shoved under some of the beds.
A quick search of the room reveals a pair of Crying Angel Pendants, rolled up in a smelly, salt-crusted rag.
|
As they explore the ship, Mara grows increasingly on edge, jumping and uttering a startled oath when the creature presents itself. What is that thing?! But looking at it more closely, it doesn’t seem hostile. Just hungry. As soon as Dran’Thor offers it food, it calms down and starts following him around like a puppy.
Albeit a horrifying puppy with far too many limbs.
Huh. I guess it’s not a menace?
Continuing to search the ship, she snags the papers from the cabin. ”From Quantium? It might be good to have these so we know who the smugglers bribed to let them through. Certainly they didn’t pass a legitimate inspection with that...being...in a crate. Plus it might give us hints as to who created...him? Her? Them. Let’s go with the singular them.” Although the plural might actually be more appropriate...
Once they’re done with that cabin, she also grabs the everburning lantern. ”No sense in leaving this here to rot.” Then she heads back to the other door to continue investigating.
Finished with the exploration, Mara looks at the creature. ”Only one task to go, but we might want to take them back to the lodge first. We’ve already calmed down one mob who thought we were ‘monster-lovers’; I’d hate to draw another so soon.”
|
|
Heading over to the College of Mystery, you discover that Tavvar is not currently there - apparently, she has been working on a ritual to create partially real shadow illusion manifestations of the memories from people, places, and things, and has been conducting 'field tests' over at the Blakros Museum, for two important reasons - 1) The greater connection to the Shadow Plane at that location, and 2) The superior wards on the building should limit any fallout, if the experiment goes awry.
A couple of people also whisper that she has been getting harried by the higher-ups in the College's administration, who have been threatening to cut off her funding, if she doesn't produce actionable results, soon. Consequently, she hasn't been as thorough as she would have liked (hence moving her field test to a secure location).
----
When the party arrives at the Museum, they find it closed, although lights still flicker in the main tower. Knocking on the front door leads to it being opened by a bespectacled young man wielding a broom, who introduces himself as Chayron, one of the Museum caretakers.
Looking over the party, he quickly realises that you *must* be from the Society, and lets you know that Tavvar and her assistants are upstairs in the tower. He then ushers you up the maintenance stairs to the second level.
"There have been some weird shadow-echoes since she started the ritual; don't be alarmed by them - they seem to be creepy, but harmless..."
Thorax noisily chomps on the seagull as they approach the museum.
"At least that creature wasn't a dog."
|
|
Carefully framed spellbook pages hang along this room’s walls, while eldritch relics stand in small display cases in the room’s center. In the far corner, shadows hang thicker than the rest of the room, and it seems a boisterous half-orc woman stands there, surrounded by vague figures, as she welcomes newcomers. Her voice is thin and reedy, but eerily familiar. "Congratulations! Let me spice up that punch a bit for you—to celebrate, of course!"
|
|
A gigantic reptilian beast is on display in the center of this expansive gallery, ferociously leering over the collection of taxidermy animals and monsters. Shadows flit between the displays, meandering and shuffling shapes reminiscent of museum patrons. Then a distant shriek echoes off the walls, as the shadow of a stuffed owlbear lashes out at one of the shadow-visitors with its talons. The shadow of the tyrannosaur in the room’s center departs from its source and snaps at the misty image of another patron, tossing its head back and seeming to swallow its meal nearly whole. Other shadows snarl and hiss, scuffling amongst themselves as shadow-guests panic and run toward the exit.
Eventually, as the shadow-patrons flee, the shadow-display-monsters turn to the party, and start mock-attacking...
...your shadows.
|
Adalan spends a minute intently using his own movements and magically conjured light to help his shadow evade its attackers, studying how they react to its attempts at evasion. When the owlbear eventually eviscerates the shadow he exhales in disappointment and turns his attention back to the mission.
"I say we just head straight up the tower to find Tavvar," he replies to Dran'Thor.
|
|
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
This long, narrow presentation space has seating for around thirty guests, all facing a low stage at the south end of the room. At first glance the room seems empty, but a moment later, it seems as though the shadows of an audience still fill the plush seats. A chill draft sweeps through the room, and of a whispery voice echoes from the podium.
"...and rather than engage in a responsible, controlled study of the codebook, Yargos Gill decided—imprudently—to simply execute the signals listed therein..." The voice trails off into a looming silence.
|
|
Droning voices echo off the mahogany walls and domed, plaster ceiling of this luxurious room. The sumptuous furniture has been pushed to the sides of the room, making space for eldritch markings and mystical paraphernalia laid carefully over the plush carpet. The chamber seems muted and dim despite the crystal chandelier overhead, and a bone-numbing chill seeps through the space along with a metallic scent. A ritual is obviously underway here, but it doesn’t seem as though it’s working as planned. Shadowy energy lashes out from a twisting breach in the center of the room, and indistinct shapes flit and scuttle along the walls.
At the head of the circle is a bespectacled middle-aged woman with white hair, her face twisted in a determined grimace, whilst her three assistants each frantically continue their gestures and chants.
Unfortunately, it is very clear that what they are doing is only slowing down the process, rather than stopping it - rather like a slow-motion train wreck.
The party's arrival, however, seems to disturb the delicate balance, causing the shadows to become more agitated!
The rush is on - can the Ritual be stabilised, before it is too late?
Thorax
Adalan
Deshacerla
Bair
Mara
Ritual
Dran'Thor
|
|
Adalan throws out an incantation which (barely) helps to drive back the shadows.
He also realises that, harried by the 'Publish or Perish' culture at the College of Mystery, and the threat of losing both her funding, and her job, Tavvar has cut corners in the ritual's execution, so some runes aren't draw quite right.
Thorax
Adalan
Deshacerla
Bair
Mara
Ritual (1 success)
Dran'Thor
"Silly Longshanks! Ritual magic dangerous! You lucky Thorax know powerful magic of... graffiti!"
Thorax quickly cuts a few crude smiley faces and other simple drawings into the carpet.
|
|
Somehow, Thorax's crude etchings feed into the Ritual, stabilising it.
Mara's ministrations, likewise, improve the calligraphy of the existing runes, further stabilising the ritual.
Bair tries hard, but it is obvious this is something outside the realm of his experience...
Thorax
Adalan
Deshacerla
Bair
Mara
Ritual (3 successes)
Dran'Thor
"Swish hair, Deshacerla! Swish your hair!"
"Hey! Saving that for stew!"
|
|
Deshacerla tries to help, but meddling with deteriorating rituals was, unconscionably, not part of her education.
The shadow rift pulses, sending out a wave of black energy...
...which badly injuries the three assistants, and lightly injures Tavvar.
At the same time, the rift disgorges a pile of... somehow... darker and thicker shadow, which lies on the ground, quivering, for a moment, before it starts to send out exploratory tentacles.
Dran'Thor
Thorax
Adalan
Deshacerla
Bair
Mara
Ritual (3 successes)