Oona swings the door open. This functional kitchen has heavy, wooden shelves filled with utensils and basic supplies. A large stove occupies the southeastern corner of the room. Opposite it, a narrow set of stairs leads down.
Two men with furry goat legs and curling ram horns are arguing next to the stove. When the door opens, they look up and spot Oona. Their argument forgotten, they turn to deal with the intruders.
These are satyrs. Like most fey, they have DR cold iron. They can focus and empower magical abilities through their panpipes, making them harder to resist.
Oona (68/68 hp, +3 AC)
Mac (57/57 hp)
Freyja (60/72 hp)
Trjega (52/52 hp)
Creature #1 (0 damage)
Creature #2 (0 damage)
Grevayne (69/69 hp, 1 NL)
Bold may act.
"Satyrs," she says to the group as she drops her bow. "Cold iron. Try not to let them play their panpipes, it enhances their magic."
She strides forward, calling forth the power of Magdh, and draws her scythe as she goes, then slashes out at one of the satyrs.
At Oona's command, Mac dashes in to pack flank and take a bite out of this thing.
Freyja enters the kitchen just a few seconds after Oona and Mac and is surprised to find one of the satyrs already on the ground, pouring blood from multiple wounds. "Glad to see you've gotten your mojo back!" she says with a laugh, then points at the remaining satyr and commands Trjega to attack. Then she nocks a cold iron arrow and fires.
Trjega rushes into the kitchen and launches herself at the satyr, aiming for its throat.
The satyr backs itself into the corner, trying and failing to avoid an attack from Trjega. Fortunately (for it), Trjega's teeth can only barely penetrate into its tough hide. It begins playing its pipes, and a eerie, discordant tune emanates from them. Everyone in the room feels a sense of dread overcome them.
-1 fear
Everyone shakes off the effect except Trjega, who will end up half a mile away with her ridiculous speed.
Oona (68/68 hp, +3 AC)
Mac (57/57 hp)
Freyja (60/72 hp)
Trjega (52/52 hp, frightened [8 rounds])
Satyr #1 (10 damage)
Satyr #2 (44 damage, unconscious and dying)
Grevayne (69/69 hp, 1 NL)
Bold may act.
Grevayne channels arcane power into his fists again, covering them with another layer of kinetic force, and strides up to the satyr.
Oona (68/68 hp, +3 AC)
Mac (57/57 hp)
Freyja (60/72 hp)
Trjega (52/52 hp, frightened [8 rounds])
Satyr #1 (11 damage)
Satyr #2 (44 damage, unconscious and dying)
Grevayne (69/69 hp, 1 NL)
Bold may act.
Mac steps up to bite at the satyr's legs.
Oona swings around the outside of the table and swings out at the satyr with the blunt side of her scythe. "Take him alive!" she snaps. "I want answers!"
Halved, Non-Lethal
Freyja aims for non-vital spots.
OHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHIT
The satyr begins gesticulating and mumbling while on the ground, but still manages to defend itself from all three of you. After a few seconds, its eyes go wide and threads of sinewy white light leave its fingers and attempt to wrap themselves around Oona's head.
Oona felt an odd willingness to do whatever the satyr wanted begin to pass over her, but she shakes it off easily.
Seeing that the spell failed, the satyr puts its hands up. It speaks in passable Common. "Don't kill me! I will do what you want."
Freyja nocks another cold iron arrow and screams at it. "Dismiss the spell on my cat!"
The satyr shakes its head. "I cannot. The effect will wear off in less than a minute."
"B@$~*$@#! You are lying!" She takes a step closer and draws her bowstring, tears welling up in her eyes.
Oona steps between them. "Stop, Freyja! Go after Trjega. We will watch him. If the spell doesn't run its course momentarily, we will know he was lying. But you had best try and catch her."
Freyja stares daggers at Oona but lowers her bow. "You've seen her run. I will never catch her." Even still, she runs out of the room at full speed.
The satyr looks up at Oona with fear in its eyes. "Thank you. I am not lying."
Oona eyes the satyr. "Don't thank me yet."
Just in case, Oona casts stabilize on the other satyr.
The flow of blood from the satyr's wounds slows and then stops completely. Its breathing becomes more regular. Oona has saved it from a certain death.
The other satyr is still on the ground looking up at you.
Freyja runs outside and through the rubble. She barely catches a flash of a lynx's tail as it disappears into the woods beyond. Freyja curses and runs as fast as she can, fully aware that Trjega is extending her lead by the second.
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OHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHS HITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHIT OHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHS HITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSH...
...
Where am I?
"Grevayne," Oona says, keeping her cold iron scythe trained on the satyr, "keep an eye on that one. I doubt it will be waking up anytime soon, but all the same."
She turns to the satyr. "I am going to give you the benefit of the doubt, since you laid down your arms. Best hope they both return safely. Now, this was the keep of the Chernesardo Rangers. What happened to them? Where are they?"
Grevayne nods and stands aside, leaning against the wall with arms crossed to listen to the satyr's answers while also occasionally glancing down at the unconscious satyr to make sure he isn't getting up.
The satyr sits up straighter, possibly trying to look stronger than he feels. "What happens to us? You let us go if I tell you?"
"So long as you promise not to come back with a horde of your friends, yes. I just want to know what happened to the Chernesardo. Now stop stalling. I grow impatient."
The satyr holds up his hands. "Okay! Not stalling, just don't want to die today. I don't know anything about Chern... Cherna... any Rangers. We" -- he motions to the unconscious satyr -- "are just here for Red Rock Revel. Hark and his brutes took fort from hobgoblins, not Rangers. You must have seen dead hobs outside."
Oona watches as the satyr speaks and sees none of the telltale disruptions in its aura that indicate that it is deliberately lying.
Trjega looks around, not remembering how she ended up back in the woods. Fortunately, she can still smell the hobgoblin corpses to the south, so she turns around and begins heading back. After a few seconds, she hears her master yelling for her.
She sounds upset.
Freyja slows down once she reaches the woods and looks for Trjega's trail, yelling Trjega's name every few seconds. Fortunately, Trjega was moving so fast that the trail is easy to find. After 30 seconds or so, she hears something moving through the trees ahead of her and raises her bow.
Trjega bounds through the trees and right by Freyja, heading back toward the keep. Freyja turns and watches in disbelief for a second, then curses and follows.
Oona considers the satyr's words. "Alright then. Who is this Hark, and what is the Red Rock Revel?"
"Hark is korred. He thinks he is leader of all fey. Red Rock Revel is fey celebration. Dancing, drinking, f!$*ing. We have no love for Hark, but" -- he shrugs -- "free wine."
Grevayne snorts. "I can get behind that. But I mean, why here? You said it was infested with hobgoblins and this Hark had to clear it out. Why not hold the festival somewhere easier?"
The satyr shakes its head. "No. Clear fort. Find wine. Have Red Rock Revel."
Oona stares incredulously. "You fought through the hobgoblins in the fort just for booze??"
Grevayne barks a laugh. "I like them!"
Flabergasted, Oona steps over to the other satyr. "I'm going to revive your friend. Take them and go."
She nods to Grevayne to step aside. Once the magus has done so, she casts cure light wounds on the satyr.
The satyr scrambles to its feet, seemingly surprised that you are keeping your word. The other satyr begins to come to and its eyes grow wide when it realizes it is still surrounded by enemies. The one you interrogated says a few quick words in Sylvan and they leave together, not looking back.
A few heartbeats later Trjega tears into the room at full speed, followed by Freyja about thirty seconds behind. Freyja rests her hands on her knees and breathes heavily, her entire face beet red. After a few moments catching her breath, she looks at Trjega. "I hate you." Trjega is grooming herself and doesn't seem to notice.
Scythe at the ready, Oona carefully swings open the north door.
The ceiling in this room is only six feet from the floor, and consists of cracked beams and blocks of stone pressing down from the collapsed tower above. Chunks of wood and stone litter the room, with a particularly large specimen covering half of a once-fine writing desk.
Sitting at the desk, mumbling to itself and writing furiously, is an blue-tinted ethereal man. You can see the back of the chair through the man.
This is a ghost. When a soul is not allowed to rest due to some great injustice, either real or perceived, it sometimes comes back as a ghost. Such beings are in eternal anguish, lacking in substance and unable to set things right.
They are incorporeal and have a corrupting touch ability that does significant damage in the form of supernatural aging.
A ghost can possess a corporeal creature in an attempt to resolve whatever it was that prevented its soul from resting.
The man looks up as the door opens. His face is anguished, his brow furrowed and mouth turned down in a frown. There is a large wound on the top of his head; it looks like it was crushed with something heavy. When he sees who has disturbed his work, however, he perks up. "Ah! Just what I need to finish my work!" He stands and begins to float through the desk toward you.
Oona (68/68 hp)
Mac (57/57 hp)
Grevayne (69/69 hp, 1 NL)
Freyja (60/72 hp)
Trjega (52/52 hp)
Creature (0 damage)
Bold may act.
"It's incorporeal!" she shouts. "Don't let it touch you. Magic weapons won't affect it much, but mundane weapons won't affect it at all."
She puts away her scythe and draws her bow as she steps into the room.
Grevayne holds up a hand to the others as he strides into the room. "Wait."
He faces the ghost. "What work do you need to finish? Perhaps I can help without the need for violence or possession."
Oona's slate-gray face turns slightly chalky in color. "Holy s~@* it can possess me?"
Mac has not been ordered to attack the smell-less man and he is sooooo okay with that. He backs away from the door with his tail between his legs, whimpering.
Freyja moves to the doorway to see what is happening. She hears what Grevayne says, drops the mundane arrow she had nocked and replaces it with a magical arrow, then waits to see how the ghost reacts.
At Grevayne's words, the ghost stops midway through the desk. He seems to consider for a moment, then nods. "My name is Erno Haruvex. I am a wine merchant and was an invited guest of the Chernasardo Rangers, to discuss the sale of wine, spirits, and other supplies. I made the long journey here expecting to make a hefty profit on the sale, only for the Rangers to inform me that they were inviting me to donate my wares, not sell them. I am a merchant! And I would be a pretty bad one if I made a habit of donating my best wares, no matter the cause. However, the Rangers are allies and do an admirable job of keeping the Tamran highway safe for people like me, so I am trying to figure out how to at least salvage something from this trip." He pauses and looks down at the quill and parchment he was working on; they also seem to be incorporeal, but you see no writing on them, incorporeal or otherwise. "But I keep losing my place! I am a good mathematician! Why can't I do these sums?!" His hands raise to his head and he closes his eyes and rubs his temples, his face contorting into anger and frustration.
After a few moments, he recovers his wits. "But you asked how you could help. I think the easiest way would be to let me use one of your bodies. If I could just use it for a short time, I know I can complete my work, and it will be returned to you unharmed." He pauses and looks at you hopefully, then sighs. "But I can see that you are not yet agreeable to that solution. Very well. You could pay me for my wares so that I do not take a loss on this trip. I don't even expect a profit; I think three thousand gold is more than fair."
He looks down at the parchment again. "Or you can help me do these calculations. But I warn you, they will be difficult if you are not skilled at my profession. You should just let me take your body."
Oona (68/68 hp)
Mac (57/57 hp)
Grevayne (69/69 hp, 1 NL)
Freyja (60/72 hp)
Trjega (52/52 hp)
Erno (0 damage)
Bold may act.
Seeing everyone's trepidation, Grevayne asks, "Anyone of the merchant trade? I myself only have passing knowledge." He doesn't expect anyone to raise their hand, but he still sighs despondently. "Alright, Master Haruvex. You may use me to do what you need to do. I have one foot in the grave anyway; I think it will affect me less than the others."
Oona swallows audibly. "I will watch the door to make sure you're undisturbed."
I sure as Hells am not.