Magda points at the man, then points the way they came, outside. Then points back at them and up toward the emperor, making a stabbing motion.
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While she may not have been the biggest fan of his art, Olenna recognized the incredible talent of the poor man shuddering before them. Pain was still pain, even for a devout Kuthite. She wasn't in the scene, as it were, but her (limited) understanding of (irreligious) sadomasochism involved significant consent and aftercare. This captive had had none of that. Poor soul...
Olenna watches Magda's simple signs and nods. She had the right idea. Get Salvatore out to safety, and then come back to make sure Pilts couldn't do this to anyone else ever again.
She kneels gently in front of Salvatore. A look of understanding and resolve crosses her face, empathetic but not pitying as she tries to draw him into her gaze. To make sure she has his attention. She raises her index fingers to her lips, shaped now into a "shush," the hiss of air passing silently towards the painter. She reaches to her bandolier and retrieves the marvelous pigments she had discovered in his house, placing them into his hands. She nods once more, looking down to draw his attention to his hands. Then back up. Kindness. Determination.
These are for you.
If Laori's magic hadn't silenced them, Yaziyah would have prayed to the ancestors for this poor man, something to restore his body, if not his spirit. As it is, she endeavours to unclench her face, which feels like it has been a mask of quiet rage for the better part of the last few days, and place a bracing hand on the painter's shoulder, squeezing softly in reassurance. Then she jerks her head towards the door in a motion that strives to convey they should all get out now.
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Unable to easily speak to the poor man, Vera draws a spare Harrow card.
. The Beating. That seemed accurate but not hopeful. More appropriate in describing the past.
. The Publican. Representing fellowship and refuge. That was more like it.
She writes the name of Yazi's community center and a sketch of how to get there, then hands it to Salvatore.
She takes a peek at the next card, though.
. The Hidden Truth. Perhaps they would learn a greater truth from this rescue--something they had not understood before.
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Emerging with regimented grace, a Gray Maiden steps out of the concealment of the shadows. Her armor is an imposing ensemble of gray full-plate, etched with intricate designs that capture an artisan's skill and a warrior's spirit. Each dent and scratch it bears is a silent testament to hard-fought battles. It gleams as if meticulously maintained, its luster belying its battle-worn state. Atop her helm, a red plume flickers like a lone ember, a vivid emblem of her unwavering loyalty to Queen Ileosa. Her hefty steel shield, marred yet imposing, prominently displays the emblem of the Korvosan crown. In her other hand, a longsword gleams menacingly, its hilt firm in her grip.
Taking deliberate strides that echo against the stony floor, the Gray Maiden advances further into the room. Each step reverberates as an ominous foreshadowing of the combat that awaits. Her hand clenches the hilt of her sword while her other arm readies the shield, her entire being emanating an aura of militaristic resolve. Although her eyes are hidden behind the narrow slits of her helmet, making her emotions unreadable, her jaw is clearly set in an unwavering line of determination.
The woman’s voice is firm, like steel, but low, and seems to resonate behind her helmet slightly, "Good, the artist is secured," she observes tersely, her gaze settling on the prisoner. "But your cover is blown; the Emperor's forces are aware and rallying. Retreat is off the table; be prepared to fight." Her words slice through the room's tension, their urgency magnified by the rhythm of her armored tread. Her stance, firm and expectant, makes it evident she anticipates no argument.
"I require your assurance—pledge to me that you will not direct your arms against me. We face a common threat in Pilts and his thugs; discord is a luxury we can ill afford." Her voice, imbued with an adamantine authority, leaves no space for dissent.
She raises her shield arm incrementally, as though bracing for an impending strike, yet it's palpable her defensive posture is angled toward external dangers, not the assembly before her. "Our adversaries bind us, like it or not."
Sensing tension, she pauses briefly, letting the gravity of her words permeate the room, her armor murmuring a subtle metallic exhalation. ”Can I rely on you to focus on Pilts? Do I have your word? I give you mine that I will answer all your questions when our enemy is defeated. I know the spell you are under - nodding will suffice, if only from your combat leader.”
A subtle shift in her tone suggests a concealed promise—or perhaps a veiled warning—as her helm's visor seems to scrutinize each face, though she seems to regard Marcus as the “combat leader.”
Marcus narrows his eyes for a moment. He can't get a read on the maiden. But if they could at least avoid unnecessary fights with grunts, it would save them danger they didn't need to face.
Marcus didn't like the vague wording. But the urgency in her voice pointed to a quick judgement call.
Marcus nods to her, while doing his best to clearly mouth the words For now. He raises his shield in anticipation.
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Yaziyah does a double-take at Marcus's nod. Were they really going to trust this woman, one in service to the queen who was destroying the city?
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Silently the half-orc street rat with a STRONG anti-authority streak groans in a perfect imitation of the teenager she was never allowed to be. But afterward, she grips her spear and moves next to Vera, ready to fight any and all, to help lance this boil off her city.
While she may not have been the biggest fan of his art, Olenna recognized the incredible talent of the poor man shuddering before them. Pain was still pain, even for a devout Kuthite. She wasn't in the scene, as it were, but her (limited) understanding of (irreligious) sadomasochism involved significant consent and aftercare. This captive had had none of that. Poor soul...
Olenna watches Magda's simple signs and nods. She had the right idea. Get Salvatore out to safety, and then come back to make sure Pilts couldn't do this to anyone else ever again.
She kneels gently in front of Salvatore. A look of understanding and resolve crosses her face, empathetic but not pitying as she tries to draw him into her gaze. To make sure she has his attention. She raises her index fingers to her lips, shaped now into a "shush," the hiss of air passing silently towards the painter. She reaches to her bandolier and retrieves the marvelous pigments she had discovered in his house, placing them into his hands. She nods once more, looking down to draw his attention to his hands. Then back up. Kindness. Determination.
These are for you.
Salvator nods sadly, and accepts them, seemingly defeated, and not realizing what they are - then does a double take, and seems to get an idea. There is much more life in him and he moves to hug Olenna.
He quickly takes his brush, sitting in some turpenoid, and uncaps one of the magical pigments, and starts to paint a doorway in the wall facing the open space. He is quite skilled, and it seems realistic.
The Gray Maiden nods her assent and slides into the room a little more, but to the side of the door, so that she is not immediately visible when whomever comes in - comes in. She notes quietly, ”get ready.”
Vera is impressed by the painter's clever strategy in painting a door. She prepares herself for what she assumes will be conflict!
Yaziyah call upon the favour of the ancestors to strengthen her in battle.
Magda starts chanting to make the city give Marcus its fortune.
Assuming spellcasting isn't a problem in the silence, Marcus gets Fly, Vera casts Mage Armor on herself, the party gets Haste moments before the door opening.
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They had been so careful only to be foiled by an elementary spell. And snuck up on besides. Were it not becoming par for the course to find herself so foiled; were she not suffused with chemicals to keep her alert and ready to go; and were she not filled with rage at the crimes heaped on crimes destroying her city...Olenna might almost be tired.
But as it is, the Gray Maiden is not the current enemy. She hopes.
Even if this woman was still loyal to Queen Ileosa, they could absolutely agree that Pilts was bad news for Old Korvosa. She nods.
For now.
The artist is secured. Of course Queen Ileosa wanted Salvatore. Salvatore Scream knew where Vencarlo Orsini was. Vencarlo Orsini knew where Neolandus Kalepopolis was. Neolandus Kalepopolis was one of the few remaining legitimate authorities in the city who could oppose Queen Ileosa.
You're not taking Salvatore into custody when this is all over.
She accepts Salvatore's hug, returning it with a gentle squeeze, and smiling to see the life return to his eyes. She takes a deep breath.
One step at a time.
Flame hair now mud hair unstoppers one more vial, downing it as her form begins to change.
The door thuds open. From the hallway they hear a deep, powerful speaking voice - full of inflection and pathos, ”you would dare invade the personal quarters of The Emperor of Old Korvosa? Come what come may, time and the hour run through the roughest day…” The cadence of his voice is theatrical but measured, ”be ye thieves - or otherwise, you shall find that our tall knife regards you equally! But I am no fool - Jabbyr - kill the ones in the dress!” The grotesque nature of the man’s demesne not withstanding, Pilts Swistel’s voice must be his greatest asset in theater and command; it’s obvious that the man could command most people to their ruin, given the opportunity.
From around the corner comes a gnome with a threadbare executioner’s hood, and studded leather, holding a greataxe that seems comically large in his hands. Nevertheless, the little man is dangerous and has a crazed look in his eyes, and babbles unintelligibly, and Marcus at least can tell a foe who’s physical strength matches his, accountable by the sheer density of the gnome’s muscles
A scruffy looking man with a beat-up crown peeks around the corner, and yelps slightly, though in a way that is again, theatrical and dramatic. Seeing all the enemies he begins a … stirring oratory ”I knew … there was but one way; for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and a table of green fields.”
Everyone in the party is confused by this non-sequester, and more importantly, most of the people in the room are also confused by it.
To that end, a tremendous number of goons file in past the gnome, seemingly including a handful of those who propositioned Marcus earlier.
Yazi swings desperately at the goons as they file past,
Everyone in the room is pummeled by the goons as they try to take down the party.
Pummeled by a horde of goons that have swarmed the room, Vera quickly weaves her way out in all the confusion. She then conjures familiar magic to speed up her allies. Including Salvatore if he's still there and even the Grey Maiden!
The goons pummel her as she escapes, but otherwise don't do anything else.
The gnome, seeing his target escape, walks through the goons swinging his greataxe around, though there are no longer any unarmored foes, so he just steps forward and attacks Marcus.
He's stomping up and down as he tries to swing his greataxe at Marcus. He's babbling madly as he swings.
Laori moves over toward Jabbyr past Magda and the goons, and giggling, she flips her spiked chain around in a wide arc, trying to drop the little gnome.
The gnome falls down, and smiling, Laori says, "oh goody, a little gnome to play with!"
Her chain snakes out and pummels the gnome in the face, scraping the mask away as the barbs embed themselves into it.
The mob tries to protect the gnome, but isn't successful.
The gnome is hurt, and on top of everything else, now apparently prone, sicked and shaken and badly hurt. Laori shudders, "oh, what a wonderful reaction. How interesting. You must recognize pain very well, little gnome."
It doesn't look like the mob is particularly pleased with Laori, but they aren't quite sickened by her. The gnome is crazed, but
As the room erupts into chaos with the incursion of Pilts' motley gang, the Gray Maiden's posture tightens into one of resolute focus. Glancing over her shoulder, she looks back towards Vera and Olenna who are shielding the artist.
"Secure the artist; I'm going after Pilts!" she commands, her voice laden with authority and determination. With a voice that echoes like the striking of a war hammer against a shield, she intones, "In the name of Her Majesty, Queen Ileosa Arabasti, I invoke the full weight of the Korvosan crown as a Gray Maiden to administer justice to those who would dare to disrupt the peace and order of our cherished city. Let your deeds be weighed by the laws of the realm and the will of our sovereign!"
Her words hang in the air as if a spell, potent and immovable before she wheels around to face the intruding goons. "Stand down or face the Queen's justice!" she dares them, her voice tinged with unyielding conviction. Shouldering her heavy steel shield, she plows through the throng of Pilts' lackeys. Though she is assaulted on her path—weapons clanging against her armor, leaving new dents and scratches—she perseveres. Each step she takes is another step toward the one she considers the root of the present disorder: Pilts himself.
As she approaches the threshold and spies the man who arrogantly calls himself Emperor, her grip on her shield and sword intensifies. Her sword catches a furtive gleam in the sparse lighting, heralding her intent. Her way is barred by Jabbyr, the gnome executioner, who lies obstinately in the doorway in her way. Through the narrow slits of her helm, she fixes her unwavering gaze on him—a look that could only signify unbreakable resolve. Finding the gnome squarely obstructing her path to Pilts, she unleashes a relentless barrage of sword strikes upon the hapless executioner.
Raising her hammer vertically, Yaziyah shifts her grip and sends the head of the weapon spinning in a wide arc to her right, over the heads of Marcus and Magda. Then again on the backswing. And again. The air whistles as the blows rain down onto Pilts's unfortunate goons.
Magda is a servant of the city, so she serves more than hurts. The others are the heroes and she just helps. So help she does, letting the city flow into the great and powerful Yazi.
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If Olenna could be said to have a specialty in her alchemical prowess, it was almost certainly the art of transmutation. Of course she had experience with most of the other schools, but nothing quite grabbed her attention like the ability to change herself.
Perhaps it was because of her racial heritage: feeling caught between two worlds and wishing that she could blend in.
Perhaps it was her familial heritage: aristocratic but service-focused, and a role that she had never felt comfortable with.
Perhaps it was her professional heritage: a woman geared towards subterfuge, always ready to take on a new identity if she wasn't disappearing into the shadows.
But change was inevitable. Change was survival. Life was change. And so Olenna changed.
As Laori dismisses her silencing spell, Olenna has already drunk her latest extract and her body is undergoing a rapid metamorphosis. "I'm Olenna," she says as her skin takes on a yellow, chitinous appearance. "And I'm going to get you out of here safely."
The mass of the ex-guardswoman shifts and swings backwards as her abdomen distends backwards and sprouts another pair of legs. Her magical equipment distends and reforms around her as chitinous plates layer up in spots otherwise exposed by her lightweight armor. Her hands grip against her blade and buckler as their balance shifts. Antennae wrench from her forehead, and her mouth splits open into mandibles while her face elongates. And at last, she appears like a formian worker. Perhaps, for those familiar with the Harrow deck on the room, a bit like the Queen Mother, but much, much smaller than an actual formian queen.
"Still me," she chitters, gripping her sword, her voice transformed but still recognizable. She leaves the way through Salvatore's new door, scampering with preternatural speed towards Magda.
At this size, and with her current speed, Formian-Olenna begins poking her blade into every fleshy spot she can find in enemy armor.
+1 human-bane rapier +23 (1d4+13 (18-20/x2) + 2d6 + 2 + 4
AC: 34/20/26
Saves: 7/15/7
Great, a performer. Is all Marcus can think, already envisioning how worse his life would get with a broken jaw.
Marcus goes low as the veritable swarm of men come into the room. Raising his shield he crouches...and then launches forward, using shield and his armored hulk to act as a wrecking ball through the troop, doing his best to shatter their coordination.
Fortune
Olenna skewers a lot of the enemies, who leer at her as they prepare to do a goon pummel, but Marcus successfully knocks around the goons, who lie groaning in piles, or flee away from the room, abandoning their liege.
The little gnome growls at Marcus and tries to greataxe the warrior from the ground as Marcus moves.
Pilts yelps in surprise, and then wiggles his hands in a magical manner before disappearing.
He cast greater invisibility on himself.
Vera is unsure what spell is being cast, but Majenko clearly sees Pilts dashing past the door along the hallway. "Little Emperor is running away!"
That's all the nudge Vera needs to act. "We're going after him! I'm going to make it work this time. Magda, Olenna, come with me!"
Vera casts Dimension Door and makes the very short jaunt to the hallway intersection.
Majenko sees the emperor standing in front of a door, and it looks like he’s going to go into a room soon.
The gnome doesn’t seem to be able to strategize, so just swings his greataxe at the feet of those enemies nearby.
Laori sees value in dispatching the gnome in the way, and so keeps attacking Jabbyr.
Jabbyr seems to have some significant resistance to nonlethal damage, but this intrigues Laori a lot, and she doesn’t switch tactics.
Salvator Scream looks a little flustered and having to work so quickly, but in the short time he has been preparing an escape route, he seems to have wet his brush with some sort of solvent, and very carefully, he squeezes a blob of inky-black substance onto his pallet. He seems to be focused intently, as if his concentration should avoid being interrupted. The paint seems to eat away slightly at the pallet, spreading itself out, and it’s notable that he studiously avoids touching it with his fingers.
With the brush, he starts to paint what must be the space between a door and a frame, into the northern wall of his small room. The paint seems to absorb light, like a deep pit, and he shows significant control over his brush, with the stroke having uniform with and depth of application. The paint quivers on the surface of the wall briefly, but seems not to change form in any substantial way - at the moment.
Appearing the hallway with Vera, Magda breaths in deeply, attempting to find the man from scent alone.
With the thugs currently regretting their life choices on the floor, Yaziyah steps towards the northern door to give herself more maneuvering space as she tries to take out the gnome blocking the way of the others.
The Gray Maiden, visibly irked by the gnome's persistence in blocking her path, had anticipated his defeat by this point. She delivers a trio of calculated strikes with her sword. The first one, slightly hurried, is a feint to gauge her opponent's reflexes. However, the following two strikes are executed with remarkable precision and a well-honed technique, showcasing her extensive training and battle-hardened expertise.
Afterwards she issues a stern "Concede.", hoping he relents so she can move on.
The gray maiden knocks the stuffing out of the gnome, who remarkably, still is able to shrug off a good amount of her strength. But the fight gives out of the emperor’s bodyguard, his rage ended, as he lays on the ground.
The deep breathe ends then her eyes track where the scent points "He's in front of the door!" she shouts to her companions (and the gray one)
As the gray one knocks down the gnome, she pivots swiftly to face Pilts escape. Her voice, authoritative and unwavering, booms through the chaos, "Halt, Pilts Swastel! In the name of the crown and justice of Korvosa, your flight ends here! There's no refuge for the likes of you. Surrender now, and face the consequences of your deeds!"
The door in the alley opens up.
Majenko sees him step into the room, he looks nervous. He seems to know someone sees him.
A voice from just in front of the door calls to someone, inside, and it’s obviously pilts. He says, ”I will give you anything, anything, you want if you can strangle the life from this meddling philistines!”
Laori looks down at the gnome and tilts her head curiously, then looks back up. She moves towards Salvator, noting to Yazi ”I’ll protect him, don’t worry. Chase down that guy!”
Salvator grabs a larger brush, and seems to quickly grab some umber, vaguely like wood, and makes large strokes. Something happens in the wall, and a door appears, though it has no knob. Laori is fascinated, and smiles at him, ”wow, you’re a great painter! And so quickly.”
Salvator smiles, seemingly relieved, and inclines his head toward Olenna. Seemingly regained a lot of composure, the thin man compliments the lamplighter, ”thank you, but it was her idea. I had not thought this was work - but it seems I had a powerful incentive here.” He moves to grab some paint and mix a dark metallic color that he presumably will use to paint the doorknob.
This large room might once have been an attic storage area, but the rafters above now brood over an empty chamber. To the northwest, a large portion of the roof and floor below have collapsed entirely, leaving a void looking out over the sodden skyline of Old Korvosa.
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Unfazed by the attempts to dissuade or disorient her, the Gray Maiden strides forward with unwavering determination. Her armor emits a rhythmic, metallic chorus with each step, echoing her resolve. As she brushes past Vera and Magda, her focus remains fixated on her target – Pilts Swastel.
The Maiden does not seem to have difficulty locating Pilts and her longsword cuts through the air and finds its mark. The blade sinks into Pilts with precision before she swiftly withdraws it. She then positions its cold, sharp edge against Pilts' throat.
Her voice, clear and commanding, reverberates through the tense atmosphere, "Surrender, Pilts Swastel! Your machinations end now. Yield to the justice of Korvosa!"
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The whispers grow in Mag's mind. She is used to every little thing wanting to talk to her, to tell her about her troubles, but then the whispers take on HIS voice. Pilt's. The man that tries to buy little girls.
"Hurt your friends, they don't love you" the floorboards whisper, laughing at her "hurt yourself, you are worthless" the doorknob laughes, twisting into a sneer.
"" the half orc screams, grabbing the sides of her head. She knows where he is, she doesn't know what he's done to her but some part of her mind knows it is not RIGHT!
Holding her hand out at where he is, fingers grasping like claws in her gloves. Water comes from her city's sewer, up up up, through the floors, bubbling up through those whispering floorboards, until it erupts upward.
You create a powerful blast of air capable of flinging an opponent upward. If the target fails its Reflex save, the force of the air deals 2d6 points of bludgeoning damage and hurls the target upward a number of feet equal to 5 x your caster level. If a solid object (such as a ceiling) is encountered, the target strikes the object in the same manner as it would during a normal fall. After this blast of air ceases, the target falls down (unless it was flying), taking falling damage as normal. A successful save means the target takes half damage from the air blast but is not moved by it.
Pilts staggers a little from the two attacks, but doesn’t drop, and doesn’t seem to surrender.
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Stepping out into the corridor, Yaziyah sees the so-called emperor, out of her reach for now - but not out of the reach of the Gray Maiden.
And she does one of the hardest things she has ever done.
She prays for the woman.
The one sworn to the queen that is destroying her beloved city, the one who would very likely try to bring Yaziyah and her friends to her twisted idea of 'justice' - should she know all that they have done, and all that they intend to do.
But right now, the horrible Pilts cannot be allowed to escape.
Seeing where the perceptive Magda has struck, Vera conjures Glitterdust to cover Pilts!
Marcus feels his mind whirl, the room around him turning to unidentifiable shapes that whip around viciously. One darts at him and in response he swings his sword...but then realizes how warped his brain is and stays it instead. He roars and slams his head into the wall, trying to clear the magic through brute force.
Pilts scrambles back, "begone, begone - cur! Get thee to a Nunnery, wench! I will not be usurped in my own home!" He seems to affecting some sort of performance in his speech, but for whom, it is not clear.
He snaps his fingers and mirror images surround him.
Seeing Marcus is confused, Laori moves towards the northern room to protect Salvator, closing the door so that he can't be considered the "nearest" npc for the purpose of Marcus' attacks.
Salvator's paints successfully paint a lot more of the door onto the wall, and Olenna tries to aid him.
Picking up the brush, she seems to sucessfully begin to paint a bronze knob. Salvator nods, appreciatively. "Good - good technique."
Amazingly enough, smashing his head into a wall didn't help the confusion. He locks onto what he is confident is an actual enemy and steps forward, looming behind Yazi. His shadow falls over her and his blade rises...
The veins in Marcus's forehead bulge, and his arms shake, end of the scythe in his hands trembling. After a moment he grits his teeth so hard it looks like they're going to crack, then he flares his nostrils and exhales. "Where is he?" He snarls at Magda. Getting a general spot for him he rushes forward, forcing the others against the wall as he passes, and swings...
Shattering an image into nothing.
Moving past Magda and Vera through the narrow corridor, Yaziyah passes through the door to stand to Marcus's left, back against the wall and eyeing the collapsed part of the room with caution. From that position she swings her hammer at Pilts.
"Are you speaking in tongues, disgusting little man?"
Yazi destroys one of his images.
The time for words has passed. The Gray Maiden, undaunted by Pilts Swastel's theatrics, advances with purpose. Pilts' attempts to intimidate or distract her with his dramatic outbursts fall on deaf ears as she navigates the chaos of the battle.
She positions herself opposite Marcus, flanking Pilts. With a swift, decisive strike, she aims to incapacitate him, her sword slicing through the air towards him.
The disappointment at being useless allows the whispers to twist Mag's mind. Soon she sees her friend as Pilts herself. "Get Away!" she yells, stepping back and ramming their spear into them.
Your character sees, as they come into the room, in the shadows above, far off the floor in the rafters, and only barely visible from your location, a half-dozen oddly shaped, vaguely humanoid figures with … tentacle arms?