The group makes short work of the hands. Leaving just the entrails to flail about. Though it is easy to see that the organs pose little threat to anyone outside of their immediate vicinity.
Sturdy racks and toppled tables suggest this space once served as a sizable laundry. Much of the northern end of the room is filled with rubble. A wall of pipe-like cross beams fills the western alcove of this room. Hanging from the beams is a half-orc clad in an ivory shirt under a purple vest with gold trim, and glossy black breeches.
Beside him a man in dingy yellow robes stares wide-eyed at the group. But most importantly, a second body in tattered, yellow robes is currently being fed upon by a humanoid creature with long, sharp teeth. Its pallid flesh is stretched tightly over its starved frame. From their point of view, the group can see that the left arm of the unfortunate meal has been stripped almost to the bone.
The man in yellow calls out to the newcomers, “Praise!” but the feasting creature pays little mind to them.
The creature is an undead creature known as a ghoul. Capable of causing paralysis with a bite or a scratch, ghouls love to incapacitate their prey with their paralyzing effect and seldom wait for a victim to expire before they begin to devour his or her flesh.
Those that are lucky enough to survive an encounter must still be wary of any bites as Ghoul Fever will cause anyone who dies from the infected wound to rise as one of the undead themselves.
Legends hold that the first ghouls were either cannibalistic humans whose unnatural hunger dragged them back from death or humans who in life fed on the rotting remains of their kin and died (and were reborn) from the foul disease—the true source of these undead scavengers is unclear.
Ghouls lurk on the edges of civilization (in or near cemeteries or in city sewers) where they can find ample supplies of their favorite food. Though they prefer rotting bodies and often bury their victims for a while to improve their taste, they eat fresh kills if they are hungry enough. Though most surface ghouls live primitively, rumors speak of ghoul cities deep underground led by priests who worship ancient cruel gods or strange demon lords of hunger. These “civilized” ghouls are no less horrific in their eating habits, and in fact the concept of a well-laid ghoul banquet table is perhaps even more horrifying than the concept of taking a meal fresh from the coffin.
The half-ork waves, as best as he can and gives the group a big smile, "A little help?"
Preacher motions quietly with his bow towards the door, inviting the half-orc to step away from the flesh-feaster and towards the group.
Nodachi looks at the creature in disgust. "A Ghoul! We have to help them. Try not to get hit, they paralyze and carry a fatal disease. I'll distract it and give them a chance to get to safety"
Sparing no time for any more words, she rushes in with her naginita held in a striking pose.
The half-ork looks over at his bar friends then back at the party then back again a few times, "Hey we'd love to come over there and join you but..." He tugs at the chains, well, chaining him to the bar on the wall, "I'm a little tied up at the moment." He appraises Ironhand for a moment, "Maybe Iron Fist there can help me? Is your name Danny? You look like a Danny."
The doll-like halfling peeks into the room, sparing a glance at the writhing intestines behind her to make sure that they don't come any closer. Before she can say anything, the one that they call Nodachi goes charging towards the nasty undead thing. "I don't think that is one of the bodies that we need," she says, analytically. "Perhaps the other?"
All meat, Comes the expected response in her head. Dangerous.
The ghoul screeches and snaps its jaws but, given that it is hanging from manacles, its attacks are fruitless.
Nodachi reaches out with her feelings toward the ghoul to ensure her suspicions are correct.
Confirming that it is an evil perversion of the natural cycle of life and death, she'll stand under it and cut off its head with her Naginita if it's within reach
With that taken care of she'll try to help the two folks chained up by grabbing the keys and unlocking them.
"It's OK, we're here to help"
The half-ork felt a little sad for Argade. He was doing what came unnatural to him and he got killed for it. But the half-ork was sure that Argade would have eaten right through that corpse and started eating Words Fail, finally getting to himself. It was morally justified to trade two lives by sacrificing one right? The half-ork shook himself out of his philosophical reverie, "Thank you! I am a half-ork with no name and this is my best and only friend Words Fail."
“Greetings, friend. I’m not a ‘Danny’, at least I don’t think so. We’ve all lost our names, and any memories that went with them. I’m guessing you’re the same?” the dwarf replies. “We’ve taken nicknames. I am Ironhand, your first guess was close.”
The blue tinged man with the bow greeted the half-orc. "I am Oreacher, insofar as we have names. I know I am in service of Erastil. Our group at least seems to remember what we are capable of. Do you have any abilities?"
The half-ork holds out his hand for a shake, "Nope I don't think I have a name. I'm really good at making people angry and I can play the drums. Probably why I was tied up people hate drummers."
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The man in the dingy yellow robes rolls his shoulders then bends at the waist to touch his toes. He groans with each movement and finishes his routine by rubbing at blotting his injured wrists on his clothing. Content with the shape his injuries are in, the man reaches up and begins to rifle through the pockets of his half-eaten corpse. He produces a small object that is wrapped in an old handkerchief, hands it to the half-orc and nods.
”Praise,” he says and starts to make his way through the rubble and toward the same door the group entered through.
The half-ork smiles at Words Fail and says, "Aww thanks buddy." Perhaps not realizing the morbidity of rifling through the pockets of someone who was eaten alive he slowly opens the handkerchief.
Inside the handkerchief is a disembodied, coin-sized eye with an X-shaped pupil. A membrane within the eye blinks every few moments and the pupil moves to make eye contact with you. It stops blinking and maintains it gaze upon you.
The halfling girl watches Nodachi efficiently decapitate the undead creature and nods with approval. She would be good to keep around, yes? Strong and capable, if maybe somewhat overzealous. Best an ally than a foe.
She doesn't receive any mental response from the shade, but doesn't exactly expect any either.
She chimes into the conversation when an opportunity shows itself, her voice not exactly loud, but strong enough to carry into the room. "I also have no name, and just found these others. They seem capable. Are you?" She asks the question while clearly examining the chains that, until recently, held the half-orc captive. Her large round eyes don't seem to blink during her examination.
Seeing the half-orc unarmed, Preacher pulls out the light mace hanging from his belt and offers it to him. "I believe you'll make better use of this for now than I could. We should keep moving, perhaps we'll find your belongings, or at least, something more useful."
Nodachi calls out to the person in the yellow robes as they move to leave.
"We should stay together, this place isn't safe. What should we call you?"
The half-ork put the weird eye in his pocket not wanting to have a staring contest. Maybe later.
"I also have no name, and just found these others. They seem capable. Are you?"
The half-ork instinctively flexes for the halfling-like doll when she questions his usefulness. He fidgets for a moment and then he spies a torn section of his shirt. He speak a small word of power and the shirt mends itself without so much as a seam. He says finally while receiving the mace from Preacher, "I guess I can hit things really hard. Maybe give you a piggy back ride." The half-ork hoped she didn't want a piggy back ride something about the girl made his teeth chatter.
He said to the person he knew longest in this world, "Yeah man stay a while. We were just getting to know each other and I don't want you to get lost or eaten."
The man pauses and considers the group for a moment before shaking his head. He kneels and rummages through the rubble, producing a broken table leg. He twirls the leg in a sad display of skill and puffs out his chest.
”Zandalus sees,” he proclaims and waves farewell to the strange half-orc. The man rests the makeshift weapon on one shoulder and politely steps around Nodachi.
The door behind the halfling opens and an elderly woman stands there looking quite stunned to see a group of people in this room. She is dragging a sack behind her.
“Well, hullo dearies.” she stammers out. ”Are you the ones that have been getting rid of these awful beasties?”
Something is definitely not right about this old woman. Alone. Dragging a sack of goods. In a creepy asylum. With monsters.
Preacher taps Nodachi on the shoulder and shakes his head, indicating his distrust. He keeps his arrow knocked. "And what might be in your sack, madam?"
The half-ork is blissfully unaware of the aging woman's intentions but he does recognize some of the bag's contents. He says, "Hey I think that's mine! Do I know you?"
Zylah backs away from the old woman, both her own senses, and those of her friend, warning her of danger. She makes her way behind Ironhand, peeking out from behind the dwarf like a child looking for trespassers around the corner. "Who are you?"
The dwarf initially sees only a lost old woman, and he almost steps forward to help her, but something in the way his companions react prompts him to reevaluate. "Forgive our paranoia, but it's odd seeing anyone wandering alone in this place."
Some lost memory of an older woman that needs help causes Nodachi's heart to go out to this stranger, all alone. Before she can react, Preacher's look and the reaction of the halfling cause the hairs on her neck to stand up. She stands her ground and waits for her reaction.
The old woman smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkling up, and waves to the Zylah. “Well, how did you end up in here with us, little one?” She reaches into a pocket and produces the sad remnants of a moldy cookie, “Oh, I’m afraid I don’t have anything for you right now, deary.”
The grandmotherly woman tugs at the sack behind her and sighs when it does not budge. With great reluctance, she lets it go but not before pulling free a shining scimitar. The weapon appears to heavy for the woman though and the blade clamors to the floor while she holds the grip in both hands. “Now now,” she puffs and lets go with one hand to wag a finger at Junior, “Manners are the mark of a good upbringing. We wouldn’t want people to think that we were raised among ferocious savages, would we?” She gives the half-orc the same smile.
“My name is Nurse Latchke. And I've been collecting what I can in hopes that I can help those poor souls trapped in the chapel. They're awfully paranoid too and won't even let me see little Brenton." Latchke begins to sob.
When was the last time you heard of an elderly nurse being so kindly? Probably never considering your memory is shot. But still. This lady is definitely not a nurse. Though she does seem earnest about finding a way into the barricaded area.
Still suspicious of the woman, she doesn't come any closer. "I don't think it's outside of reasoning to let unknown people into their safe haven. For all they know, you might be one of those changelings. You certainly don't seem like a typical nurse."
Nodachi looks confused, setting her naginita down and going to help the woman with her scimitar and her bag.
I don't think she could watch an old woman whom she is not suspicious of struggle with a bag without offering to help
"You're a nurse here? What is this place? Why don't we remember our names? Do you know who were are?"
She tries not to sound frantic, but she can't help herself.
Junior moves closer and helps Nodachi help the old woman. He says with a degree of reverence, "Ma'am I don't know if I was raised by savages but shouldn't people judge me by who I am than by some deception on my part? I can help you carry your things." He offers to carry the sack but is still quite sure the gear is familiar and did he hear a muffled voice?
Latchke wipes her eyes on a dirty sleeve, ”I..I suppose I don’t seem like a typical nurse. Most don’t care about their patients. Most just want to do their job and go home. Unfortunately, no one is going home now.”
The woman steps aside to let Nodachi grab her bag, ”Thank you. Such a sweet girl. Such beautiful, healthy looking skin too!” Latchke reaches to caress Nodachi’s face but stops herself short. ”No, deary, I don’t know who you are. Perhaps former patients here at Briarstone Asylum? I’ve seen poor souls here before that have no memory of their lives. Such a sad state to be in, no? As far as ‘why’, well, the world is a big place.” Latchke shrugs as if her response is answer enough.
As Junior steps up to her, Latchke’s smile droops just a little, ”Thank you, deary, but don’t you think someone of your, um, pedigree would be better suited to helping move some of this rubble out of the way?” She turns to put her body between the half-orc and the scimitar and looks to the others, ”Forgive an old woman, but perhaps handing over the only thing I have to defend oneself when surrounded by strangers is a tad unwise. Oh! Look at me! Now I’m the paranoid one.”
A muffled voice calls from the sack yet no one else seems to notice. It points out to you that the old woman is clearly racist against orcs and half-orcs.
The half-ork stares at the sack that Nodachi is now carrying, "You're right disembodied voice! That was a backhanded comment." The half-ork makes a fronthanded comment, "You know ma'am, you've got a face that only a sledgehammer could love... And HAS!"
From behind Ironhand, the doll-like girl listens to the exchange. "Asylum. Is that where we are? I have no memory of coming to such a place. Why do you say that no one is going home?"
"Me neither," Ironhand agrees, "And I'm definitely not crazy! At least, I don't think so..."
Preacher shakes his head, "I can see why people would think my kind are crazy. We have strange memories that baffle most of the other humanoids. I'm sure it's not the first time one of my own has wrongfully been considered insane."
Nodachi looks off into the distance and says breathlessly
"An Asylum..."
After a second she collects herself and responds to Ironhand and Preacher.
"There is no shame in madness." She smiles at their half-orc friend. "If we treat each other with kindness and look out for one another then we will make it through this."
She then waits for the nurse's response to the strange halfling's question.
The dopplegangers must be why no-one is going home. An attack perhaps? Or treachery? Let's see what she has to say for herself
”My, you are a blunt one, aren’t you?” Latchke snaps at Junior. She steps by the skald into the room. Her feet finding just the right places between some of the looser debris to keep from falling.
”Well, if you have no memory of who you are, it would make sense that you wouldn’t be able to remember coming to Briarstone, no?” The nurse once again gives Zylah an affectionate smile. ”This place has been a home for the, hmm...unwell for a long time. Perhaps you all are simply lost patients? There may not be any shame in being unwell but I doubt few would ask for such an affliction.”
Latchke turns to Preacher, ”A lack of illness in one’s family does not mean one will never be sick. Take this young man, for instance,” she takes a step and places a wrinkled hand on the man in yellow’s shoulder, ”Juglan came from a good family. But after he almost drowned he began suffering a condition that causes him to repeat the first word of whatever sentences he is trying to say.”
Juglan flinches at Latchke’s touch and she smiles again, ”Such a sweet young man. Such a shame that the creatures here won’t ever let him or any of us leave.”
The half-ork noticed the flinch, "Hey Words Fail. Let me know if the old bat is bothering you."
"Juglan. I'm so sorry. If you wish to communicate, I will do my best to listen"
She gives the old nurse her gear back and picks up her naginita again.
"Well. The only way we're getting out of here is by finding some more of these so called dopplegangers. I suggest you come with us Maam, we can protect each other. You too Juglan. Safety in numbers
Confirming that the others are ready, she makes to leave.
The half-ork adds, "He's only ever said, words fail, praise, and Zandalus sees. We could say praise means 'yes,' words fail means 'no,' and Zandalus sees is 'hey pay attention.' We can then play 20 questions." As Nodachi hands back the gear he presses, "I'm sure that's my gear. The voice in the bag even said so. I don't know how she got my stuff but it's not hers. She can have the sword but I'm taking the rest."
"Oh really. Is that right?" She stiffens. One of them must be lying "Did you take his things?"
"I'm sure this is just a misunderstanding. Let's have a look at everything and it might become clear. Where did you say you got it from madame Latchke?"
The half-ork seizes upon a set of well worn drums and effortlessly beats out something like this. He motions to the old lady to match it.
Listening to the exchange, the halfling keeps her distance from the old lady. I don't like her, she thinks to Colenso. She seems false.
All meat, the shade responds.
The halfling nods in agreement. Stay hidden, for now. We may need a surprise. She receives only satisfaction in return.
Latchke clutches at non-existent pearls, ”I did not steal anything! What’s in this bag is just what I’ve managed to find.” She waves to the sack and smiles, ”By all means, if anything in there is yours - which it appears the instrument is - help yourself.” The nursed sighs and lets the sword clang to the ground, ”I don’t think I want this anymore either. I suppose it really is fortunate that we found each other”
The elderly woman pats a wrinkle out of her skirt and makes to move to the southern door. ”Perhaps we should look for other survivors? Would anyone care to help an old nurse through the rubble? My knees are beginning to announce their displeasure.”
Junior takes a moment to gather his things. He lets one of the others deal with the things that are not his and help the aging woman.
"Some of these hunters' clothes and blankets might prove useful if we get out of here. No idea what type of terrain is outside these walls." Preacher announces as he picks through some of the belongings.
"We really should keep moving forward. We need to find a way out of here sooner than later."
Nodachi moves to help Lachke through the rubble, putting her naginita away on her back and offering her shoulder to lean on.
"What about this room to the south? What's in there?"
She addresses the nurse as she assumes she must know the layout of the asylum. She raises her voice to the others.
"We can take all these things and return them to their rightful owners if we find them. If not, Nurse Latchke salvaged them so it seems to me that they belong to her"
”Perhaps we should look for other survivors? ... ”
"Survivors of what?" the dwarf asks as he hefts the bag of unclaimed items, "Do you know what happened to this place?"
With his armor and shield ready and not too interested in talking to the boomer the half-ork opens the door to the south and peeks in. He mutters while holding a gold coin to his ear, "I know she suggested it. Doesn't mean its a bad idea."