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Dazzatir, beaten and bruised, merely smiles and sighs. "You're going to regret that," he croaks.
Before he knows it, though, the rotten tomato that splattered against his forehead drips down directly into his mouth as he wretches.
Dazzatir steps back behind his allies for a moment as he [A] wipes the tomato from his face.
Instead of wiping it, he causes it to burst all over himself instead.
"OH GROSS!" he shouts as he [A] tries again.
This time to tomato comes off and he feels his vitality restored.
"Caelan, you got a heal in there for me too?"
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Dazzatir vomits himself back to a (slightly queasy) equilibrium.
Guinoq directs a gout of flame at the Barrister, completely burning the flesh from his skull.
The mob starts screaming.
"By the Gods!"
"Murderers!"
"Monsters like that should be locked up!"
Merisiel tries to Intimidate the remaining leader, but is unsuccessful.
Chug then moves up, and stabs the Acolyte, burying his rapier deep in her gut; blood starts blossoming in a red stain across her robe, but she remains grimly clinging to life.
Caelan then heals Dazzatir.
Dazzatir (-18; DC 18 Fort save, or be Sickened 1)
Quinoq (-)
Merisiel (-)
Chug (-)
Caelan (-)
Elixia (-)
CWT
CL (-6)
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Elixia strides forward, deliberately drawing a scroll as she does so.
The mob tosses trash at Chug and Guinoq...
...both are hit.
The acolyte, terror in her eyes, frantically stabs at Chug...
...landing a pair of glancing blows.
Dazzatir (-)
Guinoq (-8; DC 18 Fort save, or be Sickened 1)
Merisiel (-)
Chug (-13; DC 18 Fort save, or be Sickened 1)
Caelan (-)
Elixia (-)
CWT
CL (-6)
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The faintest spark of negative energy flits over to the Acolyte, but it is enough to snuff out her life-force.
The mob immediately disperses, loudly screaming about murderers...
When Calisro's Naga friend is unpetrified, it nods gravely to the party.
"Thank you for that. It isss much appreciated."
As thanks, it gives you a pearl necklace worth 12gp.
---------------------------
Elixia has heard a rumour that the creature that escaped containment can breathe fire...
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.
Caelan and Guinoq both notice scorch marks on the decking...
Merisiel is ready to continue downstairs after the party has recovered from the riot. "Come on, yeah? Let's see who has their sea legs!"
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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 a crudely lashed together approximation of a humanoid form.
Guinoq gets the impression that whatever made that is extremely lonely, and wanted some company...
At about this point, a hand with tentacles for fingers reaches around from underneath the stairs, and a vaguely human head (well, *part* of it is human, at least, based on the suture lines) peers out at you, big, brown, questioning eyes looking at you with trepidation...
Merisiel tries to add on... "We mean you no harm! What is your name?"
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The creature shrinks away from most of the party, but sidles up to Elixia, and strokes her hair with a hand, the fingers of which are flexible, cephalopoid-like tentacles.
It starts following her around like a lost puppy...
Chug, Dazzatir, and Guinoq recognise the insignia of the Fleshforges upon the shattered crate...
...whilst Caelan, Elixia, Guinoq, and Merisiel note a shipping manifest, which confirms that the crate was picked up in Nex.
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.
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.
"Yes, let's see if Elixia's new friend will accompany back to the Lodge! It seems to be quite neglected here."
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The creature is quite nervous at first, but with a bit of coaxing, you manage to convince it go go back to the Lodge with you.
---------------
The party learns that Tavvar is *not* at the College of Mysteries at present; instead, for the last few days, she has been working on her Ritual at the Blakros Museum...
Chug has heard that Tavvar lacks field experience, and many people, particularly the higher-ups, confidently expect her research to fail...
...whilst Elixia has heard from some reliable sources, that the 'publish or perish' culture at the College has forced Tavvar to cut corners that she would not normally choose to, in order to avoid dismissal.
Arriving at the Museum, you find that it is closed for the day.
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About a minute later, a middle-aged man holding a broom in one hand answers the door.
"Hello. I'm Chayron - one of the custodians. I'm afraid that the Museum is closed for the day..."
His voice trails off as he looks you up and down, and then sighs.
"Ah. Pathfinders. Well, if you need to speak with Tavvar, by all means - go ahead. She and her post-docs are up in the tower on the top floor. I should warn you - there are some strange shadow effects in play on the second floor, but they seem to be harmless..."
He then ushers you up the back stairs to the middle floor, waving you off with a cheery "Goodbye!".
Merisiel drinks her potion of healing before going to the Museum.
"Shadows never hurt anyone." she replies comically but then thanks the custodian and heads upstairs. Once the group has gathered she'll head down the hall.
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"Shadows never...Obviously you haven't heard the same stories as I. I heard poor Arnaut the Seeker died to a particularly nasty one while on some secret mission. Almost got his name on the wall, ya know! Shadows are NASTY stuff!"
Dazzatir will draw his blades. He's heard the stories of what goes down. He scoffs at Nigel's nameplate as he moves on. He'll begin marching to B3, taking a moment to look into B2.
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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.
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!”
"Getting a little exciting in here, yeah? so much better than that boring party!" Merisiel says as she continues onward , her weapons drawn just in case.
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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.
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Elixia would ignore any jibes from the team and take great care with the creature to make sure it's feeling safe. She may prefer life fast and loose, but it's not her way to force that on those without the capacity to make that choice. She'll sigh at the 'publish or perish' bit once they start following up with the museum, though. "Academics..." she'd grumble aloud after learning and sharing that information with the group. "...really need to keep frat parties as a tradition for faculty, too. Those are the ones who really need to loosen up a bit more!"