As the bear is only a bear, it is cut down with a powerful swing of Tariq's blade.
wand of scorching ray (14 charges)
masterwork dagger,
boots of elvenkind,
ring of protection +1,
bag of holding (type II),
spellbook (contains dimension door, fly, hold person, knock, invisibility, charm person, hold portal, mage armor, ray of
enfeeblement, shield, disguise self, expeditious retreat, grease, magic aura, true strike, ventriloquism, alter self, false life, arcane sight, gentle repose, lightning bolt, locate creature plus all cantrips),
six small flawed rubies worth 250 gp each
After a short time the Jackal dies and turns into a jackal. Looks like he was a werehuman.
tan bag of tricks,
+1 breastplate,
+1 battleaxe,
throwing axes (6),
gauntlets of ogre power,
key,
scroll of kakishon(1) ;)
Aith is glad that Tariq is able to easily dispatch the bear once the Jackal falls, and as Haleen dusts herself off and calm settles over the room, the mage takes a moment to let everything sink in before moving to search the bodies.
She gives a relieved cry when she finds the Scroll and clutches it to her chest in a gesture that bodes well for either her maternal or archival instincts in future – probably more the latter, given Aith’s chaotic spellcraft, since the power bound into magical scrolls makes them much more resistant to magical mishaps than babies. In any case, the motion also seems to bring home just what a state she’s in, and the mage sets a cantrip to start tidying herself up before further investigation of the fallen foes. It’s not ideal, and more or less feels like doing the laundry while wearing it, so everything will still need a proper cleaning later, but at least it’s a start.
While the prestidigitation’s working, Aith scans for magic, taking her time to sort out the individual auras in case something immediately useful appears. “Soporific gaze, huh? Neat,” she says, trying to make conversation as she works. (It probably comes across as a bit smugly elven.)
She restrains herself from leafing through Tamir's spellbook right away, and dangles the Jackal's key instead. "I think there was that one last passage we didn't check, the other side of what led to that jellyfish thing. Since these fellows aren't going to complain anymore, shall we help ourselves - and see if there's anything to explain what they were hoping to achieve? It might reassure the Pactmasters' underlings, and I doubt a bunch of Rovagug's lunatics had the wit to be interested in Kakishon in its own right."
When Aith shows them the scroll from the Jackal's body, Tariq just hintly smiles.
"Our scroll, beast. Ours."
Tariq helps picking up the items and congratulates Ishta for her sound spell, then he nods when his arcanist friend suggest a thorough examination.
"Yes, and we could also make good use of Adobe of the wares here. After all, everything's fine here if it's good for business, right?"
"My preciousssss." Haleen mocks Aithaloessa.
"You're suggesting we're doing a sale? Everything 80% off, cash only?"
"Sale?" asks Tariq, about to let a laughter escape. "Do you think these merchant guys deserve any kind of discount? No, I'm saying let's claim some goods - after all, we've dismantled the owners - and sell them for a good profit to any other merchant company in the city." His smile all but disappears. "I'd hate to do all the dirty work to recover what's ours and now leave the lion's share for these hyenas."
Aith shovels most of the loot into what turns out to be a bag of holding, though she keeps the wand out to tuck into a sleeve for easy access while she’s low on her own spells. With a grimace, she looks down at what’s left of the Jackal.
"I'd hate to do all the dirty work to recover what's ours and now leave the lion's share for these hyenas."
“Make sure that no one gets any ideas about reviving this gang,” she nods, betraying her Calistrian streak. “The merchants whose strings were being pulled are one thing, and I suppose the One Source will rattle along somehow, but really. You’d think that these fellows would obviously be bad for business, so they must have kept their little end-times murder shrine very quiet. Kazim said the powers that be wanted proof that we’ve sorted things, right? Do you think you can tell a jackalwere, if you know what you’re looking for? Or is it enough …”
The mage casts her mind back to what she was able to recall about such monsters when the fight broke out. Anyway, she finishes the idea where she trailed off in her thoughts, … to have matching bits if they send someone down here to check up on our accusations. Quick as a flash, though with none of the grace or ease of the others, she draws her sword and separates the Jackal’s head from his body, wraps it in a bit of the stuff he shed when he transformed back into his natural form in death, and adds it to the bag.
“Ugh,” she can’t help but complain a bit, before starting for the main doors. “Maybe we can also add one of those Rovagug knick-knacks from that office we passed on the way down here, once we check that last passage.”
Haleen imagines how that presentation is going to play out. No, no, this is no head of a stray dog, that is the head of the head of the One Source Merchant's Guild. A were-jackal, who turned into a regular jackal after his death." With a mental image of an elf woman getting the sleeves of her new jacket bound on her back.
"Do you want to found a merchant's guild of your own?" Haleen inquires from Tariq. "I would go for a quick profit. Open the doors, do a yard sale of everything for a big discount and be gone in an hour with the gold. And if someone asks, we've never been here. Maybe a magic disguise would be nice for that."
"But probably it would be wisest to take what's ours and maybe an item or two from the basement, that no one would miss. And not invite trouble with that cleric, what's her name?"
But there is another trakt of the basement ot discover. Two doors in in the corridor disrupt the passage. The room behind seems to be a study or lounge of some sort. The floor is covered with thick, red carpeting, and the walls hang with deep purple curtains. Strangely smokeless braziers flicker in the corners of the room, radiating a pleasant warmth. Two long benches sit against two walls, while in the opposite corner stands a small round table and a large chair.
On the large leather chair sits a humanoid, but very little of his
flesh is visible under his luxurious yellow robes, and the way those robes hang from his body hint at a form far less humanoid than might appear at first glance. The creatures eyes open to regard the knights with a strange and unsettling stare. When he speaks, his voice is strangely deep.
"And so you are the ones to have vexed my puppet so. Are you here abotu the Scroll of Kakishon? What do you imagine the jackal would do if he were to learn that what I truly wanted was his humiliation and defeat—that I gave to him two impossible tasks so that when I returned he would be ruined with the shame? You fleshy fools are so much more useful to me when your own minds break your spirits before I tend to more… visceral pursuits."
Poking around some more, Aith is briefly relieved to find something that looks more civilized than the rest of the underground complex, until she realizes that there’s someone or something sitting in the chair in the corner.
She startles as if she’s been shot, and wonders if the better part of valour might not be advisable now that the Scroll is secure. Still, the strange figure’s choice of words is equally bizarre and curiously compelling. Or maybe that’s just the mage’s natural, reckless curiosity.
“Well, I would hope that he wouldn’t do what you wanted, in that case, for his own sake, though I’m sure he deserved it. But do you mean you aren’t … fleshy?”
Is this person really here? Throwing his voice? Through an illusion or, gods forbid, some sort of undead puppet? Aith tries to figure out what exactly is under those robes without staring too obviously. And maybe she and the others can get out of this without more shouting and blood and, gods, she really, really hopes, jelly and tentacles and such.
She also, belatedly, tries to throw off the scent. “We’re here about a robbery. Bad business that, in the City of Trade. But this Kakishon scroll does sound interesting. Tell us more?”
"I think it would please Sarenrae to dismantle these temples to Rovagug before we depart," Yasmeena grins as they discuss their options. "In the marketplace of ideas, the Rough Beast is not a fair competitor, it seems."
When they discover the fleshless humanoid in his lounge, Yasmeena looks quickly to Aithaloessa, and backs her play, standing straighter like a noblewoman able to fund the elf's business. "This whole complex seems very out of place for a merchant guild. Are you their patron? Why do you hide down here, away from the light? We may be able to make you generous offers on any magical items you have for sale."
Yasmeena studies the figure carefully, trying to identify it with her magically-enhanced encyclopedic bardic knowledge.
Nothing manages to hide its true being from Yasmeena who recognizes the denizen of Leng.
"Don't make a fool of yourself. Father Jackal told me enough about you to recognize you."
"I have a proposition for you." He produces a small vial of red liquid and holds it out for Aithaloessa to take, informing her "This is a vial of dreams. Feed the contents of the vial to the hatchling of the Rough Seed in the cavern to the east. The red liquid is a stolen dream, and feeding it to the hatchling will compel it to turn on Father Jackal and consume him."
"Until you feed the liquid to the hatchling, it will likely prove dangerous to but, but once the liquid is delivered, your troubles with Father Jackal will be near an end."
"I have heard that it is dangerous to accept gifts from a denizen of Leng, for it is through their alluring gemstones that they may assault the mind or curse the body. What is your role in this dance? Who is Father Jackal to you?" Yasmeena asks.
Yasmeena attempts to divine what the magical liquid might be, based on what she can see of it and what she has intuited about denizens of Leng.
Tariq stays quite, watching how the two women play a razor sharp dance of give and take with the "denizen of Leng", whatever that ends up being. His veteran reflexes make him stay alert, though, in case his scimitar is needed.
"A trophy." the eerie man replies.
Aith tries to adjust after her bluff is called by the strange man, and after taking a moment to collect herself while Yasmeena steps in, attempts to brazen her way out of her own misstep.
She tries to ignore the feeling of her skin crawling as Yasmeena identifies who they’re dealing with. Aith knows only the barest rumours of the merchants with impossibly tempting bargains, only that they come from … somewhere else. It stands to reason, almost, given how free trade is in Katapesh, that they would show up there if anywhere, but still.
“What small worlds these are,” she says as brightly as she can. “Our Golarion, and Kakishon, and now Leng. I would wish you well with your trophy, only I’m afraid that we also need to prove to our patrons that the Jackal isn’t going to be a nuisance anymore. If you know of a token that will work as well as his head, we’d be glad to let you have the latter.”
Despite the fact that it doesn’t seem they’ll need it, if she understood the robed figure correctly, and despite, more importantly, Yasmeena’s warning, Aith’s eyes are drawn to the red vial in his hand.
“Whose dream was it?” She has a thousand questions. Do they come/i] blank[i] – for lack of a better word – to sleepers? Could it be anyone’s? How does one even – Oh, right. Not the time. “This hatchling of the Rough Seed, though. That wouldn’t happen to be anything like a jellyfish: many tentacles, alarmingly squishy centre, with a rather snappish skull in the middle? It’s a generous offer, but we’ve already dispatched the thing.”
She hopes the claim, along with the dead Jackal, will bolster their negotiating position. Honestly, she’s not actually sure what’s on the table, but she certainly hopes an amicable parting is part of it.
"It's from the realm of dreams. I don't know who's dream that was." the denizen of Leng replies.
He seems not much concerned about the news. "I'll take both anyway and I would much appreciate if you'd part freely with the Jackal. If you didn't kill all on the way in, there might be someone who could bear witness about the true nature of Father Jackal. And you have a whole temple of Rovagug to show for the sinister ways of him."
"Also he will be no longer here. If you don't tell that you beheaded him, I won't."
Tariq is starting to grow a bit nervous.
"So all fine. We go with our scroll and you go with your... whatever." He makes his position crystal clear by putting his hands on his hips.
"Yes indeed. That would be marvellous."
Largely drained after a fierce day’s fighting, and not quite crazy enough to experiment with bottled dreams that are almost certain to mess with the head of anyone dosed with them, Aith sees the sense of accepting the deal they’ve been offered.
That’s not to say that her glance doesn’t flicker to the robed figure’s bottle one last time, but she does manage to focus on the group’s new bag of holding, from which she extracts and unwraps the Jackal’s head, handing it over.
“You have a bargain, sir,” she offers, before shuffling just a bit uneasily on her feet. “You wouldn’t mind if we took a quick look through that door, would you? You said you recognized us? I gather the Jackal was your main interest, but if a possible elemental conspiracy involving a fallen order of ancient genies is of any concern to you, perhaps we’ll meet again.”
She steps back to give the strange man room to collect his trophy and, she can only hope, take his leave.
"I can assure you, it isn't. I'll fetch what is left of the spawn."
The cloaked creature gets up. "I have been upon Kakishon's secret shores before, for I knew the way when Nex still walked them. Yet know this — what you seek in Kakishon is what you need, yet what you need is not what you seek."
On the seat a red pouch is left behind.
The denizen leaves the room.
Tariq waits till the far beyond guy leaves before speaking.
"So we've got our scroll and a bag of treats. Let's see if there's something worth keeping and sell the rest as Haleen suggested, yeah? This place is full of weird people."
Yasmeena looks uncomfortably at the pouch. "I'd be wary of touching anything in that bag until we can check it for curses or enchantments."
Tariq nods as he checks for magic auras in the bag and its surroundings. What's more, he'll have a look around in case, he thinks, there's a hidden magic treasure they've skipped.
The weird merchant with a grudge leaves with some very peculiar parting words and, left to her own devices, Aith would be happy to turn them every which way, at least in more congenial environs.
As it is, the others’ words bring her back to the moment, and with the decisiveness of her usual enthusiasm, she calls up a cantrip to scan the bag for magic ( ), and then promptly looks inside.
“Certainly, an impressive selection of gems,” she nods, acknowledging Yasmeena’s previous warning, before reaching in and brandishing - “but also a rather fascinating tuning fork. Sort of thing one uses to go planeswalking, though I’m afraid I’m a ways away from doing so under my own power.”
She shrugs, and then tries to peek cautiously into the next room.
The pouch registers as magic and indeed the largest ruby is magic.
Opening the door, Aithaloessa is overwhelmed by the stink. This filthy room reeks of decayed meat and blood. Gnawed-upon bones lie in a semi-orderly heap in one corner of the room, while in another is a large nest of ratty furs, blankets, and tattered pillows.
Aith flinches at the reek that emanates once she cracks open the door to the next room. If his true form wasn’t enough to reveal his nature, the Jackal’s room – she can only presume – certainly would.
She concentrates again for a moment on the spark of power that will let her detect other magic, just in case, and then, her features settling into an expression that shows that she’s certain she’s going to regret it, takes a deep breath and quickly checks the nest for anything of interest. A diary gloating over his success at securing the Scroll of Kakishon? The pile of gnawed bones suggests not, but a girl can dream.
She quickly and cautiously toes the tip of her boot through the pile of furs, ready to flee the moment she eliminates the possibility of there being anything worth hanging around for.
The sacrifice to forgo fresh air is not rewarded. There is nothing of interest - for a non-scavenger. One could argue that Aithaloessa is a kind of scavenger too, but this kind of scavenger's heart's desire isn't fulfilled here.
"For Sarebrae's love, close that door!" says Tariq with a hand covering his mouth and nose. "We don't want that guy's feed do we."
The only thing of value found in the basement are the eyes of the spider statue in the temple of Rovagug. All 24 of them are black pearls .
Checking on the secret trapdoor to get back up you find that there is quite some commotion upstairs. It looks like the guard has arrived. Maysam seems unbound and is purveying the story of some murderous gang charging the warehouse in search of something they wouldn't tell.
Interestingly, she doesn't point them directly to the basement, but uses the time to clean up the mess in her office and in an unobserved moment, shoves the carpet back over the trapdoor. Which muffles the sound additionally.
Tariq, as always, is much more sensible than Aithaloessa, who gratefully flees the Jackal’s nest. On the way back up, she does take a second to look into what must have been his pet priest’s quarters to grab a couple of arachnid figurines from his collection, to show what the sponsor of their group’s investigations can expect down in the tunnels.
Back in the warehouse office, it looks like it’s back to business as usual in Katapesh, with the lower chambers being swept quite briskly under the rug. Well, if that’s how everyone wants to play it. As long as the Scroll of Kakishon is back where it belongs, Aith can live with that, and tries to brazen it out.
“The situation is under control,” she announces, blithely ignoring that she had no small part to play in there being one to report. “This is now an ecumenical matter for the churches of Sarenrae and Abadar, to purify the remains of a cult of the Rough Beast.”
She happily waves one of the weird scorpion statuettes she picked up, as Exhibit A. “Could you direct us to where we might find Kazim?”
Aithaloessa spoils Maysam's attempt to literally and figuratively sweep the basement under the rug, by opening the trapdoor and barging into the interrogation. The guard backs off as the elf and her ego take all the room.
"This explains that." Kazim comments as she joins in the office on hearing her name.
"So tell me. Will I have to deal with complaints about your intrusion here from the leadership of the One Source Merchants Guild for the next time? Or have you settled your disagreement."
Tariq comes out of the trap door as well, hearing Kazim's words as he wipes the dust from his clothes to appear at least minimally decent. He wonders who's the leader of the One Source now that the Jackal is dead, but given the bard seems the only one alive...
"Well, up to her, I guess. But if she wants to come to ours and keep arguing, we'll be pleased to settle things up... permanently." He doesn't look like anyone's best friend right now. "Otherwise, we walk away with our thing and mind our own business, never to be disturbed again."
Tariq will probably have to give up on pillaging the One Source resources, but perhaps the demonstration of what happens when you steal from the Knights of Kelmarane will suffice to make others think twice.
"Fine with me, if that walking away leads you out of the city." Kazim comments.
Aith nods quickly in agreement with Tariq. “It was all a huge misunderstanding, but after a bit of discussion we were able to clarify everyone’s positions and come to an agreement.”
The mage is doing her level best to make it sound like a polite, if strenuous, debate, rather than a lightning raid with ample amounts of butchery.
“We’ll be out of your hair now, but feel free to spread the word among our mutual friends that we’ll welcome inquiries from scholars interested in working in-situ once we return to Kelmarane.”
Her efforts are undercut by the glob of Rovagug-spawn jelly she realizes she’s managed to miss in her hair in her hasty attempt to get the worst of the mess off her with magic, and which she promptly tries to comb out with her fingers, but that does explain how she settled on that particular metaphor.
"Will do that when we finish our business here, don't worry" Tariq answers. "Meanwhile, it would be nice if we didn't get robbed, or if thieves would get punished. The less time we need to spend pursuing crime lord wannabes, the shorter our stay here."
Kazeem gets tight lipped and doesn't comment on Tariq's insult. Instead she turns to Maysam and and summarizes. "So there was this group who slaughtered your guards, who disappeared after the act. And then there is this group who supposedly searched for something that is theirs and came to a mutual agreement with the guild. Would you like to file a complaint against this group, or do you agree that there was a mutual agreement and everything is settled?"
As Maysam shakes her head to the complaint and nods on the settled, Kazim turns back to Tariq and the others. "You might not be used to how things go in Katapesh. It looks like today even a group of murderers got away. It's a shame, isn't it." Her words drip with sarcasm.
"We're done here." she calls out to the guards, and without a further word she leaves, followed by the men.
There's such a ton of things Tariq could say that he just opts to forget it. They've got the scroll back and it seems the One Source won't be a problem anymore.
"Let's go back home, I guess."
Yasmeena shrugs too, there doesn't seem to be much to say. She gives Maysam a look, indicating that the bard is very lucky she survived and should change her ways going forward.
And so the Knights of Kelmarane leave the guild warehouse and walk the long way through the winding alleys of Katapesh to return to the premises of Rayhan.
As they enter through the gate into the garden they hear him call out "Heureka!" through the open window of the library on the third floor.
The cry floating down from the library that greets them upon their return sounds promising – at least, it’s not repeated, nor, as far as Aith can tell, cut off by a choking gurgle or anything that would suggest it’s been silenced by less than friendly means – and she rushes upstairs as quickly as she can.
She thinks she’s been able to clean up remarkably well after the morning’s misadventures, all things considered, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t keep half an eye open for Rayhan’s majordomo in case Eramin decides she needs a proper bath first before she can be let in without protest.
“We found it too!” the mage announces, throwing the door to the library open excitedly. “The Scroll is safe again!”
She tries to calm down, vaguely aware of what she must look like, and not wanting to give the folks they were able to rescue from Yuseifah’s clutches the wrong idea, especially Fadimatou, who’s got a good head on her shoulders and a promising spark of imagination. It must be said, however, that Aith looks rather like a public service announcement or cautionary emblem from Alkenstar and the disastrous wars between Nex and Geb: “This is is your brain on magic,” and all that.
"What's wrong?" Tariq asks when he gets into the villa, not having idea what kind of strange language the old man has just used.
"Why, what should be wrong? This is perfekt. You got the scroll back and I believe I found the solution for opening the path to Kakishon!" Rayhan exclaims enthusiastically.
“That’s brilliant!” Aith enthuses. She would throw herself into a chair to hear all about it, except she’s so excited that she knows she would jump up again and start pacing and buzzing about, so she saves time and just starts kind of vibrating.
“Please, tell us everything! Are there any obvious preparations we’ll need to make?” Some nagging corner in the back of the mage’s mind points out that if they’re about to poke their noses into a pocket dimension, they’ll need some way of getting back, and that sort of thing is easier for priests than it is for wizards, and specifically, priests that are less martially-inclined than Tariq is.
Ah, well. It’s another excuse to dive into Rayhan’s library again, not that Aith would normally wait for so much, given half a chance.
"I think I found a reference that tells how to activate the scroll. It isn't a manual, but only a telling of someone who once was on a vacation with Nex but it hints strongly at the method to open it."
"It tells about the host making magical gestures and then touching the parchment with the rune in several places, teleporting them to a paradise."
"Take that together with our knowledge that the rune turns into a map, I assume there is a code to be entered, by where you touch it."
"So we need to find that code?" Tariq asks. "Or, better said, you two, because I'm totally useless in that regard." He turns to Yasmeena. "Maybe I can go with you and see what kind of supplies we can get with those rubies."