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Makras is able to keep the palepox from getting any worse. Some of its effects remain, but they probably aren't noticeable. Laurel immediately takes what is left of the experimental curative and pouring other ingredients in. By the top of another hour, she appears done.
"This should be what you're in the market for! I effectively multiplied it, I can ladle it into perhaps two dozen doses. Take some as soon as you can if anything untoward scratches you. Or if you're off somewhere you expect that, I suppose.
"Thank you very much for your help. I might not have had the time or resources to fix such a problem, had it hit Falcon's Hollow unawares. I wish you luck in whatever your next venture is. And do come back if you find the root of this problem, or just to say hello!" She gestures you to the door, while offering to keep Vanick around for longer-term care.
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Laurel bids you farewell and holds open the door for you. She stands there, poised to watch you go, but when she sees what is going on outside, she slams it shut.
Two hooded figures are slowly making their way down the street. One strains to pull a cart, which is piled high with flamebloom flowers. The other waves down nearby citizens and strikes up conversation. Not many are paying them great attention, but those who venture close receive rasped words of praise, vigorous handshakes, or hearty slaps on the back.
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Not seeing the danger himself, Doran's words hang in the air a moment before the paladin connects the dots. "Damn! He turns toward the others, "Who knows how many of those blooms they've already passed out. We have to stop this. Now!" Without waiting for the others, Korum starts spirnting toward the pair. "Hey jackholes! Why don't you tell me about the glory of killing innocent people and children. Better yet, how 'bout we just skip to the penalty phase of your upcoming trial. I hear they're gonna send ya to the gallows. I'd be happy ta speed up the process!"
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"Apparently only some folks get the benefit of due process," Torku mutters darkly. "Good to see some things never change with paladins." He barely flinches as Dana's missiles fly past, though he turns to glare at the psychic. "We don't have an unlimited supply of this treatment, so we need to be selective about who we give it to. That gets harder if you drive everyone into a panic and they drop their flowers."
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Korum spins on the team, "GET BACK! I'm immune. I'll secure these two. Find anyone they gave a flower to!" He looks back toward the rest of the team, "Anyone know if burning this will make things worse? I'd hate to accidentally spread this disease."
He then proceeds to tie the cultists up.
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Securing the prisoners, "Convincing them to talk may take too long. But, I will see what I can do after I've made sure they are not going anywhere for a while." As he tightens a knot, "Why don't you just..huh, she already left." Korum looks down at the unconscious man, "Mark this day. Lady Vulpina actually listened to someone without a complaint." The paladin leans in a little closer, "And a man no less!" He only offers an admonishing sigh as the man's head listlessly lolls about his shoulders. "Aw, you missed it because we had to knock you silly. Well, I'll tell you all about it later. Trust me, you'll tell your grand-kids 'cuz it's about as rare a sighting as a comet."
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Dana is able to find the affected citizens and divest them of flowers. On the off chance she missed any, those she talked with agree to point everyone to Laurel and her working remedy.
Eventually, at least one cultist is roused. They are much more willing to talk than their fellows, and more coherently to boot. "I've gotten enough flack for my failure and I'm about to get more still, I see. A lass named Vondrella sent us here. Just for a touch more bloom-spreading, to better prepare for our feast. And of course the reason for that particular celebration...the destruction of Falcon's Hollow, to start," one concludes in a half-dead monotone.
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The cultist is able to dole out a semi-coherent string of directions that point out his fellows as nearly an hour's trek north. He isn't able to say much more on the palepox's nature than, "Vondrella created it, with the goodwill of the Princess."
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We...might want to salvage these... Doran says unexpectedly, holding up the found items. Don't know what they are, but I think one of you could find out... as he hands the loot one of the magical types.
Torku makes no move to take any of the offered items. "They'll need to be disinfected before we can use them safely."
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The cultists are subdued, and their fate lies in your hands. They could be left alone, handed over to the tiny local constabulary, left tied, or shot more times. Either way you decide to move quickly to their fellows' indicated position. A narrow path cuts through the thick overgrowth of the dense forest. The sound of Darkmoon Woods’ fauna permeates the air, as does the scent of damp moss. Shafts of light pierce the misty air where sunlight breaks through the nearly solid canopy, creating pools of green light on the forest floor.
Unless you are being particularly loud or stealthy, you hear someone crashing through the underbrush long before you see them. Eventually, a waif-thin, goat-legged man bursts into the clearing you're in - a satyr. He doesn't bear any weapons or his kin's signature pipes. But as he sees you, his look immediately shifts to fearful and guarded. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing here! Stay away from me or you'll regret it!"
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Vulpina is probably aware of how fey like their flowery talk and silly social duels. Satyrs are less keen on the practice, admittedly. So her blunt denial - and the obvious truth therein - gives the young creature pause. He takes a moment to ponder, looking as if he is sold but not wanting to show it.
"All right, so you say," he mutters. "But anyone would, surely! And even if I was to believe you aren't the perpetrators, sneaking right into the heart of our forest to befoul it, how do I know you're here for a good reason? Your just cause might be a front for something else. Cutting down our trees, perhaps. Or something admittedly harmless but not warranted in this time of crisis, like mapping or some such silliness." For someone who looks scared out of his wits, he isn't giving easily.
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Vulpina did, for her part, return the satyr’s words in a mixed order for a new meaning—not the height of wordplay, of course, but she can play the game... if necessary.
So inefficient.
”Very well, then.”
She continues speaking, but not in Taldane.
She retrieves her wakizashi, slowly, turning it this way and that—a display, rather than a threat.
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"...I suppose you're right," the satyr acknowledges Vulpina in Taldane. "What you say is in keeping with our most those most likely to be the culprits. You aren't thin or ragged enough, either - save the squat one, but I assume you've cowed the foul cultist into submission." He casts a wary glance at Makras.
"I hope you're already off to deal with those responsible. Our forces are already ailing or too spread out. Can't accompany you, of course, um...I must report back to my Queen Syntira! Do you have any words you wish to pass to her? Going back empty-handed now may be our forest's last mistake."
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With earnest intent, "I am Korum of the Silver-Eyed Wolf. You've meet Lady Vulpina. How you you like to be addressed? Please report to the Fey Crown that The Pathfinder Society agents have taken steps to slow the spread of the plague and will do all they can to end the threat. We have already worked with a healer to create a remedy. Inform Queen Syntira that would prefer to join forces, but understand how this emergency has been a strain on resources. Is there anything else you can tell us of what lies ahead for us?"
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Eventually, the satyr drops his guard. "I don't know much more, only that there's some sort of cult. They lurked in the woods without doing much to merit our attention. Disgusting things, sure, but not destructive.
"I'll gladly take those back with me. If your word is true, the fey of this forest and others will never forget your good deeds!" With however many vials you gave him in hand, he speeds off. Vulpina and other knowledgeable figures are pretty sure the fey may forget rather quickly. Not to fault their character, but perhaps their attention spans. This will be good for some one-time clout-pulling.
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Now that the fey have graciously allowed you to help, you can continue to the cultists' glade unimpeded It takes perhaps an hour, as projected. It is not worth the wait judging by the sight alone.
A low melodic droning carries through the still air, interrupted by random screams of pain and pleasure. Ahead lies a clearing surrounded by low-hanging willow trees. In the center of the clearing rests a long, bone banquet table covered in mounds of bright red, orange, and yellow flower petals, human skull goblets dripping with wine, and alabaster platters filled with raw meat. In the center of the table rests a water-filled basin made of carved birch, from the center of which rises the wooden sculpture of a nude woman pouring water from a jar.
Nearly a dozen figures are clustered around the table. Most are ragged humans, the likes of which you have dealt with, stuffing themselves with food and cavorting about. Several others are clearly zombies, bearing cosmetically added pustules but rotted to a degree beyond that which a human could survive intact. Some shovel flowers into unhinged maws, most of which fall out. But the majority are still, dead eyes fixed on the woman at the table's head. She wears expensive black robes and a maniacal grin. Her long is hair is a deep black and she bears no signs of sickness or pox at all.