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"Oh, what a DELIGHTFUL statue," Vangral says. He claps his hands and approaches it. Given some of his studies, he really should know more about religion but he has focused more on arcane studies. He makes a mental note to dive into that other branch when he gets a chance.
For now, he considers the statue's arcane significance.
"Oh look...see how the skin on the bull is not smooth but looks more like plates of metal. The skill that went into creating this sculpture is far too fine for that to be accidental. This is no bull at all, it's a gorgon!"
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Fifi takes a good look at the statue and says-"It seems the Gorgon is fighting with this dwarf, maybe a shrine to Torag or another of the dwarven pantheon? It would make sense Thurl would worship Torag in the past, given his background, but to fall so far from the tree..."-she says imagining if there's more creatures like Valais around.
If the party would not be against it, she goes ahead and nominates herself for whispering her name into the statue's ear, saying-"Fifi Vanaash, servant of the Everlight."-relating herself more to her passion for Sarenrae than where she came from or her parents.
You know if the target deliberately and knowingly speaks a lie by discerning disturbances in its aura caused by lying. The spell does not reveal the truth, uncover unintentional inaccuracies, or necessarily reveal evasions.
The statue pivots, revealing a staircase that leads downward.
A cage-like spiral staircase of rusting wrought iron descends along one wall of this room. Dim but vibrant green light pulses from two large glass vats that stand from floor to ceiling in the far corners. Powdery rust coats much of the floor, though several lines of footprints crisscross the room. Metal doors lead to the east and west.
To Vangral's delight, the vats are full of horrors. The thick glass is foggy and opaque enough to disguise the finer features of whatever resides inside, though the surface is just clear enough to reveal a creature’s shape and a few details such as a scaled hand, a stretch of flesh stitched with staples and wire, and an ophidian eye that seems to track Vangral as he moves about. The figure appears to be stitched together from the body of a succubus and the arms of a dretch with a visage made entirely of quasit faces.
The Ghost Writer makes a less macabre discovery. Chalk writing along the wall near each vat records various numerical data, but without context, it’s not clear exactly what any given value means.
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"Hmmmm...I think we have enough evidence at this point to confirm that Thurl has been flirting with demonology," the Ghostwriter says sardonically. "I suppose our masters would like us to continue cataloguing this collection of horrors for posterity though. And there is that matter of Valais, of course."
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"I generally prefer dealing with the undead. They're more predictable, you know. Fiends have such a habit of having their own minds and agendas and changing them often. The desires of good zombie or skeleton is much easier to understand," Vangral says.
"Still, you must admire the craftsmanship. It can't be easy procuring such materials, let alone working with them once you've gotten your hands on them. Demons only look like material plane creatures, after all. They have entirely different internal structures and metabolisms."
Vangral looks around a bit more, even studying the numbers, though they end up not meaning any more to him than anyone else, at the moment.
"Well...this will still be here when we get back, no need to dilly dally. On with the door."
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"Vangral, I dare say that you seem to foster an unconcealed admiration of this reprobates activities. Be careful, lest you find yourself being hunted down by a group of Pathfinders in your future."
The vigilante heads to west door, and after checking it for traps he presses his ear to the door to listen to any noises on the other side.
Why no traps yet? You think there'd be at least one so far.
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Fifi seems repulsed by the presence of those creatures in the vats-"To think a person would do such a thing to other people. What if the creatures inside these vats have retained their humanity like Valais?"-she says out loud, a bit scared at what could happen.
She looks around for any obvious levers that might release the creatures but does not pull any nor touch anything, being cautious of endangering them.
Ghostwriter hears some moans of agony through the western door.
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"Oh, no, no, no, I assure you, Mr. Ghostwriter, I would never do anything like this. While I admire the skill, the direction of inquiry is pure folly. Fiendish creatures are simply far too unpredictable to make decent test subjects. Much better to stick with things from our own plane," Vangral replies.
This room is a madman’s abattoir. Near the center of the room stands a polished metal table with manacles bolted to each of its corners and a bloodstained hacksaw embedded in its side.
A wooden workshop bench rests against the east wall, covered with tools of varying sizes, a spool of barbed wire, a stack of large metal staples, and a stack of notes, and even more grisly tools hang from hooks on the wall like pots and pans in a well-stocked kitchen. Reddish-brown splotches cover the floor.
On the table, a partially clothed male elf with a distended belly is sprawled on his back as he quietly moans in agony, his arms bound by the table’s manacles.
Orin rushes up to the body and discharges a spell through a healing touch. Power flows through his hand, and the elf's distended stomach swells.
Only too late does Orin realize that the elf has been dead for quite some time - the writhing inside his stomach is not the elf's life force, but something else's.
Dozens of arm-length, wormlike tentacles erupt from the abdomen, simultaneously emanating negative energy, releasing a cloud of spores, and propelling fragments of viscera in a 20-foot radius.
Orin and Ghostwriter take (DC 16 Will for half) and need to make a DC 16 Fortituxe save.
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As soon as the creature appears Toral will try to hex it with misfortune!
Effect: The witch can cause a creature within 30 feet to suffer grave misfortune for 1 round. Anytime the creature makes an ability check, attack roll, saving throw, or skill check, it must roll twice and take the worse result. A Will save negates this hex. At 8th level and 16th level, the duration of this hex is extended by 1 round. This hex affects all rolls the target must make while it lasts. Whether or not the save is successful, a creature cannot be the target of this hex again for 1 day.
He also immediately starts chant to prolong the duration!
It is a hazard, not a creature.
Ghostwriter and Orin both take 9 damage. In addition, Ghostwriter got some juice in his mouth and accidentally swallowed some.
"Well, that certainly looked unpleasant," Vangral comments.
With the worst, apparently over, he approaches and examines the poor wretch strapped to the table.
or
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Once Fifi hears the explosion of negative energy, she rushes into the room, saying-"By the Everlight! What a vile man could experiment and force a man to go through such an ordeal?"-as she closes the elves' eyes and makes a prayer.
With a shudder, she says-"W-We should try to identify what was being done to him, since I find it really strange that it would emanate negative energy instead of poison or something like that. Might give us some insight to what Thurl is planning underneath the rug."-she says in an inquisitive tone.
She waits for someone to correctly identify the nature of this parasite, and even tries herself with her knowledge of undead.
Thurl’s latest version of the experiment involved infecting an elf. The elf, the notes describe, demonstrated remarkable resilience and seemed to be fighting off the infestation.
There is a door to the west, which feels cold to the touch, as if it were a cold room.