Only a single, aged worktable still stands in one corner of this room, though the clay fragments of an oven and rusted metal suggest it was once a kitchen. The ceiling has completely fallen in, leaving this room open to the sky above. Doors stand in the east and west walls.
Searching through the debris reveals nothing of interest.
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Kiroh frowns. "Besides the uh..." The half orc shrugs, his plate armor moving up and down in an exaggerated fashion. "...magic demon fingers coming for Chupko, this seems like a regular old rich guy house." He laughs. "Not that we have those in the Scar, but... I'm guessing this is what a rich old guy house looks like." He stands in the middle of the kitchen looking a little chagrined.
Everything this next room once held now lies jumbled over the floor in a soggy mess: torn pages, scraps of fabric, and splintered remnants of furniture. Doors hang askew in the north and east walls, but the door to the south has been smashed from its hinges.
While Searching this room Quetzhal finds a hidden compartment in the wall behind a collapsed bookcase that contains a stack of notes, a lesser healing potion, and a religious text for the archdevil Mephistopheles (entitled Three Lies), overflowing with notations.
As you begin to gather up the notes, some of the words... evaporate from the pages as they turn into whispers and murmurs.
Everyone shrugs off the suggestive nature of these whispers, but Chupko begins to get a confused look in his eyes.
Listening to the words as they evaporate, they seem to extoll desperate praise of Mephistopheles, and include the occasional muffled screams of innocents being sacrificed.
As they quiet down, you are left with only the sounds of a sagging, creaking house.
In the remaining room ivy has overgrown the empty window frame. A low shelf, its wood warped and cracked, stands against the south wall, and a desk has been overturned and smashed in the eastern part of the room.
Searching the room reveals nothing of interest.
When you report back to Gorm Greathammer, he leans back in his chair, rifling through your notes and the evidence you collected. Setting them aside, he steeples his fingers underneath his chin and cocks an eyebrow.
"Great work! Thorough investigation. Your notes will be added to the archives in their purest detail. But! Evidence and facts do not an occult mystery solve alone. So I must ask you... What do YOU think transpired at this place?"
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Kiroh's eyebrows knit together as his mind slowly unravels the clues. "Perhaps the archdevil's followers were in the midst of a terrible ritual in the great room during the earthquake. When the natural force interrupted their occult ones, the devils were released to torment their masters..." He grips his amulet. "The remnants of their evil magic was throughout the house. The pit in the great room could have been created in preparation of the ritual or in the aftermath..." The half-orc shrugs. "But my religious studies have been closely focused on the Mother, this devil is unknown to me."
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The owners were worshipers of Mephistopheles. They should have practiced some cult there. Perhaps the earthquake was issued from a prayer which run wrong. As we heard some voices these could be the ones of victims of the cult or some cultists died inside the house.
Then he waits for the conclusion of the venture-captain.
"Excellent, excellent! I'll add those hypotheses to your report. That's what makes an occult mystery so intriguing! There can by any number of levels to its complexity. Thank you for your valued analysis."
Eando Kline has arranged for a small rowboat to transport you to and from the wrecked vessel, captained by Semiri Balogog, a cheerful, rainkin half-orc with sun-dark skin and thick braids of black hair adorned with gold rings . She deftly maneuvers you through the ever-shifting wreckage that makes up the Flotsam Graveyard, demonstrating both her skill and patience. There is room enough in the vessel for one more occupant, in case you discover anyone in need of rescuing.
"I bin providin' my services for P'finders for over a decade now. Luv hearin' the crazy stuff y'all get yerselves inta. Got any wild tales?"
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Kiroh gives a respectful nod to Semiri upon approach, though notably does not use an orc-ish greeting. The warrior looks a tad uncomfortable at his lack of wild tales, but attempts anyway. "Well, we once went into a haunted mansion! The place was abandoned and the home to devils and devil worshipers! We removed the occult items to, hopefully, free the place of evil influence." He pauses. "There were even rumors of the previous inhabitants being a sex cult." The half-orc winks at Trig. "Wouldn't put much stock into rumors, though."
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Diplomacy:
Tales of Pathfinders told by brand new pathfinders... What for a program...
Of course, of course. We have a lot of tales to tell you about. But that's the point: to choose the good one. Well what about this one: we were sent to a manor to learn what happened to the ancient owners who disappeared mysteriously years ago. Do you know what we discovered? The owners were worshipers of an archidevil and they were eaten by this one during a cult. It cut their head with his teeth. We learnt all this after a lot of investigation of course. Oh and we faced spectral claws we had to fight. It was epic. We fought like and like this.
He demonstrate with some gestures.
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Trig rolls his eyes as his allies repeat the same story.
I can make up something better than the truth!
"Yes yes, that was fun. We all had a great old time! But what about the cave troll? You all remember him. Honestly, I've never had such a good soup before. I'm glad we decided to knock instead of just kicking the door down. It just goes to show you'll never know where you will find a new friend!"
Semiri nods and smiles while taking in your tales, but all the while has her focus on avoiding the flotsam that gives the region its name. After listening to Trig's account, she confirms, "Ayup, that's one thing I really appreciate abouts ya P'finders - ya never go chargin' in wit'out your knowledge. Always a friend to be made or some story to be uncovered."
"Speakin' of which, I hear tale there's some creature on board tha ship yer headin' to. Altho I guess ya probly already knew that. But rumor amongst the sailors in these parts is it's tearing the ship apart. Somethin' ta do wit' makin' like a tree and rootin'. An' it's been seen catchin' seagulls just by jumpin' an' grabbin' them outta tha sky. Best be careful. I dunno if'n it'll serve ya soup."
In its current position, the ship is only partially above the waves. The bottom deck looks completely flooded, leaving only one lower deck, and the top deck. The masts are broken off, leaving only jagged, waterlogged stumps reaching up about 15 feet above the deck; all the rigging has long since rotted away.
When you climb aboard, 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 railings look a bit more sturdy . Curiously, no gulls circle overhead. 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. The two cabins are largely empty; a few heaps of soggy wood that might have been crates remain in the forward cabin, and the aft cabin contains a few fragments of metal and wood that suggest it might have once been decorated more comfortably.
Everyone but Trig notices unusual markings on the deck. While the deck looks solid, holes covered by seaweed pockmark the entire surface, as though something has been boring into the wood itself. And occasionally you spy a great depression of cracked beams, as though something heavy were dropped from high above.
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Kiroh eyes the waterlogged lower floor and looks over at Chupko. "I'm a good swimmer, maybe I should take the lead on this one." If Chupko agrees, Kiroh will take his normal place as the team Scout. He holds the ranseur in his hand, whispers a quiet prayer, and steps out onto the deck. Those railings are too skinny for this big fellow, best to stick to the ground. He wades through the seaweed, trying to avoid the suspicious holes in the deck as he makes his way over to the top of the stairs.
Sharp beams of sunlight filter down through cracks and holes in the main deck above, casting 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 . 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.
The boards creak under Kiroh's weight, and a startled "GwaRGGleyAr!" emits from a creature hiding (poorly) underneath the stairs . It looks at you, mumbling incoherent babble, like a baby, and holds out a doll made of twine, driftwood and seaweed.
"Garga-bah?"
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Trig slowly hops onto the ship last, once he is quite sure his heavier allies won't immediately fall through. He follows along, easily adjusting to the darker conditions of the hold.
When the creature pops out he squints at it curiously, "Huh... well that isn't what I expected. I was thinking some kind of carpenter ant/rabbit hybrid. What with the jumping and the boring through wood. But at least it doesn't seem aggressive, perhaps we could talk it down? Anyone up for trying?"
Trig identifies the creature as a Fleshforge, a type of construct with rudimentary sapience manufactured in the country of Nex for a variety of purposes including use as beasts of war, manual labor and experimentation. This one is rather peculiar in its mishmash construction. It can likely gain rapid sustenance by rooting its tentacled feet into the floor, and its legs look extremely well muscled, implying it could leap great distances quickly.
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Kiroh clenches his ranseur tightly in his hands. "Guys, it's looking at me. It's looking hungry. " The half-orc squats down, ready to charge the thing. "But, that babbling... like a baby, like a child." The half-orc looks conflicted. "The Stag Mother would never harm an innocent child. Even a monstrous one." Kiroh sits down on the floor and lays the ranseur out in front of him. "Be warned, flesh-monster, if you attempt to bite me I will bite you back." He points to his tusks. "And I got bigger teeth." He keeps his guard up, nervous that his act of piety is about to get him eaten.
It reaches for you, holding its makeshift doll in front of it.
"A-HA! B-b-b-b-buh."
In a very uncoordinated manner, it gives Chupko its "doll", takes the Tengu's cloak, and wraps itself up in it, content in its trade.
It then gets up to follow you all, occasionally siphoning some nutrients from the rotting hull of the ship like a toddler would chew on a treat.
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Kiroh eyes the fleshforge cautiously, still unsure of it's intentions. As it gets up he takes a step backwards then circles behind the creature, to keep an eye on it. Ain't eating me today, Big Legs. He picks up his ranseur on the way out of the boat. "Hold up a moment, let's take a look around for clues or unclaimed valuables. This thing didn't get here by itself." The half-orc leads the group through the bottom of the boat before leaving.
The creature follows you throughout the vessel, occasionally dragging the blanket cape on the floor, sucking its thumb tentacles, and smashing the nearest object with superhuman strength whenever it gets cranky.
The aft cabin appears to be a map room. 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 an old Taldan coat of arms, visible even despite the wear of the elements. An antique lantern hangs above the carving, casting a faint light over papers strewn over the table.
Searching the documents on the table turns up two items of interest. The first is a bundle of writs of inspection approving the cargo crates for export from the Nexian capital of Quantium. The other is a series of financial records, including notes of sizeable sums paid to the same individual whose name appears on the writs—a clear indication of bribery .
In stark contrast to the rest of the ship, the fore 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, which hold simple clothing and personal effects, as well as a salty rag wrapped around a pair of crying angel pendants.
Semiri beams a wide, tusky smile as you all (plus one) descend the ropes back to her boat, which noticeably sinks a bit deeper with the extra weight.
"Ha-HA! Well now I seen it all."
Back at the Grand Lodge, Eando's expression is hard to read at first.
"There's plenty who say I'm the least friendly here, but I don't particularly care. What matters more than words is actions. And I put more faith than anyone in you, our newest hopefuls, to accomplish that."
He removes his cloak and places it over the fleshforge before allowing a young medic to gently lead it away for a checkup.
"I assigned this mission because I believed you were capable of making the right call and handling it responsibly. More so than leadership or even myself may possibly have. And for that, I thank you. You'll make fine Pathfinders. Maybe even Venture Captains some day."
You spend the evening debriefing with Society counselors and get a full night's rest before your trip to Westgate.
For several blocks, the quiet lanes of Westgate’s residential neighborhoods feature small houses (with white picket fences), low-key cafes (it's autumn and they're offering pumpkin-flavored everything) and taverns (with ciders on tap!), as well as the occasional specialty shop. The fragrant scent of tended flower gardens in the warm sunlight blends with the low hum of distant conversation over what would normally be a pleasant boulevard. But the stone statues—at first appearing only here and there, like odd decorations—now number several per block, and the otherwise plain square ahead is outright cluttered with stone figures. They take countless forms, from humans and halflings to orcs, lizardfolk, and even stranger, all forever frozen in acts of desperation, defiance, or despair.
The quaint, statue-filled square is also filled with people; several dozen townsfolk shout and argue, their voices somehow out of place among the silent statues. When they spot you approaching the Naga, the crowd forms a blockade and points at you angrily. "Monster-lovers! We heard you already released some squid-human... creature! We won't let you get this one, too! You can't tear down our statues! You're erasing our history! You're not from around here! Go back to where you came from!" Several individuals begin picking up rotten fruit and other refuse, getting ready to give you a warm 'Westgate Welcome'. The crowd is clearly too riled up to listen to reason, but perhaps you can appeal to the crowd’s leaders to defuse the situation...
Standing on the fountain steps, a quartet of townsfolk seems to be leading this rabble rousing. Their names are repeated enough during the shouting that you get a gist of who they are...
Arc Magister, an agender Elf Acolyte of Nethys
Deeva, a female Kobold Pickpocket
Eres Feeder of Jackals, a male Shoanti Herbalist
Melvid Goldeneyes, a male Aasimar Barrister
The kobold sneers at Chupko, and puffs up her chest to seem bigger, "I am proud member of Copper Scales Tribe! You can't scare me!"
When Quetzhal approaches the Shoanti, he is at least a bit more respectful, "The natural world is fickle. These poor souls were not fit. They could not outrun the charge of the gorgon! Survival of the fittest. They should remain as they are."
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Trig works his way around the edge of the crowd to get next to the Acolyte, "Arc Magister! It's been a while. I'm Trig, you might remember me from Seminary. Anyway, you of all people know how important it is to avoid using magic for such garish displays. Why don't we disperse this crowd and undo some of the harm from the past. Plus, we'll bring an innocent person back to the world. That's worth something at least."
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He frowns, not sure if he made his point well and then slips away to find another mark influenceable person. With his allies swarming the only one he would have a good shot at he shrugs and pulls the new guy over to Melvid, "Barrister Goldeneyes, it is lovely to see you out here keeping things calm. Could you perhaps do us a favor and help disperse this chaotic situation? I think our society would be happy to owe a small bit of assistance to such a distinguished individual as yourself."
Chupko's turn of logic gets the Shoanti thinking. He looks around at all of the statues. And all of the angry people. Then simply nods and leaves.
The acolyte doubles down on their arguments, however, and doesn't follow suit.
"I hadn't thought of it like that. And I suppose if we use magic to release some of these souls, we could then recruit them into the church!"