"Be my guest," Hannelia calls. "That's one corpse I definitely don't want to see return. Might be worth burning it to ashes too."
Majara lets out a huge breath of relief when the cursed bug-thing falls. Then, she sits heavily down on the ground and inspects her injuries that she hasn't had time to deal with before now. Ow. She is, perhaps, getting too old for this.
...that's a horrible thought for a gnome to have, she muses, and promptly banishes it.
"Feel free to eviscerate it," she says drily to Roger, and then flops back onto the dirt fully, limbs splayed, gazing up at the sky.
"How bad off are we all? Elias, still with us? Constantine... Constantine?" she says, quirking a brow upwards at the form of the young Sarini, who is gazing blankly off into space.
"....bugger..."
She looks at the aranea, pitifully curled up on the floor. "I think enough blood has been spilt today," she says wearily, hoping that she won't regret it. "My choice would be to give you a short period of time to pack up your things and begone from this place, never to return." Hannelia catches sight of Elias from the corner of her eye and a wave of disgust at his treatment washes over her once more. "Which is probably more than you deserve. But it's not just up to me and perhaps others are feeling less charitable. It would be hard to blame them."
The old woman nods and blankly waits for the Blightspawn to be finished off before walking listlessly back to the town square. The Blightspawn is killed with no further incident, should Roger decide to do so.
"How bad off are we all? Elias, still with us? Constantine... Constantine?" she says...
Elias puts a hand on Majara's shoulder, kneeling to get low enough. "Yes, still here. Thank you, old friend." He tilts his head, "Let me help you up, please." Though weakened, the man is still much larger than Majara and lifts her up in his arms. Should she object, he'll argue, he is trying to mend his own pride, but he'll respect her wishes.
Leaving it to the others to voice their opinions, Hannelia quickly makes her way over to Shel, crouching down beside her. "Shh," she says quietly. "It's over, Shel. You're safe." She looks into the girl's terrified eyes. "I'm going to cut you free, ok?"" She waits for confirmation that Shel has understood before drawing a blade, not wanting to scare her any further. She looks over her shoulder, checking to see if Anya Lupescu is still present. "Mrs Lupescu?" she calls.
Shel nods before allowing Hannelia to cut her bonds. Saul lays bound and gagged beside her, bruised and half awake.
When the adventurer calls out for her mother, Shel's eyes settle on one of the bodies laying on the field.
"Momma?" she breathes. Saul makes a pained noise through his gag, as he tries to look through one swollen eyelid. Shel hesitates for a moment, then crawls over to the body of her mother. Then gingerly shakes it. After shutting her eyes for a moment she murmurs a goodbye under her breath. She looks at her father with a hardness in her eyes, "Poppa... you did what you had to. But now I do too." She turns back to Hannelia, "I can't stay here no more. Would y'all take me with you?"
_______
Regardless of what your response is, she unties her father afterward. "You're makin' a mistake." he says, but he makes no move to stop her from leaving. He sags a bit before pleading, "Come back any time."
Hannelia’s heart leaps at Shel’s request - she had been intending to offer the girl a potential way out anyway, so for her to ask at least makes one thing easier. Equally, however, she wants to talk things through with her to understand what she is hoping for. And, probably more challengingly, would prefer not to damage the girl’s relationship with her father. So speaking to him is, if something she finds a bit distasteful and can hardly say she’s looking forward it, to Hannelia’s mind a necessity.
She chooses her words carefully. ”I would love to do that, Shel. But you’ve been through a lot right now and I think we should talk about things first. I also think I should talk to your dad too, family is important.” She looks at the fallen figure of Anya Lupescu. ”I’m sorry,” she says quietly, squeezing Shel’s hand. ”So, yes, I would like to, but let’s do this right.”
Catching Majara's curse, Hannelia looks up towards Constantine, who does not appear to be responding to her calls. As weak and weary as she feels, she summons some inner strength to sort this out - regardless of how she feels, her friend needs her.
"Shel," she asks, "are you hurt? I can heal you if you need it. Then I think it's best if you and your dad get home while we finish sorting this out. I'll be round to see you later, I promise."
"And how is everyone else doing?" Hannelia asks to the wider group. "I can sort out healing but I think there's still work to do once we're patched up." She starts ticking off a list of things as she thinks of them. "I hope everything here is done but something will need to be done for the fallen." She turns to Emma, asking her friend, "Can you still feel any presence inside the house or was it perhaps something that joined the fight? Either way, I'd prefer to check the house is empty and secured behind us. Next item: do we need to still head into the field or did our welcome party catch us before we made it? I think these are the loose ends in the area and then we should head to the mayor's house. Anything I'm missing?"
Walking over to Constantine, she too calls his name quietly. I hope you're ok, Hannelia thinks, realising how much she has come to rely on her friend.
"Gotta say I got the opposite take, Hanna. Any family what reckons they did what they had to by sacrificing ya, and still thinks that was the right call and ain't apologizing? They aren't fit to talk to yet." Roger has finished his grim business, and now readies himself collecting his discarded weapons and patching himself up best he can.
"Yeah, maybe you've got a point there, Roger" she concedes. Up close next to Constantine, the words You can't choose your family echo uncannily through Hannelia's head. "Families can be... complicated and now might not be the time for talking. But they might need each other right now too. I also think it would probably be safer to be at home while we finish clearing up this unholy mess." Realising that it isn't necessarily her decision to make, she asks, "What do you think, Shel?"
Catching Majara's curse, Hannelia looks up towards Constantine, who does not appear to be responding to her calls. As weak and weary as she feels, she summons some inner strength to sort this out - regardless of how she feels, her friend needs her.
"Shel," she asks, "are you hurt? I can heal you if you need it. Then I think it's best if you and your dad get home while we finish sorting this out. I'll be round to see you later, I promise."
"Not- no, I don't think so." Shel replies.
"Gotta say I got the opposite take, Hanna. Any family what reckons they did what they had to by sacrificing ya, and still thinks that was the right call and ain't apologizing? They aren't fit to talk to yet." Roger has finished his grim business, and now readies himself collecting his discarded weapons and patching himself up best he can.
Saul growls a bit, but remembers his daughter's presence and quietly stews. He isn't one to make excuses for himself.
"Yeah, maybe you've got a point there, Roger" she concedes. Up close next to Constantine, the words You can't choose your family echo uncannily through Hannelia's head. "Families can be... complicated and now might not be the time for talking. But they might need each other right now too. I also think it would probably be safer to be at home while we finish clearing up this unholy mess." Realising that it isn't necessarily her decision to make, she asks, "What do you think, Shel?"
Shel answers, "As much as I'm inclined to agree with your companion, they did fight to keep me alive." She glowers at her father, "But that don't mean they shoulda let it go this far in the first place."
The girl makes a point to stand by the adventurers' side, making clear the rift between her and her father.
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Elias puts a hand on Majara's shoulder, kneeling to get low enough. "Yes, still here. Thank you, old friend." He tilts his head, "Let me help you up, please." Though weakened, the man is still much larger than Majara and lifts her up in his arms. Should she object, he'll argue, he is trying to mend his own pride, but he'll respect her wishes.
"--"
Majara opens her mouth to protest, probably loudly, as she is scooped up...
...but manages to click her teeth shut on what she was going to say. Instead she exhales. "Yes, thank you, Elias. You were invaluable during that, you know. Getting Roger on his feet, waking me up-- Thank you."
As soon as she feels she can do so without wounding his pride, however, she slithers out of his grasp to stand on her own again.
"Is anyone very badly hurt? I can't say I feel fully fantastic and fine, but I won't fall for a feather."
With one hand on her side at the worst of her wounds, she gingerly pads over to Constantine, gazing up at him with furrowed brows.
"Constantine. Fioritura. Sarini. Are you in there?"
The lack of response makes her frown segue into a scowl. Majara is currently considering the logistical hassles of taking a brain-damaged person all the way back to Saringallow.
"I reckon I had as much blood out of me than in before Eli's help.. Still not shipshape but I can make it to port." Roger answers
Emma walks over to Constantine, peering closely at the man's face, trying to get some kind of a response - but, there is nothing. No flash of recognition, no spark of a waiting joke. Just...emptiness.
"I'm no worse for wear," Emma assures Hannelia. "Aside from my pride, at least. Blasted flying bugs..."
As Hannelia and Shel discuss the divide between Shel and her family, Emma feels a pang of understanding. She had seen a spark of something budding between herself and Shel before all this chaos. Now, staring at the dejected girl, Emma's heart goes out to her - sympathy has replaced whatever earlier interest there had been. Whatever they might have shared had been disrupted by the cult's schemes.
"If Shel wishes to join us, I say she's welcome to," Emma chimes in gently. "After such an ordeal, I doubt any of us would feel safe lingering here." She catches Hannelia's eye and adds, "Though, as you say, we ought to discuss it properly in the light of day before deciding anything drastic. Life-changing decisions are best left until after breakfast, and besides, we still have work yet to do."
Emma puts a hand on Roger's shoulder. "Well fought," she tells the old pirate. "Here's hoping tomorrow brings some boredom for a change."
Her eyes drift back to Constantine's vacant expression. "Wherever we go next, we must take him with us. I can try carrying him alone, but it may be wise for two of us to share the burden. Perhaps we could find a priest or healer and bring them here? Then again, the town might not be too keen to do us any favors at the moment." Emma lets out a sigh, and then, in a softer voice, "Sirio is not going to be happy about this. Not that any of us are, but..."
"I reckon I had as much blood out of me than in before Eli's help.. Still not shipshape but I can make it to port." Roger answers
"Given Constantine's condition, let's err on the side of caution and get you patched up a bit more then," Hannelia says. With that, she reaches up to grasp one of the pirate's outsized hands in one of her own, it looking child-like in comparison to Roger's still magically-enhanced frame. She chants through her spell and feels the familiar flow of energy pulse through her digits and into her companion, the magic sweeping through his arm and helping to restore his vitality.
"I'm no worse for wear," Emma assures Hannelia. "Aside from my pride, at least. Blasted flying bugs..."
"If Shel wishes to join us, I say she's welcome to," Emma chimes in gently. "After such an ordeal, I doubt any of us would feel safe lingering here." She catches Hannelia's eye and adds, "Though, as you say, we ought to discuss it properly in the light of day before deciding anything drastic. Life-changing decisions are best left until after breakfast, and besides, we still have work yet to do."
Her eyes drift back to Constantine's vacant expression. "Wherever we go next, we must take him with us. I can try carrying him alone, but it may be wise for two of us to share the burden. Perhaps we could find a priest or healer and bring them here? Then again, the town might not be too keen to do us any favors at the moment." Emma lets out a sigh, and then, in a softer voice, "Sirio is not going to be happy about this. Not that any of us are, but..."
"On the basis that you don't have wings, I'd say you shouldn't be feeling too bad about yourself," she says consolingly to Emma. "Everybody played their part and you did more than your share pulverising that thing."
With regards to her comments on Shel, Hannelia meets Emma's eye and nods, agreeing with what she views as good sense.
As for Constantine, she says to her friend, "I don't think that will be necessary. It's well beyond my knowledge of healing but I think he's fine - give or take - in his body, it's his mind that is elsewhere currently. So hopefully we need only give him a helping hand physically, as it were. I'd say the best bet is to get him back home and leave him with Father Ruvarra to recuperate. We know he'll get good care and hopefully being in a familiar environment will help ease his troubles and find himself again." She runs a hand through her hair, tucking several loose strands behind her ears. It all feels fair enough saying that, but Hannelia isn't as confident as she'd like to be about this prognosis.
"If we're all good, shall we ensure we've flushed all the threats out of the house?" She gestures towards the building they're beside.
"Thanks, figure that should keep me going a bit more." Roger appreciates the heal.
"Aye, Emma's got the eyes, I'll back her up." Roger decides to use his polearm, perhaps ready to be second. "Shel, Elias, and Connie keep a weather eye out?" And stay out of harms way.
"Roger." Elias replies drily and keeps a firm grip on a found sickle.
Shel nods in agreement. But her response to Emma is just, "I don't think I'll change my mind."
The four of you face the old farmhouse. Evil still lurks within.
Emma looks towards the old farmhouse. The evil she'd sensed before - still senses now - prickles at her senses. She lets out a sigh, glancing at the others.
"I don't think we're quite done yet," she says. "We ought to check in there. Figure out what's tripping off my senses. Personally, I say we ought to go in the front door - at this point, I'm rather inclined for a frontal approach and I'm not much good at being sneaky."
”Let’s do it, Hannelia agrees. ”It’s hard to believe anything inside wouldn’t have heard everything going on out here anyway.” She gathers first herself, trying to ignore the aches in her body and the fact she feels drained, then literally gathers her things. Her pack feels heavier than usual and Hannelia finds her step isn’t as light either. ”We checked out the porch before everything… got out of hand. I think we’re good to go, if you want to lead from the front.” She looks over to Emma and Roger as she says this last bit.
With her feet back on the ground, Majara dusts herself off a bit and gives a little nod to Elias.
"Constantine. Sit down, if you can hear me. .. hmm, he seems to be quiescent, at any rate. Keep an eye on him, Elias."
There are cythnigot fungi Majara still wants to investigate-- but best to stick together for now. She rolls her neck side to side, then makes her way after Hannelia, Emma, and Roger, picking up the rear. If her pace is a little less jaunty than before, well, it's been a day.
Emma tightened her grip on the longsword that still didn't feel like her own. Of course, it had been quite a day.
And it wasn't over just yet.
Emma nods at Hannelia and leads the way towards the house with Roger, glad that, weakened though Elias is, someone will keep an eye on Constantine. She'd been doing her best not to dwell on that, but... well, it was something for future Emma to worry about. Whenever she did get some sleep that night, she didn't fancy the kind of dreams that might await her.
They approached the front door of the old farmhouse, and Emma glanced over at Roger. "Well, shall we do this together or would you prefer the honors?" she asks, gesturing towards the door, trying to project more confidence than she feels.
"Right, I'll open it, then you in first, I'll be right behind." Roger offers, one handing his polearm to free up a hand to open the door.
Emma nods, and tightens the grip on her sword as they stand before the door. "Works for me."
Roger shoves the door open and Emma steps through the front door onto creaky floorboards. Her sword lights the dark room and a dark shape is revealed to be a scarecrow, winged and clawed with sickles. It has a gourd for a head, carved out with crude representations of eyes, mouth and hair. It seems to be the source of the Evil. A weak aura, but strong enough to emit one in the first place.
The eyes ignite with twin flames.
As it approaches, you find yourselves mesmerized by the fire in the effigy's eyes...
Roger realizes what's happening and is able to snap out of it, however. No one else notices, but it slowly curls its claw to Emma's neck. It slashes her with both claws. The blood and pain clarifies things for Emma and everyone else.
DC 20
EDIT:
This is an animated scarecrow. Aside from the fascinating gaze, its touch instills fear. It's a construct, meaning it has a lot of natural immunities. It's additionally immune to cold, and vulnerable to fire, being made of wood and straw.
Burning... burning.... a flame that sucks all into itself, something pure about it-- she wonders what it uses for fuel, is it self-sustaining, is it--
Such questions fly out of Majara's momentarily-addled mind when the scent of fresh blood-- Emma's fresh blood-- hits her nose, copper dispelling quicksilver fumes. With a grimace, Majara comes back to herself, and notes that some damned scarecrow just nearly cut their Iomedan's throat.
"Tch!!" the gnome rasps, and instinctively reaches for one of the flasks of incipient fire at her belt-- but no. The eyes burn, maybe it's immune-- and besides, she doesn't want to risk getting Emma in the splash. Instead... well, Emma did say there was evil in here...
After spending a half a second in trying to figure out what it IS, Majara tilts her head. "Despite the eyes, it IS vulnerable to flame. But Emma is too wounded to risk it right now. If I get a clear shot, perhaps--"
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"Lay into the blackguard!" Roger urges on the group.
Then he'll step back to give Emma room to retreat if needed.
Emma raises her sword as the door opens, spotting the creature within. There is no doubt that this is the source of the evil.
But it's eyes... the fire burning within them is fascinating to observe, a radiance of a power she doesn't fully comprehend. Her sword arm lowers a bit, as she tilts her head to the side.
It reaches up for her neck and Emma watches it, intrigued.
The intrigue fades very quickly as the creature slashes her twice across the neck. A sputtering, choking curse escapes as Emma draws back, feeling the blood rush down her neck and chest, down her armor.
What manner of foul creature...?
She lashes out instinctively at it, despite the pain, not at all feel confident about her chances of hitting it. Immediately after, feeling unsteady on her feet, she takes a step back.
As she does so, she lifts a hand to herself and calls upon her divine energy. It's not much, but right now, every little bit should help.
Hannelia's mind appears to be elsewhere and she wonders exactly when the door was opened, before letting out a gasp as some kind of cruel effigy slashes viciously at Emma, scoring a pair of raking hits. As the paladin steps back to clear the way for Majara to hurl fire at it, Hannelia decides to fall back on a spell that she hopes will hinder their foe in such a way as has proved effective in the past.
Rubbing a pinch of fat between her fingers, she recites the words to her incantation and conjures a greasy slick at the grotesque parody of a scarecrow's feet.
Roger clobbers the tangle of sticks and hay with his weapon. Emma stumbles and misses, apparently caught off guard. Roger leaves room for Emma to retreat before Hannelia creates a slick puddle of grease beneath the scarecrow's stilts. It slips and slides, wildly trying to regain its balance before tumbling in a heap.
Majara held her fire until this moment, flicking a firebomb at the thing, lighting it up. The effigy has caught fire like so much tinder. The floor boards too catch fire.
The effigy slowly and carefully tries to regain its footing, then carefully stalks toward Emma.
"Blisterin' devil he's still fighting on fire? Careful!" Roger steps back and makes another attack.
Pleased that her spell had the desired effect, Hannelia watches satisfied as first Majara lights it on fire with a well-placed projectile before Roger lands another mighty blow.
Taking a step back, she bounces on the balls of her feet, trying to get a clear shot in past Emma. "Luck be with me," she whispers. Her bowstring still feels harder to draw than normal but it doesn't seem to affect her accuracy and she sends an arrow straight into the scarecrow's flaming head.
Roger's strike connects easily, just before Hannelia's arrow.
The scarecrow flies back from the arrow, fallen for the second time in the same moment. This time however, it does not get back up, apparently content to stay unmoving, save for the fire, like a normal scarecrow.
The doorway has caught fire at this point, but the fire is still small enough that it could be contained.
There is a ladder in the middle of the room, that leads to what seems like a loft in the pockmarked ceiling. One door in the Northeast corner and another open doorway to the west. Perhaps ironically, there is a cold hearth across the room from you. In a corner of the room sits an empty cage, large enough to house two people or several smaller animals. A jumble of crumbling furniture lays about the room, and fallen internal walls indicate this space may have been several rooms at one point.
"Any reason we shouldn't let the ole hellshack burn?" Roger hesitates.
"Yes," Majara says immediately, with the pragmatism of one who has lit buildings on fire before. "It might destroy things of value that we could sell. Let's beat the flames out-- not you, Miss Blackford, you look about ready to keel over. Sit down at once. Have we any more healing at hand?"
Majara moves to assist Roger in putting out the fire, having no more curative potions at hand.
Hannelia bows to Majara's experience and rational points. "Much as I would like to see such this place burn to remove its physical stain and its symbolism," she wrinkles her nose in distaste, thinking of the torture Elias endured, "I agree with Majara." She drops her voice, even though Elias is probably not within easy hearing distance. "We know that at least one person was held in here and we ought to ensure that nobody else is too." Peering into the room, she points towards the ladder disappearing up into the ceiling. "Up there, for instance."
Leaving the firefighting to the others, she offers Emma her hand and leads her back from the house. "Let's get you sorted out then," she says, helping the paladin to the floor. Crouching down beside her, Hannelia locks eyes with her friend. With a tight smile she says, "You look how I feel. I'm physically drained and after that I don't think I have much magic at my disposal either." She tilts her left wrist, subtly showing off her earlier purchase from the Lupescus' store, and the easy movement slips a thin wand of willow, marked only with three white rings round the thicker end, into her hand. "Good job we came prepared then."
It's the first time Hannelia has had cause to use the tool so she takes a minute to get the feel for it and understand how it works. Satisfied that the magic does indeed work just as she would expect it to if she were conjuring it up herself, she gingerly touches the tip to Emma's torso. "Sorry Emma," she says, seeing her wince at the slight touch, even through her armour, and lets the healing magic pour forth.
"Oh alright-" Roger relents and helps put out the fire.
"Say... Spider lady? Where'd this thingie come from? Is it like, a devil or something what looks like a scarecrow or like is it a contraption what somebody smart build?" After attending to the previous matter, Roger nudges the scarecrow monster thing with a foot slightly curious.
Stamping out the fire is relatively quick for those of you committed to doing so. It’s an old and not particularly dry place.
The old woman replies sagely to Roger, "It was a guardian the Mayor and I put together. Blessings of the Gossamer King. Nothing but sticks and malice. We hid it in here during the day so it wouldn't chase down wandering children."
The darkened house looms before you. The open doorway to the west, another door to the northeast, and the ladder leading up to the loft.
Hannelia is unsure what the aranea is trying to achieve with her comments - answering to try and get in the party's good graces is one thing, but her words are hardly comforting and certainly not going to change her mind about the woman's banishment. She looks at Emma and rolls her eyes, before patting the paladin on the shoulder. "Take your time getting up if you need it, I'm going to see what else we can find. I'll do my best to stay out of trouble," she adds.
Slipping past the last vestiges of smoke, she starts by looking through the open entryway to the west, peering into the room and ready to react to any danger.
Taking things in a logical course, she then moves over to the door in the northeast corner, checking the lock and for any traps.
Finally she has a look at the ladder, trying to ensure that it's strong enough to bear someone's weight given the dilapidated condition of the building. "What do you think, Roger?" she asks. "Is this rigging strong enough for an old sea dog to climb? Either way, let's check the other exits first. I'd rather not have someone sneak up behind us and whisk it away while we're up there."
By the west room, Broken chairs, old straw-filled mattresses, and water stained, moldering quilts litter the room to the west. Candles sit in the windowsill. The slats in the boards are not tight enough together to get a total seal, so some sunlight dapples in.
Hannelia checks the door to the Northeast for traps, clearing it for safety.
After inspecting the ladder, one might feel confident in its integrity.
The place seems like an attic closet, filled with accumulated junk.
From her position in the doorway, most of what Hannelia can see in the room appears to be junk. Furthermore, to her eye the flooring looks decidedly uncertain and she warns the others. "These boards don't look like they're up to much so I wouldn't set foot in here if I were you. Doesn't look like there's anything worth going in for anyway. However," she continues, lifting up a water-sodden rug, "this looks much more like it." She carefully lifts out a small chest and, finding it unlocked, opens it. "Here you go, Majara, this ought to fit the bill nicely." She smiles at the gnome, holding up a finely crafted jade necklace, and beckons her over to take a look at the rest of the contents.
Her check of the other exit from the room reveals nothing of any concern and as far as she is aware the ladder seems solid enough so she conveys this to the group. "Do we want Roger to explore up there first or kick in the next door? And by that I probably mean just open it, given it's unlocked," she adds for clarity.
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"Ah, there we are. See? Wouldn't have wanted that to get singed," Majara says with a dry half-smile as she peers into the chest of goodies that Hannelia has discovered. "Zuke would be proud of your eyes."
"It's not the strongest, but safe enough. Here, I'll go take a peek, if nothing else I'm light."
Majara scrambles up nimbly, then her voice calls down, "I doubt Roger would be able to stand upright here, anyway. Junk. Dust. Cracks in the boards of the walls to peer out through..."
Which she does, checking to make sure all still seems quiet outside. That done, she glances briefly around in the loft.
"Hrmmn... what's this..."
Majara tugs something free of the rest of the clutter, and then promptly sets to coughing at all the dust she just loosed into the air. Grimacing at her own lack of foresight there, she yanks the collar of her shirt up over her nose as impromptu filter, then squints at a quilt.
"....charming. A handmade quilt lovingly depicting villagers subsuming themselves to the evil we defeated here. And making sure they get a good harvest out of it. You know, I think I generally prefer it when the evil cultists don't pretend that what they're doing is not evil. Here, it could be a useful record or... I don't know, someone might want to buy it. Watch for the dust."
She rolls it to the edge, trusting Roger's height can grab it and take it down to ground level. Down the ladder after it.
"Next door, I think. That one Hannelia's cleared of trouble. Roger or Emma, do the honors?"
Hannelia chuckles wryly at Majara's description of the quilt. "I can only speak to my line of work but in my experience there's usually a buyer for everything, however obscure. It's finding who that might be and matching them up that's the hard part." Regardless of any sale, she's already thinking ahead and perhaps a reproduction of the image would be a nice accompaniment to her planned write-up of this tale.
Stepping back to allow Roger space to haul it down - and avoid the promised dust - Hannelia lets the pirate pull it to ground level. After Majara has followed it down the ladder herself, she nods in agreement with the gnome's plan. "Whenever you're ready," she says, taking hold of her bow just in case.
Emma throws the door open and her blade illuminates the space ahead. The compost pile you may have seen before sits in the corner to your right as the door opens. Mushrooms and other fungi sit atop the pile. Most of the mushrooms look like ones you had seen in a bowl earlier.
A glimmer reflecting off the light reveals a bit of slime beneath the decaying plant matter. It subtly shudders as soon as it is exposed to the bright. Only Majara and Roger notice it before an oozy blob slithers out from inside the mess of compost.
Slime Molds are revolting oozes that wallow in rot and decay. They can Engulf creatures in their path one at a time. A creature in its path can make an Attack of Opportunity or attempt a reflex save to avoid being engulfed.
"Blast, the bilge's biting back!" Roger shouts in alarm.
"Slime mold!" Majara says with some disgust. Whether her disgust is for the rotting compostosity of it or the part where her allies are too close for her to use fire is up for debate. "They can engulf you-- you can try and dodge it if you're fast."
The close quarters cause her to draw her dagger, ineffective weapon though it may be.
She chucks the dagger with surprising grace past Emma's legs to hit the blorting ooze... then backs up.
"If people give me a clear shot I'll light it up."
The oozing pile carpeted in mushrooms writhes and bubbles under Roger and Majara's blades, clearly wounded. But it expands outward, its volume spreading out more than double the size of the original pile. It washes over Emma, Roger, and Hannelia, threatening to engulf them in slow motion.
As the oozing creature seems to grow and stretch itself out through the doorway to fill an increasing amount of space, Hannelia hops backwards to avoid being overwhelmed by the mass of rotten plant matter and filth. Slime mould, Majara had called it, and Hannelia certainly can't fault the name based on its appearance.
Backing up against the wall, she draws her bowstring back. She's not even sure if arrows can even hurt such a thing but given she has exhausted the magic at her disposal and the close quarters don't lend themselves to throwing jars of fire, she can't immediately think of anything else to do. With that thought in mind she looses her arrow, the large target at least meaning it finds its mark with ease.
"Blast, the bilge's biting back!" Roger shouts in alarm.
Thanks in part to Roger's shout of surprise, Emma is able to avoid being overcome by the sludge. With his usual eloquence, Emma finds that Roger has once again summed up the situation better than she can.
"Fantastic. Even the garbage is trying to kill us here," she mutters. "I really can't wait to leave this place."
She's not fully sure if one can stab trash, but lacking a better option, she'll go with what she knows best.
Once she's taken a swipe at the cursed slime, she takes a step back, ready to defend and engage if needed, but hopefully giving Majara the space she needs to light the sucker up.
"It is weak to fire, right?" she calls uncertainly to the gnome. "The way our luck has been so far, and it ends up being immune to it... I'm not sure I could stomach having to fight flaming garbage."
Almost as an afterthought, she calls upon the last of her divine magic to bolster her wounds a bit. She hopes this is the last of it tonight - she's not sure how much more she can withstand before she needs a rest. A good long rest. Preferrably away from this accursed place. If nothing else, she's definitely going to need to give her sword and armor a good polishing after this.
Majara stands with bomb in hand, shifting her weight foot to foot, trying to get a clear line on the thing.... the thing that just swallowed Roger.
Hrrmnmff.
Alright, new calculations must be made. Even as she does math in her head, she gropes for a bomb at her belt... only to realize she's come up empty! Has she really used so many! Majara mutters a foul curse under her breath and settles for grabbing one of the alchemist's fires instead.
When Emma steps out of the way she has a sort-of-shot. Not ideal, but she'll take it. An adjusting step first, and then...
She doesn't answer Emma's uncertain query about whether or not it burns.... because she doesn't know. Call this empirical field testing.
The mound of semiliquid compost rips and tears from the blades, recoiling from each cut. The light in the paladin's blade seems to tear the thing in half, rendering it inert. The rotten sludge pools to the floor, peeling away from Roger, who might be gasping for breath after being freed.
"Pffahh! Out of the worst drinks I've been in, that's easily top 10- prolly not top 5 though." Roger stumbles to his feet.