Majara purses her lips at Hawk's assessment. "...possibly. I'd want good light and a stable surface. And time, I think. Time that we don't want to spend right now. We can try to take it with us."
She reaches for the painting, remembers she's three feet tall, and sighs heavily. "....Could one of you......."
"And after that, let's return to the great hall and check out the rest of the rooms. There's likely goblins here somewhere."
Majara's assessment of the painting reveals no obvious hazards or mechanisms so while Roger stands watch, you are able to remove Asmodea’s portrait from the wall. Having done so, you can see that a piece of parchment has been affixed to the back of the painting with alchemical glue. Clearly this is what was stopping it lying flush with the wall. On it is a hastily updated handwritten addendum to Rutillo Irrica’s last will and testament, dated the day he and his family were killed.
Reading it, the first part sets out the legal technicalities of how it interacts with and supersedes parts of the original, but the latter part stands out as being far more interesting:
“With the goblin army surrounding us, the fate of my line is in question. The family secret shall not die with us. I trust to more distant relations to take up the Irrica mantle and reconstruct the riddle held jointly by my mace; my grandfather’s signet ring; my daughter Althea’s locket; and our family treasure, the Hellfire Rod. These four items I value above all of my holdings, for at our time of greatest need they together commanded our guardian angel — and a savage angel of vengeance she is. I named her once, long ago, but here I shall name her not. I bequeath the four named items to one of the Irrica line who survives this fateful day. I trust they will be able to read the riddle and avenge us.”
"Well- I think we can rightly determine from this, that Rutillo did not want the Goblins to inherit the home, that's something." Is it really something?
"Yes," Sirio agrees in a tone that implies Roger was somewhat stating the obvious. He takes the will from Majara to cast his lawyerly eye over it. "From a cursory readthrough, it all seems pretty watertight. Rutillo Irrica knew what he was doing," he says approvingly. "These treasures though..." His mind wanders slightly, imagining the power they could bring their wielder, before shaking his head. "It does add a certain new complexity to our task. We've seen little so far to suggest that they are going to be found within this house," he adds, a touch pessimistically.
Majara squints at the documents before Sirio makes his pass.
"I wonder if the angel is that statue we saw? If the items cause it to animate? Well. I suppose we must now keep an eye out for these items, and possible secret compartments. If nothing else, I'm sure our patron will want the will modifications mentioned here."
She shrugs at Sirio's pessimistic assessment that the items likely aren't here. "We've seen nothing to suggest they're not, if they were hidden well enough. But if we need to go further afield to find them.... it could be worth it. If Pava is willing to pay for cleaning out the house, she might be willing to pay even more for these relics. And if she isn't, well. We might also find a market for them independently," the gnome says with a mercenary shrug.
"Let's continue."
As Majara and Hawkren examine the painting, Emma stands near Roger, helping to keep an eye on the situation.
"Talking portraits," Emma mutters. "Seems ostentatious, but what do I know?"
At the mention of goblins from Majara, Emma sighs.
"I'm sure we'll see them at some point. Seems we can't ever get away from conflicts with them, can we?"
"Of course," Sirio agrees, "anybody would want such treasures. I do anticipate that our benevolent patron will be of the opinion that our contract already includes recovery of property not limited to the house. Strictly she may be right, but it is perhaps too open-ended so could be challenged. It would be prudent to prepare counter-arguments for that eventuality." He adjusts the sleeve of his robe, granting a brief glimpse of Quepno curled lightly around his forearm.
Hawk heads to the other door in the library. Assuming a quick scan for magical effects reveals nothing, he tries to open the door.
Your conversation is interrupted by a burst of the high-pitched laughter you heard earlier. It would appear to be coming from beyond the other door in the library. There is a brief silence before you can discern a quiet buzzing and a child-like voice singing:
"See the doggy, nice doggy,
Doggy wants a bone
See the doggy, sad doggy,
Doggy’s all alone."
Majara's investigation of the door doesn't turn up anything unusual but Hawk can sense a magical aura emanating from the room beyond thanks to his spell.
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Hawk hesitates as his hand reaches for the knob... he quickly makes a nervous fist and takes a step back. "There is magic beyond this door and..." Hawk debates the right choice. The 'giggler' could be a devil, or a fey creature, or something else not necessarily dangerous.
In the end, he opts to knock politely and add a stanza.
"See the doggy, happy doggy,
Doggy that finally found a home."
Hear the giggle and Hawk's announcement, Emma makes her way over to the tattooist.
"Something tells me it's not a dog beyond the door," she murmurs quietly to Hawk, longsword firmly clenched in her hand as she observes the door. "Should I open it, or shall we wait to see what the response is?"
"I suppose pausing a moment doesn't hurt," Majara says in a whisper. All the same her hands hold an incendiary flask at the ready, as she waits to see the results of Hawk's gamble.
There is another peal of laughter, perhaps in response to Hawk's impromptu verse, then only silence.
"Alright," Emma murmurs. "Think that answers that. Be ready."
Then she reaches forward, ensures her shield is in position, and tries to open the door.
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As the others ready to enter, Roger pats around himself to see if he's got any rations on himself what might have a bone. If there are doggies wanting bones inside, maybe they'd be happy to take one freely offered, rather than one what had to be torn out of a leg.
Emma opens the door into the wreck of another room. Much like the library, fire has clearly been deployed in here, reducing the furniture and most of its contents to ash and rubble, strewn in piles across the floor. Given the ruin, it's not easy to tell what the room's former function was, but some kind of living room or salon is probably a reasonable guess. There is a door on the other side of the room and another off to the right. Picking your way through the debris is possible but would require a careful step. Of the laughing singer there is no sign.
Hawk says drily, "Well, this isn't suspicious." He looks carefully around the room, trying to detect the source of magic.
Concentrating on his spell, Hawk casts around the room. A dweomer lingers in the southeast corner, evidence of recently-worked magic.
Hawk steps into the room and moves to one corner to stay out of everyone's way. He focuses on the corner where the magic lingers, indicates it with his eyes and says guardedly, "Leave that corner be for a moment..."
Unfortunately Hawk is unable to determine anything more specific about the magic that was used.
"Let me try- Might be an illusion magic." Roger chucks some debris at it with his free hand, sending a clattering of pebbly debris at the corner in question, to see if they bounced off something invisible or fell through something.
"Perhaps a ghost sound spell or ventriloquism or such?" Majara muses. "Let's mind the floor in here, in case the fire's damaged the boards."
Roger’s idea is a good one but the stones just clatter off the wall without hitting anything in their path. Majara checks undefoot, noting that the floorboards are scorchmarked but the construction seems sound. Whatever may have been in the room is not giving any sign that it is still present.
Emma can't say she cares much for a voiceless laugh, regardless of the source, though she must admit, it's still better than a bunch of spiders. Then, the possibility of there being ghost spiders pops into her mind, and that's the sort of thought that could ruin a whole day.
Shaking her head, Emma reaches out with her senses, seeing if she can detect any evil in the vicinity.
Emma is unable to detect any trace of evil in the room, though she is able to pinpoint a couple outside in the grand hall. One feels not so far outside the existing chamber, the other towards the back in the vicinity of the spiral staircase.
Majara looks left to right, shrugging when nothing appears as the source of the voice. "It feels like we are being a bit pranked. If it's goblins, that's to be expected. Nasty pranks, though."
She looks between the two doors, hands on her hips. "Well, right? Or straight across the room?"
"Without wanting to get into a discussion of moral philosophy, I doubt pranks would qualify under any technical definition of 'evil'," Sirio observes, "yet Ms. Blackford has detected its presence twice now. We should remain on guard and take judicious precautions." The priest picks his way decisively across the rubble of the room to the door on the right. "I believe that one will take us back out to the main hall," he indicates the other door. "Let's tidy up this one first." So saying, Sirio opens it and is greeted by a large store cupboard. Little remains in it and even less that looks to be intact. "Nothing of worth," he reports back, before moving to the other door. "Ready?"
"Figure there's naught left to do but try things- Emma, you up to lead the way with that shield?" Roger asks.
With Redemption drawn, Emma adjusts her shield slightly to allow her to open the door and then heads through. She finds herself back out in the main hall though there is no sign of any life.
Now that you are further along the large open chamber you can see more clearly the various Irrica portraits mounted on both walls. A group of three young children and a young man in Hellknight plate stand out among the more standard portraits. There are name plaques beneath each one but the writing is small and hard to read without approaching closely. Unlike Asmodea's portrait in the office, none of these paintings are obviously damaged of graffitied.
As Emma steps aside between the two doors to allow the group to follow, she finds herself face to face with Rutillo's grave likeness. With a triumphant scowl it animates and the family patriarch shouts "Vegoran Thrune, your time has come!" He then mouths a four syllable phrase which is at once both too soft and too loud to pick out before a shadowy feminine figure, fully six feet tall, swoops out of the painting on translucent feathery wings. Although the creature flickers insubstantially, she unsheathes a sword in one swift movement, the look on her face promising a swift death.
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"Now miss ghosty lady, I can assure you, none of us are named Vegoran Thrune!" Roger answers her, then pauses, then looks back at Sirio. "Unless ye've been holding out on us like Connie was."
Majara gasps in startlement and unfeigned fear at the winged figure's appearance. "The erinyes from before, but no statue!" she shouts, backing up even as she....
...snatches holy water from her bandolier and hurls it. After all, fire won't do much against such creatures!
The water spatters the winged form in seeming ineffectualness. Majara looks even more alarmed. If holy water is useless against this devil, then...
Hawk lets out a not-entirely-manly squeak at the apparition before his senses note its insubstantial nature. ”Oh! It’s a haunt!” Not entirely sure how to banish this particular creature, the sorcerer tries to hit it with a ray that is inimical to undead.
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Emma isn't necessarily startled by the sudden appearance or the demand, nor is she startled when Hawk makes a not entirely masculine noise afterward.
No.
It's the sight of Majara gasping and drawing back that causes Emma to pause for a moment. She tightens her grip on Redemption, ready to take a swing at whatever the hell the thing is. 'The erinyes from before, but no statue' Majara had said... what did that mean? Something about that didn't feel right.
There was something else going on.
Thankfully, once she realizes this, she is able to fight off whatever it is this thing is doing. At Hawk's pronouncement that it's a haunt, Emma's eyes widen, and she moves forward. She's not sure that swinging her sword at such a creature would do any good - it'd be rather embarrassing if she took a swing at it and nothing happened.
Instead, she maneuvers closer to the creature and closes her eyes, channeling a surge of positive energy.
Sirio shoots Roger a contemptuous look, ignoring the pirate's joke. "Do you really think I would be hiding it if I was a Thrune? Think of the wealth, the power that would bring." Before he can grow misty-eyed at the thought, he is hit by the haunt's mental assault but with a grunt he shrugs it off, seeing the ghostly figure for what it is.
Hawk also identifies the haunt and clarifies out loud for anybody unclear about what exactly is facing the party. Judging by the panicked expression on Majara's face, it is only the gnome who sees it as anything other than a phantasm. In the face of the group's mental resilience and quick thinking the creature is unable to withstand the combination of Hawk's spell and Emma's blast of holy power, fading as swiftly as it appeared. Rutillo's portrait briefly appears to speak an indecipherable phrase and looks about in confusion before falling quiescent.
As the haunt fades away, the silence is once more broken by a burst of child-like laughter seeming to come from over by the spiral staircase, though there is no sign of whatever is making the noise. Over a faint buzz, a voice begins singing:
“Hear me, see me, use your eyes,
The things I’ve seen, it might surprise
Look and listen, use your ears,
These halls are mine for years and years
The things I’ve seen remember well,
But only if you live to tell.”
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"I dunno, ye seem like a canny type, maybe there'd be some fancy reason o'king an lord's an devils." Roger shrugs, maybe it hadn't been a joke and Roger was curious.
"And good job Hawkren, Emma, that was quick. No worries, Majara, they've got it!
But then turning to the faint buzz and it's words, Roger tilts his head and lightly smushes against his parrot. "It's telling us to do what we're already doin, and not ta die. Well, Voice, if ye ever want a job in the Queen's Navy, ye'd make a fine Captain!"
"Shall we take a quick lookabout then check the sutherly rooms?"
The sorcerer resists the temptation to bathe the area of the Giggler in a fine shower of sparkles, especially since the voice is providing interesting information. He says neutrally, "I appreciate good poetry." His look suggests he is waiting to hear some.
Hawk walks across the hall and checks out the nearest closed door.
In spite of Roger and Hawk's compliments, the singer deigns to provide an encore. From the centre of the room you can now see clearly that one of the two grand staircases is indeed completely impassable due to chunks of rubble and debris, perhaps a result of the partial collapse of the roof. on that side of the building. Despite his keen eye, however, the pirate can't pick out any tracks and Hawk's manual and magical inspection of the door doesn't turn up anything either.
Before he can decide whether to open it, the tattoo artist is suddenly hemmed in by a trio of fleshy mounds, appearing with a sharp hiss. Formed vaguely into humanoid shapes, complete with pudgy faces and squat limbs, there is a putrid smell emanating from the hideous creatures that makes you want to gag.
The appearance of the creatures, each like a horrible mass of excess flab cut from some grotesque whole, is followed up by a spattering sound and the floor beneath Roger, Emma and Majara is slicked up by a layer of grease. With a gleeful laugh, the mysterious singer is revealed at last. A foul creature with the plump head and torso of a child and the hindquarters and wings of an oversized fly hovers at the base of the staircase. A disproportionately long tongue lolls out of the cherub-like mouth and the creature looks distinctly pleased with itself. "I'm so glad you like my work, I call this one poetry made flesh."
"Watch out!" Roger rushes into the fray to try and assist Hawkren.
Despite the suddenly treacherous footing, Roger keeps his balance and dashes between pillars to aid Hawk. His falchion slides into the wobbling mound of flesh like a carving knife slicing through a tender joint of meat. Folds of fat sloughs off the blade and the lemure collapses to the floor in a totally shapeless mass.
The remaining two flesh devils bat at Hawk with their stumpy appendages but they are unable to penetrate the sorcerer's defensive force field.
Hawk’s eyes go saucer-sized as the flab creatures rise up to surround him. His eyes briefly return to normal size as Roger cuts one of the fleshy monsters down. He doesn’t have long to enjoy the victory, as he draws the slab-fisted reprisal attacks from the others. Fortunately, magic and Varisian luck are on his side and he only takes a single cuff across the skull. Enduring the battering gives the sorcerer a moment to study their foes.
Hawk gratefully backsteps towards the Lemure-slaying pirate. ”Your verses are doggerel, you fat fly!" He scolds, laying down some harsh poetic criticism. As an afterthought he adds something useful. "That thing is a Zebub - elemental magics won’t do much and beware his infected bite!” As he had with the Imp earlier, Hawk falls back on an old and reliable spell. It wasn’t sexy, but it did yeoman’s service. He manages to fire off the spell without letting the devils strike at him again. Three bolts slap into the squishy flesh.
2nd Spells (4):
1st Spells (7): xxx
Dancing Lights (3):
CLW (1):
Effects:
Mage Armor = +4 AC/FF for 4 hrs
Hawk steps back and lets fly with his force bolts from point blank range. They punch holes in the lemure, one, two three. The creature staggers and sways but does not quite fall. Flesh ripples as it tries to close the punctures but it must be badly hurt as it can only stretch a thin membrane across two of them and the third remains a gaping hole straight through its torso.
Emma wrinkles her nose and fights off a gagging sensation - by Iomedae, the smell of these things is just as bad as their distorted and ugly appearance. Why did evil things always have to smell so... well, so bad? Was there a component of good, evil, and chaotic to smells - did they inherently reflect the nature of the person or being in question? Did things that smelled foul to her smell good to those who were evil?
Focus, she chides herself.
She almost loses her footing on the slickened floor beneath them. "Careful," she tells the others. "Probably a bit obvious, but in case you haven't looked down, the floor is a bit greasy." She looks at the disturbing creature and glares at it. "And as for you - by Iomedae, you are an ugly one, aren't you? I'm afraid I can't say I'm a fan of your work. But then, I was never much for poetry."
Without waiting for a response, Emma tightens her grip on her gear and moves off of the slick floor. She manages to keep her balance. Moving around the pillars, she heads towards the flying thing, wrinkling her nose as she gets closer - both from the appearance of the foul thing, and the smell - and calls upon Iomedae's power to smite the creature.
Sirio reaches for his bag and pulls out a vial of holy water. He eyes it wryly - it's not the standard tool of a follower of Asmodeus but the priest is primarily a pragmatist. Besides, it is undoubtedly useful in the current situation. He doesn't have a clear shot past the pillar but he throws it forcefully at the lemure Hawk had punctured. His aim is true and the blessed water seems to melt the devil's flesh, though it's not easy to tell on the fleshy creature. Its gurgled cry of pain is unmistakeable, however, and it puddles onto the floor before vanishing back to the Hells in the same way as the one Roger carved up. A splash of holy water catches the remaining lemure and it hisses, recoiling from the contact.
To add to the indignity of her panic over the false erinyes, the normally-nimble Majara slips to the ground and lands on her ass with a wince. While the battle rages around her, she shakes her head and struggles back to her feet.
Right. She's upright, though she doesn't trust her footing, there are two devils, and... she threw her only holy water at a phantasm. She should have spent time making THAT, and not bottled lightning, she muses darkly. Right, well. There's little she can do against either of these creatures. Majara tries to edge her way out of the grease.
She gingerly moves behind Sirio's protective bulk. "I can't do much here," she calls to the others, with some indignation in her tone.
Between Hawk's magical missiles and Sirio's improvised projectile, not to mention Roger's mighty chop, two of the lemures were vanquished almost as swiftly as they had appeared.
Swinging Redemption in a smooth arc, Emma's longsword cuts deep into the zebub's hindquarters with an unpleasant squelch. Its already sizeable big baby eyes widen - that hurt. "You have no appreciation for art," it hisses at Emma. "I look forward to teaching you, but for one so obviously stupid I fear that may take a long time." The creature grins, a disconcerting visage as it shows human adult teeth that seem too large for its child-like mouth. With that, the accuser devil flies directly up to the top of the spiral steps before vanishing once more.
From above you can hear it start up its sing-song voice again:
"Little lamb, ickle lamb
Wolfy’s looking thinner,
Little lamb, ickle lamb,
Eat you for his dinner."
Roger continues his way, focusing on the enemies in front of him, attacking the Lemure.
As the grotesque flying creature grins in an unsettling way and flies off, Emma is able to lance out once more to strike at it before it vanishes.
"The words of a terrible teacher then, for only a blight-ridden fool would call a student stupid," Emma grumbles to herself.
Redemption strikes true once more, slicing into the zebub but failing to prevent its impressive manoeuvrability in flying up the stairs. It emits a high-pitched screech and spits out a curse that sounds horrible to your ears.
"Wmyl ul vorqyr, smyl ul eiul
liwm kitc afz vorv kryic zmy tmiul"
Lash back out and break the chain."
On the upper floor you can hear it start singing again, having switched back to the common tongue.
Roger's falchion comes arcing down at the last lemure, nearly carving this one in two as well but the flesh quivers and tries to reform around the wound. In a desperate attempt to take the pirate down, it hits out at him but in its badly wounded state fails to connect. The devil over-reaches with the attack and has expended the last of its energy and lifeforce, collapasing in on itself before dissipating in the same manner as the others.
Hawk couldn’t tell whether Giggler vanished in a mundane way, returned to its own plane, or teleported away… but tenacity was a Hargraves trait. But it sang after it disappeared which suggested invisibility. Erring on the side of caution – and possibly wasting a spell – the sorcerer targets and weaves a spell at the location where the Giggler vanished from sight. The area is bathed in golden motes of dust.
If the monster is made visible, Hawk quips,
”I could use a drink and a dance…
Cuz I see Giggler’s underpants!”
2nd Spells (4): x
1st Spells (7): xxx
Dancing Lights (3):
CLW (1):
Effects:
Mage Armor = +4 AC/FF for 4 hrs
Hawk cranes his neck up to look at the top of stairs and targets the area that he can see. A shimmering, golden cloud appears, sticking to every surface, including the retreating zebub, whose outline you can just make out. A soft hiss suggests that it is unimpressed.