GM Matt's Night of Gray Death

Game Master ChesterCopperpot

The attendant working the desk opens her mouth to answer Fiorré, but, just as she is about to speak, an arresting figure glides through the curtain that separates the front and back of the shop wearing a gown of velvet, beads, and oversized buttons. Her pale hair is piled high in curls pinned up to resemble a blossoming flower.

The attendant bobs a quick curtsey and goes to assist a customer browsing in another portion of the shop.

"Darlings. I've a keen eye for potential, and I judge that you are people of quality. Miona Rallaree, at your service."

The shop owner's curtsey is a mere twitch of the knees, shallow, though elegantly performed.

"You say you're in town for the masque? Well, of course you are!" Rallaree's eyes sweep over the group. You can imagine her noting every cut, seam, and embellishment on your current costume. "I am so glad you stopped in to see Madame Rallaree, my dears. You have the inner radiance of the finest uncut gems, but those clothes simply will not do."

The proprietress rings a tiny silver bell on the counter and a trio of attendances soon burst out of the back of shop, trailing streamers of measuring tape and carrying fistfuls of pins.

Madame Rallaree takes Fiorré gently by the elbow and ushers the group to a spacious alcove and begin to take the young woman's measurements.

The owner keeps up a constant stream of conversation as the sartorial festivities begin, "Velvet would you say? And this brocade. No, let's see some more...The masque will obviously be attended by the country's finest. I've been lucky enough to dress most of the local luminaries...No Jennette! That hem length is all long. The lady must be able to move! It's a masked ball, not a statuary display!"

Aphotos takes note of the attendants and continues to keep an eye on them as he wanders through the store seemingly aimlessly. "Ah, I too could use a run down on what would be popular fashions around. You see, I'm an entertainer by trade and thus I need to look my best for the festivities as well. But do start with our good Lady here, it is only right she should be attended to first and foremost."

He makes sure to see that none of the attendants have tried to make any moves of any sort and doesn't seem to speak to the Madame further. But he does turn to his companions for a moment and make a subtle head nudge towards the attendants, to make sure the others know that the three of them are listening in on the conversation.

Chance nods in acknowledgment having noticed as well. Perhaps a bit of a distraction is in order. She muses to herself. She excuses herself from Funmi’s side and approaches gather attendants. Hoping to engage them in conversation. Both with a commission request and a little gossiping.

Pardon me my friends , she says as she approaches them. I as well will be needing some updates to my wardrobe, I fear my garb is quite out of date. Would you be able to assist me?

Fiorré has danced this particular dance before, at least. As the proprietress takes her arm, the Iobarian girl gives her best merchant's-daughter smile. "Does my raiment ill-suit your tastes? 'Tis finest sunsilk, straight from heathe— um, the heat of Kelesh."

As the attendants crowd close, Fiorré starts to blush, casting shy glances about the shop as they take their measure of her figure. Sure 'tis a long time since last I was attended so. I wonder how I then endured it. Still, she is a lady of rather particular (if often unusual) tastes, and occasionally offers well-informed comments to the attendants on specific elements.

As she grows more re-accustomed to the attention—and when she can get a word in edgewise—Fiorré clears her throat shyly, addressing the clothier. "You are clearly a woman of no small insight and influence. And I am but a traveler from far lands. Whom should I meet here in Litran? I should very much like to meet the cream of society before the event."

Glancing around conspiratorially, Fiorré leans slightly closer to Madame Rallaree, murmuring loud enough for both the clothier and her attendants to hear. "Particularly if one is, perhaps, hoping to acquire a spare invite. For, um..." The beastblood girl lets her gaze flick to Aphotos briefly. "A friend." Fiorré delicately pronounces the word in such a way as to permit the clothier the speculation of her choice.

For some reason, though, Fiorré's gaze falls on Funmi for a moment. Now what's this, my lass? Hoping for some private tutoring? Or just curious what this book's like 'neath the covers? The beastblood girl averts her eyes quickly, blush ablaze, hoping to Desna and Shelyn that nobody—least of all her fine and caring teacher—notices the little glance.

~+~Chance~+~
Two of the attendants are happy to engage with Chance and circle the gnome, getting a good idea of measurements, by the look of it. "Ah, you wouldn't want to wear anything common to the ball anyway! We'll fix you right up. Are you the adventurous sort, or do you prefer more conservative outfits?" The attendant's tone makes it clear that she would prefer to put together a more daring ensemble.

Chance, please roll Diplomacy, Deception, or any skill you think is appropriate to get something useful out of the attendants.

~+~Fiorré~+~
The proprietress clearly doesn't want to offend her visitor. "Oh, the material is very fine indeed, but it is not at all appropriate to the occasion. No doubt you will cut quite the figure around town, but if you want to make a splash at the masque...well. You've come to the right place. I'm afraid most of the elite are terribly busy with preparations for the event. It's so hard to set up social engagements when so many thorny issues snag at your attention."

As she speaks, the attendants whirl around Fiorré, holding up scraps of fabric to compare to her complexion and hair. Madame Rallaree effortlessly keeps up the conversation while indicating, by slight nods or shake of her head, which colors might be possibilities.

"Hmm. What an intriguing eye color you have, my dear. We'll have to find you a mask that showcases it. Luckily, I have quite the variety in stock." Madame Rallaree considers her guest's question about the invitations carefully. "Everyone invited to the masque has already received an invitation, which is used for the bearer and the bearer’s entourage. The invitations to the masque are truly a sight to behold, aren't they? Dove gray, embossed affairs with a silver symbol of a final blade on one side. A touch macabre, perhaps, but so exciting! You'd have to comb the town for someone who was invited but didn't want to attend."

~+~ to the attendants working with Chance ~+~
I mean, what kind of gnome would I be if I didn't choose to be at least a little bit adventurous. Tell me what do you have in mind?

Chance will engage the attendants in the hopefully appropriate small talk. Getting them to warm up to her with some of her tales. Focusing on some of the exciting and unique fashion choices she has seen come and go. She will make sure to throw some flattery their way as well. Eyeballing measurements is a gift.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 26 ⇒ (9) + 26 = 35 Chance gathers information... maybe.

~+~Chance~+~
The attendants seem eager to talk.

"Well. You'll want to do curls for your hair, of course. And something high! You don't want to look like that dreadful Judge Gharmino."

The other attendant titters at the remark. "Oh, you are wicked to speak of him! You know his guards were convicted of treason and executed last week. He barely escaped the blade himself. I bet that he'll want to hire some new guards if he's to attend that masque. The Gardeners won't let him get away twice--slice"

Without batting an eyelash, the girl asks, "Do you think you're more of a chartreuse or a fuchsia?"

Fiorré stifles her huff of annoyance; the proprietress is trying not to offend, after all. Ever particular, the Iobarian girl casts a critical eye upon each scrap of fabric as they pass. For the record, Fiorré has white hair with a faint blue-periwinkle iridescent shimmer, the vivid indigo eyes mentioned frequently, and very pale skin except for the all-too-frequent blush.

As sharp-eared as any elf, Fiorré readily overhears the conversation between Chance and her attendants, and can't help but flick an envious look over at the gnome. She gets the songbirds, and I'm to deal with the crow. Sure life isn't getting any fairer. The mention of masks draws the girl's attention back to Madame Rallaree, and Fiorré's hand drifts toward her scholar's satchel. "I've a masque or two, quite dear to me. Perhaps might you craft an outfit to accompany such an treasure?"

The beastblood girl barely spares a thought for hiding her splintered self; she's too busy pondering the challenge of prying this clam open. What to say, what to say? I miss wrapping bonny lads and winsome lasses 'round my finger. All 'tis needed there is a pretty smile. Fiorré considers for a few moments, watching the attendants dance around her. Dance... There's a notion. Let's see if indeed my reputation has any use other than getting me bothered at public houses. Setting aside for the moment that she quite likes the 'bother', the Iobarian girl smiles shyly at her host.

"Ah, well then. Perhaps you might make some recommendations of your own? And—with your blessing, of course—I might then inform them that 'twas you directed me to their door. With proper discretion, of course. One should think that having Fiorré Braska Wintrelle as a friend would be good for business." Fiorré speaks the name with a slight lift of her chin, prideful as only a noble girl can be. The Iobarian girl thinks back to dealing with her father's trading partners, and again smiles that merchant's-daughter smile. "If I should like your crafts, I might even spread the word in my travels. One day the cream of society from Absalom to Kelesh could be sending for your wares."

Fiorré is attempting to draw on the reputation granted by her Legendary Performer feat to work that friends-in-high-places magic. (I assume Madame Rallaree can make a DC 10 Society check.) Between that and Impressive Performance, I figure there's a reasonable case for using Performance to get her way.

Besides... she is a bard. [wink]

Performance: 1d20 + 31 ⇒ (8) + 31 = 39

~+ to her attendants +~

"While I think you could do wonders with chartreuse I think the fuchsia would play well with my hair." Chance flicks some of her garnet-colored hair. "I am sometimes able to shift it a bit so could try making it a tad brighter."

Chance then appropriately lowers voice, to share a bit in the gossip. I suspect a man such as that would choose to lay low unless of course, it would make him look more guilty.

Kuthek plays the dutiful servant, carrying any garments that Fiorré sets aside and elegantly commenting on his mistress's decisions. He bristles somewhat at the Madame's insinuation that Lady Wintrelle's sunsilk isn't appropriate for the event, but would never dream of doing something as gauche as directly addressing such a slight. Those are things for the Mistress to sort out as she sees fit.

Do these attendants seem the sort that would a servant could approach for information on black markets, 'fainting tonics' for their masters, that sort of thing? Basically Kuthek is looking for some hot goss or some actionable information that the staff might share with someone serving the upper crust.

Aphotos continues his seemingly random browsing of the wares, keeping an eye out for anything odd overly suspicious from the territory itself and the rest of the attendants about.

Eventually he turns to another attendant and in keeping up with his "ignorant foreign entertainer" act asks a question of them. "You'll have to forgive my ignorance here, but I was wondering what particulary makes this masque so overtly extravagant? Are all masques like this? It seems the young Lady is being proper suited up for a grandness unlike any other I've seen before." He gives a seemingly sincere smile to the member to accent his polite inquiry.

Basically I'm hoping here that if I just ask some really vaguely ignorant and obvious questions they might unwittingly reveal some matter of information we don't already have about everything going.

Funmi takes a quick head count of the staff and customers, waiting until a moment when it seems like most of them are occupied. She steps behind a mannequin wearing an ostentatious hoop skirt and leans down as if to examine the fabric. Without looking away from the dress, she whispers, "Why don't you see if there's anything good to read in the back? And do try to stay out of sight."

Her bag rustles in response, and a moment later, a tiny yellow lizard peaks its head out and hops down to the shop floor. It ducks and dives from display to display, searching for the owner's records.

The Minion Guise feat allows Quill to appear as an ordinary, if exotic, lizard. He is searching for pertinent information on Rallaree's customers, including names, interesting gossip, or perhaps delivery addresses.
Stealth to sneak around: 1d20 + 21 ⇒ (18) + 21 = 39
Society or Perception(same modifier): 1d20 + 21 ⇒ (19) + 21 = 40

~+~Fiorré~+~
The shop's owner appears to be warming to Fiorré as their conversation continues. "An outfit to match a mask you own? Well, that's an intruiging idea." She give the girl one more appraising look. "It would be a special order, of course, and a bit of a rush."

Fiorré can practically see the seamstress contentedly running sums in her head. "If all of your friends are as charming as you are, they would be very welcome in my shop, and I'm sure you will be able to vouch for the quality and rare taste of our goods when we are finished! Come, would you show me the item that you want matched?"

She hardly misses a breath as she waits, "If you're trying to make some new friends around town, the leader of Litran’s farmer’s cooperative, Zintaya Calbieste, is simply enchanting. Quite the conversationalist, I must say, and exquisite taste. She works too hard though, the poor thing, always at the cooperative meeting hall."

~+~Chance~+~
The attendants seem happy to discuss such a salacious issue with you. "Well, skipping the gala would certainly be suspicious. People will think he's up to something. No, the man wants new guards! Not likely the Gardeners would snatch him up in the middle of a party with a full retinue in place."

~+~Kuthek~+~
The attendants look curious about the party of out-of-town customers, so they would probably be interested in talking to you.

~+~Aphotos~+~
"You must not be from around here!" the attendant exclaims. "The festival is a regular occurrence--though it has been cancelled the past several years. The Gray Gardeners have never invited people into their headquarters, though! Makes me all shivery to think of attending a party in the Gray Monastery, but the elite love a chance to make merry and rub shoulders." The attendant leans in, conspiratorially, "My cousin heard that they are going to make an important announcement, or some such thing, but he's full of tall tales."

~+~Funmi~+~
Your familiar easy manages to stay out of sight as it slips into the back rooms of the shop. The wyrm finds meticulously kept records of Madame Rallaree's clientele. Lord Alastrin Harble, High Magistrate Otvald Gharmino, and Zintaya Calbieste are recent customers. They all seem to have come to the shop to pick up their orders, as there are no addresses listed.

Chance finishes talking out the ideas for her first fancy dress in a very long time. Settling on a very vibrant affair (predominantly fuschia of course) with a nice motif reminiscent of what a Catrina might wear. She even commissions some silk roses to wear in her hair in a complementary color palette.

When she has finished she discretely looks around to see if the group is ready to leave. Attempting to move to the background to observe if they are not.

Quill takes a clean piece of parchment, quickly jots down all of the important information he can, and scampers back to Funmi. She opens her bag without looking as he dives back into his hiding place. She gives his note a brief once-over before returning that to the bag as well.

From what she can hear, Chance is already discussing Gharmino and Fiorré is learning about Calbieste. That leaves Harble unaccounted for. When it is finally her turn to get her measurements taken, she makes some small talk waiting for an opportunity to bring him up.

"So tell me, the rumors of your local Lord...how true are they? Surely the stories must be exaggerated."

Fiorré reaches into her satchel... and hesitates. Not out of unwillingness—rather too late for second thoughts now—but at the choice she faces. Her fingers drift over the silver-steel of Sibéal's Veil, then to the wood of her Magaambyan mask. You can be whatever you wish, but you must choose, banphrionsa. Her hand closes around one, and the beastblood girl tentatively withdraws it, holding the mask out for the shopkeeper to see.

"Have you ever worked in mithril before?" Fiorré asks shyly. "'Tis of my own making. Inspired by the Iadaran style of three centuries ago, with some touches of ancient Iobarian knotwork. What think you of it?" The mask in her hand is delicate, its silver filigree designed to reveal plenty of skin, with room enough to perfectly frame Fiorré's expressive eyes.

The Iobarian girl tilts her head for a moment, as if listening to an unheard voice. Then, quite out of nowhere, she blushes brightly. Beckoning the clothier and attendants close, Fiorré shyly whispers, "Something rather more, um... daring, if you please." As if to demonstrate, some of her clothing seems to simply... melt away. Her skirt shortens, the melting material exposes her shoulders and midriff, and a just-barely-more-than-tasteful hint of décolletage is revealed. Then the moment passes and her outfit is pristine once more, though the blush lingers.

After a deep breath and a few moments' recovery, Fiorré speaks again, her eagerness to change the subject mostly concealed. "I shall certainly not hesitate to call upon Miss Calbieste, then. If so hard a worker is she, then surely we shall have much to speak of. Work is worship, after all." The old adage seems to ground the young woman a little.

A moment later, Fiorré hesitates again as realization catches up with her. Why thought I not of this sooner? I feel rather the fool. She clears her throat, blushing for a different reason this time. "Um... Madame Rallaree?" the Iobarian girl ventures shyly. "This that I wear is... gúna aislingeach. Dreaming dress, altered by thought and whim. So, um, perhaps—if this does not offend your honor as a master of your craft—you could design the outfit, and I might simply alter my dress to match? Sure 'twould save you the fine materials. And of course I would compensate you for your time and expertise," Fiorré adds hurriedly. The beastblood girl looks decidedly anxious as she awaits the proprietress's answer.

Aphotos smiles at the attendants and thanks them for their information about the masque, continuing to play up his unfamiliarity with the area. "Oh that certainly does explain why this one would be so very exciting. I'd imagine many hold a deep curiosity about their headquarters and this would be the chance to see it for themselves! Well in that case, if you'll all excuse me for a moment..."

He bows to the attendants and takes a couple of light footed strides over back towards Fiorré. He leans in to speak with Fiorré in a softer voice than before, trying not to seem like he is cutting into a conversation he has not been invited to. "I'm sorry to interrupt, my dear friend. But if you could also let the Madame know that if she has the time I would like to accompany you to this absolutely fascinating event as well, and should likely also need something more appropriate than my own attire."

Then, bowing to Fiorré once again and looking to Madame Rallaree he says, this time even lower, "Of course, please be sure she attends to your needs first, my request should be a simple afterthought by comparison."

~+~Chance~+~
The attendants assure you that your requests will be ready for the ball. (They actually have quite an ingenious system of pre-made stock that they alter to fit the requirements of the customer so it doesn't take them as much time.) One of the workers seems absolutely pleased to make your roses--she used to make fabric flowers to practice her sewing.

~+~Funmi~+~
The attendants are still happily gossiping, seeming to revel in their insiders' knowledge. "Oh, Lord Harble? I'm afraid that the rumors don't even go far enough. The man is in very poor health. I can't imagine that he'll be able to attend the masque. Perhaps he will send a surrogate, so as not to lose face with the other notables. Swift recovery to him, of course. He's an excellent customer."

~+~Fiorré~+~
Madame Rallaree is examining the mask with interest when Fiorré's dress begins to shift, and the seamstress almost drops the mask in surprise! She quickly regains her composure, however. "What an unusual garment! It's not my typical method, but I should be able to draw a design for you that would meet you satisfaction. Excuse me one moment." The woman retreats to the back of the store, but quickly returns with a large drawing pad and a drafting pencil. The attendant assisting Fiorré merely stands agog. When was the last time she saw the seamstress jump to design a gown?

"The conventions of the masque allow us for more freedom when it comes to the risqué." She starts her drawing by slashing a plunging V of a neckline onto the paper and builds out from there. "Tell me, does this dreaming garment of yours need to follow the typical limitations of support and...hmm...bracing?" The paper is quickly filling with truly fanciful, soaring embellishments.

Aphotos silently leans over, trying to keep an ear towards the rest of the gossip his companions are learning. He looks to Funmi and says to her softtly, "Miss Funmi, it seems this Lord is in a similar predicament to our own mutual friend. If someone else is possibly sending a proxy much like ourselves it might do us some good to find out more about it. Mayhaps we could even charm him into choosing one of our own?"

He then slinks back away from the small crowd of attendants and goes to hover around near Fiorré, listening into Madame Rallaree's fashion advice intently.

Attendants and owner alike continue to chat about costume designs for the mask, and tedious discussions about pay are quickly sorted out as soon as designs are finalized.

With dress for the ball sorted out, and some new information in hand, you head to the abandoned shrine of Pharasma mentioned by Keznin Nevarmo to see if it will make an appropriate safehouse.

This stone building consists of a blocky central structure and two towers, one of which has collapsed across the top of the building. The old stones sit somewhat askew; flakes of mortar and bits of crushed stone litter the area. As though the building didn’t look sufficiently unsafe on its own, a faded orange ribbon bearing the words “Unsafe! No Entry!” hangs across both the main door facing the street and a small side door.

Map. (I imagine this is located in the southern part of town.)

Funmi looks up at the dilapidated old temple, appraising the building with a hand on her chin. "Seems cozy enough." She opens her bag and her familiar winds his way out again, climbing up onto her shoulder. "Be sure to keep your head on a swivel, and don't go wandering about without permission." It's an instruction for the wyrm, but the edge of lorespeaker in her voice perhaps makes it sound like more of a general command.

She heads for the side door to hopefully avoid any prying glances, carefully pulls away the ribbon, and tests the door to see if it will open.

It's a relief for Kuthek to drop his prim servant's facade and adopt the loose skulker's stance to which he's most accustomed.
"Perish the thought, Old-Mage." He bows slightly to Funmi as he passes by her to inspect the grounds, walls, and door for any signs of traps or recent activity. "I take it you plan to convert this derelict into some kind of bolt-hole? As much as I appreciate Keznin's tea selection, we probably don't want to invite any more trouble to him than necessary."

Aphotos follows suit and takes a look around the building to check for any signs of recent occupants or traps to keep people away. "Well before we make any decisions to set up in here it would do us well to make sure the suspicions surrounding the place are dealt with. Wouldn't want any unwanted spiritual attention distracting us, after all."

He holds his cane at the ready, before slinking back to to the door near Funmi. "While I do trust that a group like ourselves has more than enough capability to handle a haunting, it wouldn't do us good to underestimate rumors in a city like this."

The floor in here is unstable, but it would be impossible to run on PBP. Let's just call the whole room difficult terrain because of loose tiles, chancy footing, and structural damage.

The door gives in to Funmi's pressure, though it takes some effort to force it open. (Doors in this location take 2 Actions to open or close.)

Inside is a dark, wide room that likely served as the shrine’s main worship hall. The north wall still bears the faded mural of a spiral shaped comet 10 feet wide. Openings containing door frames without doors lead to the west and northeast. Stones in both the ceiling and the floor are uneven. Beams supporting the ceiling are splintered from the northwest
to the southeast, making it clear the building only barely withstood the tower toppling across its roof. The stones in the floor are less regular in their damage, and some have fallen through to reveal a darkened space below.

The room is dark, though old metal sconces in the shape of Pharasma’s religious symbol adorn the walls in each room. Ceilings are 15 feet high.

Map

Aphotos holds up a hand, signaling to the others to hold back for just a moment. "Well, well. What have we here...?"

Aphotos shuffles up to the northern wall, eyes focused intently on the faded mural. His usual light steps are maintained throughout his motion, but with considerably less grace as he stares down at bits of rubble and steps over precarious little holes and edges so as not to trip.

He keeps one hand gripped tightly around his cane but places his empty palm on the wall and slides his hand over it. "Alright wall, let's see what secrets you hold..." And abruptly he flicks out a dagger from his sleeve straight into his hand and wedges the blade beneath the tile, popping it off completely.

Fiorré does her best to follow the others' lead. Her own instinct is to enter through the damaged roof or a high window or the like, but that doesn't seem like it'll go over well with Miss Ozinichi or the others, who can't so easily follow and who might not want her off alone. She does consider insisting that she open the door just in case, but Funmi has done so before Fiorré finishes weighing the option.

As Funmi pushes the door open, Fiorré stands on tiptoe to peer over the elvish woman's shoulder, her feline eyes readily piercing the darkness within the temple. "My word, what a gloomy place," the beastblood girl murmurs quietly to her companions. "Are we truly to be safe here? 'Tis all but ready to collapse at our slightest breath." After a moment, Fiorré uncertainly lays a hand on Chance's shoulder, doing her best to offer gentle sympathy for the Pharasmin. She's about to tell the others to stand back and let her go first, but Aphotos beats her to it this time.

Come on, my lass, be a little more assertive. Fiorré almost asserts herself right back at her vivacious shadow, settling for a mere huff and brief pout instead. But she's not going to be left behind so easily. The beastblood girl slips past the others, nimbly following along behind the azarketi gentleman. While she's still slowed slightly by the unstable terrain, Fiorré maintains her feline grace as she treads broken ground and shaky footing.

As Aphotos notices his newest shadow, the beastblood girl smiles at him—daring, yet innocent—and winks. "Best someone should be here to pull you out of trouble if need be." Her tone is not greatly serious, yet there is sincerity there; protectiveness and vigilance beneath playful jesting. Yet it's not only concern for another's safety that drives Fiorré to follow. The beastblood girl looks on with intense curiosity as Aphotos levers open the tile, eager to see whatever secrets the temple hides.

Kuthek picks his way carefully over the damaged, rubble-strewn floor. "Unsteady as a Caydenite funeral..." He approaches the small room opposite the side door, alert for any lurking shades or vermin.

Funmi takes a step inside, but remains near the doorway for now. From here, she can survey the room and act if anyone needs assistance. She reaches into her pocket and retrieves a small black stone, smooth and round as a glass marble. With a whisper, it lights up. When she releases it, it begins to float in the air beside her. "This room certainly would not make for a suitable safe house. But if there was a basement..."

The cache in the wall contains a headband of obvious quality, remarkably clean and free of dust. There is also a well-preserved scroll inside.

Before Aphotos has a chance to examine the treasures further, two robed and hooded figures appear at the door, as if stepping from nowhere. Their gray hoods are pulled down low over their faces, and long shawls, embroidered to look like spider webs hang from their shoulders. Arachnid-shaped brooches hold their robes closed, and their hands clasp heavy staves.

"Intruders and fools." One hisses. The other merely nods silently and readies her staff.

~+~Round 1~+~
Kuthek
Fiorré
Red
Black
Aphotos
Chance
Funmi

Map

Chance follows her companions into the abandoned shrine. When the door has closed behind them she takes a movement to softly say a prayer to Pharasma. She scans the room looking for signs it has been in use recently and casts Detect Magic to look for any signs of spells or scrying.

Chance turns as she realizes they have been followed. When she recognizes the creatures she holds her hand up in a fist motioning for caution and a pause.

She turns to the party, ”Morrignas.”

Chance turns to face the women and addresses them in the language of the boneyard. ”Greetings. Please, take no offense by our presence here. We were hoping to find a place to stay. Pharasma works in mysterious ways. I serve her in this realm. Perhaps we can work together?”

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 26 ⇒ (10) + 26 = 36

The cloaked figures pause at Chance's words, though they don't seem completely won over.

Kuthek squares his shoulders and slowly approaches the newcomers. "Not that the rest of us have quarrel with the Lady of Graves. Our goals might even align, if you'd hold off on violence long enough for us to elaborate." His soothing smile hardens slightly as his hand moves to the spiked chain hanging at his waist. "If you don't, well... I sincerely hope that can be avoided."
Trying to Intimidate but in a sort of... assistive way to Chance. Making it clear we don't want to fight, but if we have to, we might be more than they bargained for.

Action 1: Intimidation to Coerce
(though hopefully I can avoid the 'the targets later become unfriendly' part since that's not the vibe I wanna give off) Intimidation: 1d20 + 23 ⇒ (9) + 23 = 32

The rustle of cloth from the door alerts Fiorré's hypervigilant instincts even before the newcomers speak, and a pulse of desperate energy crackles down her spine. Without hesitation or conscious thought—for even a moment could be the difference between protecting and avenging—Fiorré unsheathes her réalta hana sabre, the curved blade blurring an auroral arc in the air as the Iobarian girl sweeps it rapidly around herself in her habitual crowd-pleasing way.

Then the beastblood girl is in motion, nearly a blur herself as she darts past the others to neatly interpose herself between the newcomers and her companions. Fiorré slips elegantly into the hydra stance as she arrives; sabre high and angled downward, ready to bite back twice for each trespass.

As she looks the robed figures over, Fiorré draws a deep sniff of their scent. Dust and cobwebs... the mausoleum reek of old dry death. The beastblood girl glares fiercely at the duo, rosette-stippled fur rippling across her skin. "Intruders that we are, we are no dead flesh in Pharasma's house. And the only fools here are those who would threaten my friends." The beastblood sings louder and louder in Fiorré's ears, sword blurring into motion as she tenses to strike.

Then Chance's words cut through the thunder of blood. Without lowering her guard, Fiorré flashes an uncertain glance over her shoulder at the gnome. "Morrignas? Angels of death? Be they of your creed, then?" Returning her gaze to the figures, the Iobarian girl clears her throat a little awkwardly, though her blade remains en garde. "Um. Yes. We thought to shelter here, under the auspice of, um, Pharasma. No harm do we mean, save in self-defense, and we should prefer to not fight. Um... please?"

Fiorré Interacts to draw a weapon, Strides, and activates Dueling Parry. I'm not certain if Fiorré can still fit a Diplomacy check in here, or if her aggressive stance would spoil it anyway, but just in case... Diplomacy: 1d20 + 23 ⇒ (13) + 23 = 36

The two women shake their heads at you, "You have trespassed here and interfered with our agent. Your punishment is inevitable."

The morrignas don't seem won over by you, but you can attempt to parley with them using Diplomacy as a 2-Action activity. (DC 39)

One after another, the women's forms shift, their shawls growing, growing into trailing strands of cobweb that drag against the floor. They throw back their hoods, revealing faces covered in web-like masks.

The closest creature whips the her trailing webs at Fiorré.
web wrapping: 1d20 + 29 ⇒ (9) + 29 = 38 for bludgeoning: 3d12 + 14 ⇒ (3, 3, 11) + 14 = 31
web wrapping: 1d20 + 29 - 5 ⇒ (6) + 29 - 5 = 30 for bludgeoning: 3d12 + 14 ⇒ (5, 1, 12) + 14 = 32

The other morrigna gestures at Kuthek, and the air seems to crystalize around him, materializing as jagged planes that seem to cut him without piecing the skin.
Force: 16d6 ⇒ (2, 1, 6, 4, 5, 6, 3, 6, 6, 4, 3, 2, 2, 6, 3, 2) = 61
Basic Fortitude Save

~+~Round 1~+~
Kuthek
Fiorré
Red
Black
Aphotos
Chance
Funmi

~+~Round 2~+~
Kuthek (Fortitude Save)
Fiorré

Map

"Noble spirits, I fear you misunderstand! We have interfered with no one and been nowhere we were not invited. It was Pharasma's own disciple, the last in this city, who told us of this place. If in heeding his words we have caused grievance, then speak to it so that it may be mended!"

And please don't give me cause to destroy an agent of the Grave Mother.

Do you want to do a Diplomacy check to parley with them?

Yeah, why not, I'll go for it

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 22 ⇒ (4) + 22 = 26

Hero Point

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 22 ⇒ (11) + 22 = 33

Fortitude save: 1d20 + 27 ⇒ (9) + 27 = 36

On Chance’s turn

Actions 1&2 Cast Bless
Action 3 Recall Knowledge on morrignas

Religion: 1d20 + 27 ⇒ (20) + 27 = 47

Also, Chance has recognize spell and quick recognition and is a master in religion. What spell was that?

Aphotos sees the door shift open in the peripheral of his vision, and without even turning his head springs into action. Despite taking extra care to step over every crack and blemish on the floor, he still appears to be nearly gliding across the ground. He stays low, rolls down past Kuthek and tucks himself into the nook behind the partially crumbled wall.

He whispers lightly so that only Funmi can hear him from his spot."I'm not much of a persuasive sort, but if they come through here I'll be able to catch them by surprise."

Within seconds his form blends into the form of the dark room around him,as he attempts to hide himself.

Stealth to become hidden: 1d20 + 31 ⇒ (14) + 31 = 45

Chance makes one final plea to the morrignas for parley, calling on one of the more obscure names for the Lady of Graves and hits a chord with the monitors, who lower their staves.

"If you are truly followers of the Mother of Souls, we apologize. We came here expecting resistance--one of our contact told us that a priest who has been staying in this temple was in danger from sahkils and their human allies." The morrigna's mouth twists at the mention of sahkils. "I am Isias, and this is my sister, Ninolda. Who are you, and what do you hope to accomplish at this shrine?"

You all know that sahkils are dreadful creatures that stoke mortal fears. Sahkils lurk on the Ethereal Plane where they slip into nightmares or dark places of the world to torment the living. Psychopomps have a particular dislike for them.

“Hello, my name is Chance. And yes I have been blessed by the Mother of Souls to serve as one of her clerics in the mortal realm. If I am being truthful her and Nivi kind of share my soul. I am not really certain how or why but it works. Serving Nivi is why I travel the world. Which allows me to serve our Mother by returning souls to her that have escaped judgement.”

Chance motions to her companions.

“My companions and I are here as we all accepted a job to journey here and help our benefactor “cure a grave sickness”. And while this isn’t normally my modus operandi as I am not normally one to play the socialite, I felt called to this. The final blades are an affront to the cycle. If somehow while in the process of curing the rot that affects Galt I can end the affront and free those trapped souls then I will.”

As she speaks she moves back into the room to give them room to enter. Indicating it is probably best to do this off the street and out of the eye of nosy neighbors.

Funmi steps back into the room, although she is wary not to let the morrignas out of her sight just yet. "It is as she says. We had hoped to use the place as a refuge, as the locals tend to avoid it. I don't know how aware you are of what happens on the mortal plane, but the Gray Gardeners are not a group to be trifled with lightly. If there is any place they fear to tread, then that is where I want to be."

Fiorré's blade blurs into motion, smoothly deflecting the whipping webs. She can feel herself starting to change in parallel to the monitors; fur conquering flesh, twisted claws pricking skin from within, teeth lengthening to serpent fangs. The beastblood girl draws a sharp breath, tightening her grip on her sword's hilt as she tenses to spring... and at the last moment, the morrignas lower their staves.

After a heartbeat's hesitation, Fiorré lowers her sabre in turn, taking a deep breath and forcing her body back into its human façade. She flashes a sheepish smile over her shoulder at her companions; hard to deny that she'd been looking forward to a little scrap to ease her tension.

Stepping carefully back and sheathing her blade, the young woman gives the psychopomps space to enter the ruin. She doesn't address them directly yet; fifteen winternights of etiquette lessons had somehow failed to cover visitations from avatars of death, or proper topics of conversation for such occasions. And in any case, Miss Chance seems better-suited to such dealings.

Instead Fiorré sidles up to Funmi and Kuthek. "Um... Miss Ozinichi? Sir Eventide?" the beastblood girl murmurs, smiling shyly and folding her hands demurely in front of her. "Would you like that I should get a fire started? Put the kettle on? I'm not certain if our guests should like anything to drink, but it might make this place rather more homely for we the living." After a moment's thought, she adds, "I could go a-searching for that basement, if you like, and start settling us in there instead."

Kuthek feels the morrigna's spell worm its way into his core, then explode in jagged shards of ice and searing flame. He almost cries out, but clenches his jaw.
I know who I am. My spirit is solid and sound, and it's worse than this that made it so.
The spell's energy evaporates like mist after sunrise, leaving no sign of its presence or passage.

As does the tension in his muscles when the psychopomps lower their weapons. He nods along with his companions' summation of events.
"And even if the Gardeners did not break the laws of the dead, they keep this nation terrified and disorganized. That is no proper way to live." A scowl briefly mars his usually friendly face. "Besides, if it's sahkils troubling the temple, well," his hand goes to the pendant tucked beneath his tunic, "they'll find fear is a knife that cuts both ways."

He hrms softly at Fiorré inquiry. "Probably the basement, presuming we want to stay someplace safe from prying eyes. Though maybe wait until we hear more from these two," he indicates the morrignas with a minute twitch of a stout index finger, "since they'd likely know if something was lurking down there."

Aphotos, hearing the rabble die down, drops out of his defensive stance and steps ever slow slightly around the side of the cover he has hidden behind. He drops his cane low as soon as his own companions do and wills away the dark shadows curling at his feet. He doesn't step around completely yet, preferring to let the morrignas believe that he was just out of direct vision and not hiding to strike at them specifically.

He keeps mostly quiet, shifting his weight back and forth ever so slightly as his companions explain their motivations before giving a shallow bow to the morrignas as well. "The presence of sahkils in a town as dismal as this one certainly would not be surprising. However, I am in agreement. They are wretched and if there is anything we can do to protect a troubled priest against them, I should like to assist however I can."

He leans slightly towards Fiorré "I should also like to know of those items behind the wall in addition to the basement. You saw them, right? But let's not go removing ourselves from this conversation quite yet. Let us first see if we can get their approval naturally before we start wandering."

"Servants of Pharasma are most welcome here. You can also help yourself to the items stored here against emergencies." Isias points at the open compartment in the north wall.

"Our priest, Nellibet Amberin, believes that the Gray Gardeners are working with or directed by sahkils. He has been closely observing their monastery, using this as a safehouse. Perhaps you could join him here. I believe his quarters are in the basement."

To Kuthek she adds, "Are you aware of the final blades? Despicable creations! They bind the souls of the executed and prevent them from reaching their rightful judgement. We have little interest in how mortal governments treat their subjects, but such blasphemy cannot be allowed to persist."

Funmi nods thoughtfully. This new information certainly adds a few additional figures to her calculations. "The backing of a powerful sahkil would certainly go a long way towards explaining the hold the Gardeners have over this nation. And it's another reason for us to move with caution." She takes a look around the room and nods again, finding answers to questions no one else has asked yet. "Let's go see your priest. I will bolster the protections here and make this place a more suitable base."

Aphotos smiles, their new morrigna guests are just as eagle eyed as one would expect. "Yes. I should think we would make useful roommates to the priest, after all. Especially if he is being targeted by a group of others. We shall speak to him and see what else this place has to offer us."

He shuffles back over near the compartment, but does not quite yet pull the items from their place. "And with a proper introduction from monitors such as yourselves I would hope that helps ail some of his apprehensions as well."