The shadow ritual bursts. Fran and Stitch resist the worst of the effects.
Realizing Tavvar's life is in danger, Fran takes the energy onto herself and loses consciousness.
Stitch takes a brutal hit for the assistant with the Black purse as the energy surges into him
The assistant's Yellow shawl wraps around her and she loses all concentration as the shadows consume her. Another ritual flaw bursts open.
And now, the blobs begin their feast, focusing on Stitch.
With his last ounce of strength, he can see the ritual surge out of control. Tavvar Hamavsi's body lights up with shadow energy as a loud POP fills the room.
Finn (Dying 1, Unconscious)
Fran (Dying 1, Unconscious)
Stitch (Dying 1, Unconscious)
Roark (Dying 3, Unconscious)
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The morning rays pierce through your eyes. Stitch and Fran awaken to find an elven woman standing over them, her hands reeking of garlic and rosemary. Dark purple mist evaporates from their bodies into the air.
Roark wakes up to the visage of a dark grey wolf towering over him. The wolf looks back to the elf as she slumps into a chair.
"Rise and shine, ya'll. The shadows are gone for now. Nigel Aldain went to the museum to do some late night researchin'." She huffs as the wolf whines in her direction. "He stomped out some living shadows, and then ran up to the research room where he found ya'll, covered in shadow mist. Fola Braun woke me up to take care of ya. She had to take care of the... fallen."
The wolf whines again. You check for injuries and see you're all back in good health. But Finn isn't here.
The wolf bends low and squeezes his head underneath the woman's arm. "Yeah, I couldn't save him... the human. I'm sorry." She begins petting the wolf and staring out the window. "Fola said she'd be outside, waiting for your report once yer ready."
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Stitch opens his eyes slowly and eyeballs the room No sounds of anvils or smells of the forge... could be good, could be bad. The smell of herbs make his mind instantly go to roast pork, at least until he sees the Elf and the wolf We'll I don't think I'm dead, no way I'd be showin' up in the Elf afterlife, where ever that is.
He slowly sits up and coughs a few times, reaching for his waterskin and then checking on his clan pistol. He finds it laying on the ground , and takes a sip of water. "Aye, Pal's gone? Crap. Feathers? Fran? Mr Midnight?" He's starting to sound delirious.
He rolls over and stands up, rubbing some snot out of his beard and smokey grease from under his eyes "What about the researchers and their damned shadow carnival? S!&& went sideways quick, we stuck it out as long as we could." He grumbles Shouldda bolted and dragged Feathers out and let them nummahs deal with it themselves.
"Where's Meat Wagon at?" He gathers up his things and wakes up Roark and Fran in a hurry "Bad news, we lost. Prolly gonna get canned if we're lucky, jailed if we ain't."
"Meat...Wagon?" The elf locks her disgust behind a neutral face, while the wolf's hunger licks his lips. "No Deroff. That's what he calls his... wagon." The wolf's ears droop as he flops on the floor. "Your wagon is outside the lodge. It was... towed back here."
"I'll give ya'll some time to get yer bearings in order. Fola said she wanted a full report when ya'll were ready." She stands up, pushing exhaustion away with her respect. "Come on Deroff." The wolf stands up, takes one last look at you and follows her out the doorway, squeezing his way through the hallway.
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Minutes, or maybe hours pass. The silence is deafening, but Fola Braun makes her way into the room.
"I am sorry for your loss. It is never easy to hear the loss of life. Pathfinders included. Finn Gumshoe unfortunately did not survive. His bravery will not be forgotten. I always blame myself for not preparing my agents well enough, and for that, please accept my humbles apologies." She closes her eyes bows slowly, deeply, and holds it for a minute before rising.
"Tavvar Hamavsi and her assistants did not survive either. It is a sharp reminder that magic, potent as it is, is not a toy to be abused. Her research notes indicated some kind of miniaturization and transportation magic. It... also indicated her haste and willingness to cut corners. There are no shortcuts when it comes to magic. Take this lesson to heart." She clutches her fist and exhales the rage away.
"Take the time you need to recover. I- I thank you for your assistance. I believe Captain Benarry wanted your help. I have asked Kyra to accompany you on your next quest. She is a cleric of Sarenrae, and should be able to assist you however she can."
Many rumors swirl about this manor. Some say this Chelaxian family were devil worshippers. Some think they sold slaves below the table. Some say they sought the elixir of youth. Whatever happened, the last owners disappeared when the Great Earthquake of 4698 AR cracked its foundation. Who knows what secrets haunt this land?
Remember why you came here. Calisro Benarry wants you to survive a night in the house as a proof of courage and for the entertaining story—though resolving the haunting would make for an equally rousing tale.
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"U-um...I'll go ask around," Fran offers once they head out from the Grand Lodge. "I...I think I could use the fresh air...and the distraction."
Fran heads out to some of the nearby markets, her usual anxiety tamped down by the pall the deaths of Finn, Tavvar, and the others has cast over her mood. For once, she's happy for the distraction of making small talk.
Fran asks around and meets one Cleric of Pharasma. She's able to chat with him for a bit. "You know Eando Kline? He saved me from a raging minotaur, wrestled him through a glass window. The minotaur didn't come back from that one, hehe." He frowns when Fran mentions the Mavedarus estate. "That place is cursed. A reminder to Pharasmins not to go overboard in our beliefs."
The Mavedarus family were devout followers of Pharasma, and used their mansion as an improvised temple. They were also radical in many of their beliefs about life and death, often clashing with the local established clergy. They began to store the undead in the mansion basement, experimenting on different ways to properly bury them, an extremely controversial move that labeled them outcasts. The earthquake buried most of their followers and thieves took everything of worth.
Armed with knowledge, you make preparations and move on towards the mansion.
This old home might have once commanded the respect and envy of its neighbors, but the remaining story is cracked and crumbling. Whatever upper stories it might have once had have long collapsed, scattering stone and debris across gardens grown wild and weedy. Two curving staircases lead to a broad veranda bereft of its railings. Two openings that might have once been doors lead into the faint remnants of a solarium, while two more doors lead further into the creaking house itself. A whiff of rot and decay seeps from the structure.
A dusty faded sign shows the Mavedarus family crest, along with an inscription: Mavedarus, born with honor, born for glory.
This old home might have once commanded the respect and envy of its neighbors, but the remaining story is cracked and crumbling. Whatever upper stories it might have once had have long collapsed, scattering stone and debris across gardens grown wild and weedy. Two curving staircases lead to a broad veranda bereft of its railings. Two openings that might have once been doors lead into the faint remnants of a solarium, while two more doors lead further into the creaking house itself. A whiff of rot and decay seeps from the structure.
A dusty faded sign shows the Mavedarus family crest, along with an inscription: Mavedarus, born with honor, born for glory.
The tiled floor, ornate columns, and sweeping staircases of this once-grant hall evoke a distinctly Taldan aesthetic, though the finery has suffered greatly over the past years. The marble floor tiles are cracked and filthy, and the statuary lining the walls has been smashed. None of the three staircases climbs beyond head level before ending abruptly, debris from their fallen upper reaches scattered across the floor.
Fran feels it. Something terrible. In this grand hallway, she can feel dormant spirits just waiting to reach out and trying to haunt the area. Maybe someone religious could exorcise the spirits and lay them to rest?
Stitch attempts to scare the spirits, only for their malice to scream back at him. Maybe he's the youngun trespassing on their lawn?
Kyra raises her holy symbol. "Spirits! Peace be with you! We are here to guide you to your eternal rest! We mean you no harm!"
But the spirits roar back. "Hmpf! Not my fault you chose Pharasma."
The room grows quiet. Whatever was supposed to happen, it's not happening now.
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Stitch looks inside and swears a few times once he sees the numerous pillars taking up the center of the grand entrance "Fer cripes sake, ain't anyone back then heard of an 'open concept' or what? No room fer Meat in here!" He climbs down slowly, leaving his monstrous contraption in the doorway belching smoke all over Fran and Mr Midnight.
"Guess if we get in a pickle we can at least run out there fer backup." He says over his shoulder as he moves into to explore the main floor, pistol in hand.
Fran and Kyra enter an empty room before opening another door.
This is probably the dining room. Or, was the dining room since the ceiling collapsed and crushed all of the furniture here. Everything left is covered in mold.
The eastern door lies in ruin, leading back to the main hallway. But the southern door continues its duty.
Everyone convenes upon the southern door. Roark and Kyra offer to enter first.
A large, long-cold fireplace stands in the east wall of this expansive parlor, but the furnishings are all rotted. A dank stench of mold lingers in the air. The ceiling overhead has collapsed, leaving the room open to the sky. The floor in the room’s southern end has followed suit, leaving a gaping hole into darkness.
"Hmm. Nothing looks out of the ordinary here..." Kyra lowers her scimitar.
As you leave the room and approach the northern rooms, Stitch hears the wind roar again. But he knows the spirits are restless. Ghastly, ethereal hands rise from the ground, reeking of incense.
Scratch keeps the spirits at bay, and the hands recede beneath the boards. Only the wind remains.
With that taken care of, the group heads north and sees two rooms: One at the end of the hallway and another to the west.
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Stitch spins around with his pistol, his level of muzzle control not exactly top notch "I thought we went through this bafore? If yer gonna do somethin' then do it, otherwise SKEET!"
[dice=Religion]1d20+6
Roark lets out a squawk and ducks, images of exploding black feathers in his imagination...
Everything this room once held now lies jumbled over the floor in a soggy mess: torn pages, scraps of fabric, and splintered remnants of furniture. Doors hang askew on two of the walls, but the door to the west has been smashed from its hinges.
You notice a faintly glowing item in the corner.
The books contain many prayer books for quieting the restless dead. Next to each prayer is a page filled with various handwritten notes, arguing over the efficiency of the prayers. Another page contains a map with a list of locations of known undead sightings, with a few spots on the map labelled "breeding ground - do not cleanse." These records are hundreds of years old. Symbols of Pharasma are scrawled through the book's margins- this must be the source of their research.
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After a short rummage through the wreckage with his foot and the nose of his pistol, Stitch pulls out an intact book with a family crest on it: Mavedarus: born with honor, born for glory. "Got somethin' people!"
He stows his gun and starts flipping through it, reading aloud some interesting bits:
The books contain many prayer books for quieting the restless dead. Next to each prayer is a page filled with various handwritten notes, arguing over the efficiency of the prayers. Another page contains a map with a list of locations of known undead sightings, with a few spots on the map labelled "breeding ground - do not cleanse." These records are hundreds of years old. Symbols of Pharasma are scrawled through the book's margins- this must be the source of their research.
Eventually he passes it to Kyra to take a look "Who worships Pharasma but lets a undead breeding ground stick around?"
With those discoveries, Stitch moves onward to the study.
Ivy has overgrown the empty window frame, casting this room into cool shadow. A low shelf, its wood warped and cracked, stands against one wall, and a desk has been overturned and smashed in another part of the room.
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"Um, I agree with Stitch," Fran remarks as she peers over Kyra's shoulder at the books. "If any Pharasmins already knew this place was haunted for real, I'm surprised they haven't already dealt with it."
As the group continues on into what must have once been a study, she looks around with a mixture of curiosity and sadness. "I bet this place used to be a happy one, once. I wonder what happened to make it become haunted like it is now?"
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Stitch continues to search over the study, commenting "Maybe we can learn a few ditties about calmin' down them angry spirits. Kyra, read off some good ones for us would ya?" He pushes his way through the ivy and kicks at the smashed desk.
"Should be able to find some good fire wood if we're gonna camp out for the night. May as well have a good cracklin' fire at the same time."