"Ah yes, well. The most obvious solution is to call upon the sun. Sarenrae calls upon the restless spirits to bathe in holy light and come to rest... seems like they are in immense pain, but it is for the best." Kyra loses herself in scripture.
The wind picks up again, like the mansion itself is moaning at your presence.
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You all hear the wind turn into whispers.
"Must stop the undead by any means!"
"For the greater good, bear our sins!"
"Let us rest, please!"
The voices assault from every angle, forcing their way past your sanity and giving way to... dance.
Roark's ditty cases the spirits to chant in rhythm with him as he shakes to and fro. The murmurs fade away.
Without much else to do, you return to the main hallway. You hear the sounds of floorboards creaking from the southern end of the mansion.
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"Watch that feather duster of yers fella. Ain't no Steeltoe I've ever known dance. At least not sober." He adds at the end as the floor calms down.
"Maybe we can give 'em some sorta sacrifice? A quart of oil, or maybe a keg o powder with a short fuse?" He cracks a smile at the last bit of the joke.
"Straight ahead there maybe?" He points his muzzle (the gun) to another door.
The creaking floorboards turn into loud snapping as it gives way to more moaning. You make out a humanoid figure - flesh rotten and bloated. You can more moaning from the corner. Pharasmic symbols are burnt into its skin.
Whatever they want, it can’t be good for you.
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"Oh! Those definitely aren't rats!" Fran gasps. She takes a step closer to Stitch and focuses for a moment before tapping him on the arm. "Sometimes, I can shift the course of fate a little. This might help!"
She then draws her sling.
You read slightly into the future and give fate a tiny push to achieve the result you desire. Once during the duration, when the target fails an attack roll, skill check, or saving throw and a +1 status bonus would turn a critical failure into a failure, or failure into a success, you grant the target a +1 status bonus to the check retroactively, changing the outcome appropriately. The spell then ends, and the target is temporarily immune for 1 minute.
If you cast nudge fate while a previous casting of this hex is still in effect, the previous effect ends.
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Stitch takes a good look at it, but he's not sure what it is. Fran bends fortune his way, and in a flash of unknown insight it all comes together.
That's a plague zombie. It's slow, but it's infected with a disease known as zombie rot and it infects upon hit. It can also grab people and bite them mercilessly. Positive energy and slashing weapons work wonders on them.
But that's another story for another time. Right now, it lumbers forward and swings at Kyra. She takes the hit like a champ.
Too bad two more fleshy creatures stumble forward from the doorway and surround her. Only one of them has enough time to take a swing.
"Perhaps I was overzealous." Kyra clearly can't take another hit like that.
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"Well get the hell outta there Kyra!" Stitch waves his gun around, knowing full well those cleric types can be pretty numb sometimes.
"Time to put all this tech to use people, stand back and be AMAZED!" He sprays himself down with a can of something that says WD40 and takes aim at the closest deadie.
The spray nozzle is pointed in the wrong direction and nothing beneficial happens.. "Miscalculation there.."
"Time to mow some lawn Meat, get in there."
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Finally, some grass to cut.
Meat Wagon revves its engine and rolls ahead slowly. A long sickle bar comes from underneath the vehicle and starts slashing back and forth around four inches off the ground at the black deadie.
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"Eep!"
Fran nearly jumps out of her skin as Meat Wagon lumbers partway into the entrance hall and slashes at the nearest zombie with some manner of blade.
"O-oh my gosh, I didn't know Meat Wagon had teeth!"
Realizing that her sling probably won't be the best bet after all, Fran instead uses her magic to fling a nearby piece of rubble at Black...
...and then pulls out the scroll gifted to them by Gorm.
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Roark performs a quick hustle. The zombie doesn't seem to notice, but it doesn't matter to Roark- he feels invigorated and full of... panache.
Roark's bolt of lightning pops the undead creature in Black robes like a rancid pustule, while other bolt deflects off of a column, singing the Red tinted creature. Stitch takes aim and nicks it in the shoulder.
The vehicle known as Meat Wagon smashes through the front door and digs into the zombie in Red, cleaving it in half with a single blow.
Kyra takes this opportunity to retreat. "Sarenrae! Grant a >Sanctuary< to this... er..." She glances at Stitch, then back to his pet(?) "Ally of metal and thunder!"
The remaining bloated creature stumbles up against Meat Wagon, only for a dull field of sunlight to blaze in front of it. It is unable to attack!
Fran's chunk of wood embeds itself in the stone pillar.
The blast of lubricant gets the sickle bar humming, all that's gonna happen now is very, very messy. Its like a B grade horror movie out there. But at least the rodents will eat well.
Roark decides to show off and quickly lunges at the pile of pus. It barely pierces its skin, leaving a small trickle before he leaps back. He's not sure if Kyra rolled her eyes over his display of bravado, or if she's delirious from pain.
Meat Wagon's scythe swings wildly, slashing the thing twice. The scythe leaves massive wounds on the zombie, much more than expected.
Fran uses the scroll to add a few more magical wounds to the zombie.
Kyra raises her holy symbol. "Sarenrae, use the power to >Heal< the living to punish this Farcical Pharasmic Folly!"
The zombie inflates like a balloon and Kyra yanks Roark behind Meat Wagon. It bursts and ejects effluvial grime across the walls, ceiling and most of Meat Wagon's frontside. The rats are going to eat well tonight.
"It's never easy putting the undead to rest. But it is rewarding." Kyra drinks her elixir of life.
"Is anyone... injured? Just me. Of course. I'll tend to my own wounds."
"It will do, for now. We should prepare to camp for the night."
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Stitch reloads his pistol then investigates Meat Wagon for damage, then checks on the others for possible medical attention "Heck of an explosion right there. Its like Mid Summer festival MEATS cruel teenager." He chuckles at the joke, pulling entrails off the mower blade.
"If you need a little surgery for them wounds Kyra let me know. Been working on some new techniques. I can hook you up with some implants if you want. Maybe imbed that holy symbol right into the palm of your hand, or if yer feelin' frisky, top dead center of your chest. Really turn some heads." He shrugs.
"I'll... pass." Kyra's disgust hides behind her bruised ego. "But thank you nonetheless."
Besides cleaning Meat Wagon and Kyra mending to her bruises, the night is quiet and uneventful.
The next morning Meat Wagon rides in front of the Grand Lodge. Breakfast is savory today with eggs, pork, bread and plenty of beans to gorge upon. Captain Benarry has clearly been up all night. She struggles to get the last drops of her favorite flask when you approach. She stumbles upright. "So uh... what happened in the mansion? What did you find out?"
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"U-um...well, it really was haunted," Fran answers. "Really really, no crazy people in masks or anything like that - just lots and lots of restless spirits. But I think we managed to put them all to rest for good...I hope."
There's a pause and then she adds, "Oh, and um, there were zombies, too. They ended up mostly splattered across the front of Meat Wagon."
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Kyra sighs. "It was a team effort. Besides, Pharasmins sometimes get too preachy and go right up their own a-"
Captain Benarry uproarious laughter cuts Kyra short. "The church of Pharasma's gonna have to deal with it! I'll take those notes for safe keepin'." Benarry steadies herself long enough to take the notes before plopping back down. "Besmara's where it's at, anyway."
After eating a refreshing breakfast (with tons of cocoa) Janira Gavix races down the hall, her blond hair flying in her excitement. “I just heard you made it back—congratulations! It sounds like everything went, well, about as well as you could do. Come with me, I have something for each of you.”
She pauses and hands a scroll over to Kyra. "Kyra, Meresiel said you had to meet her for another mission. I didn't know she was into growing mistletoe?"
Kyra reads the scroll, blushes and stands up. "It was an honor to meet all of you. But I must excuse myself. Sarenrae is always busy." She winks at Roark and walks off into the crowd.
The halfling woman leads the way into a small office and distributes finely crafted wooden boxes. Within each, a gleaming compass lid emblazoned with the Glyph of the Open Road and an engraved name lies upon a cushion of silk.
You notice there is one extra compass, with the name Finn Gumshoe engraved. "I know you will not forget Finn's sacrifice, and neither will we. Truth be told, I was lucky the minotaur didn't lop my head off that day in the Kortos Mountains. Not everyone gets this chance."
She pauses for a bit before turning to the other compasses. “I’m not sure if you’ve picked up your own wayfinders yet, but when you do, you should have ones that prove that you belong. Now it’s official,” she beams. “Welcome to the Pathfinder Society.”
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The tea tasted bitter. She could feel the leafy remnants against her tongue. The leaves steeped for too long. And was that... honey? It drowns out the natural sweetness. At least they didn't ruin the croissant.
Bella misses home already. This coffeehouse- coffee, ugh- tried to make tea. Or maybe peasants like their tea with leaf pulp and a liter of honey, she's not sure.
Sis, focus on the mission, alright?
Bella frowns and looks at the teacup, focusing on the reflection. The waiter walks by, notices her gaze on the teacup, and decides to leave her alone. Bella always complains about some part of the breakfast, comparing it to her home cooking. She also talks to teacups, pocket mirrors and she demands the seating next to the glass windows so she can stare at them, too. But she tips extremely well.
"Yes, yes. The Society said they would help. They confirmed the blade IS made of cold-forged iron. But they are holding onto it for safe keeping." She sneers with suspicion. "They assigned me a group to travel with yesterday- most likely to keep tabs on me."
Well, they did need to save you from that gang. The gang almost fed you to their hounds. Just be careful, sis. I'll be able to visit you anywhere, soon. And take good notes!
"I love you too, sister. Speak to you soon." Bella shoves paranoia away and holds onto happiness for a bit longer. When the waiter arrives, she pulls out her purse and plops a gold piece. "Keep the change, my friend. If you hear anymore rumors, you know where to find me." She stands up, curtsies, and heads for the door.
After a deadly start to their Pathfinder careers the group of coworkers head out to a local watering hole Stitch has been fond of.
The Red Dragon Inn, or so its been renamed recently, is filled with a mix of local dock workers and travelers from around the world trying to find rooms and fill bellies especially now in the late afternoon.
"Whatcha need?" Asks the old fisherman that man's the kegs behind the bar. He doesn't wait for an answer before waving his hand and hobbling over to refill another's beer and pointing another couple to a No Vacancy sign at the base of a set of stairs.
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Her supposed teammates were supposed to be in the Grand Lodge, but Venture-Captain Gavrix said they left to relax. Said they needed to decompress after their mission. Also, she said they did wait until two past noon. Bella was in the coffeehouse for at least half an hour afterwards.
Was she late? No, they left early. Bella leaves in a huff, at least she had a lead.
Bella tried to dress down, really. Candice even convinced her not to dye her armor. And yet every smelly sailor at the docks paused. Like they've never seen a delightful woman skip down the road before.
The Red Dragon Inn. Maybe their water won't be too filthy.
The band plays a sea shanty about the Lost Mermaid of Irrisen. She's never heard of it before but it reminiscent of Wandering Taxman of Oppara. Simple, the rhythm is simple to pick up.
And then one of the patrons stands up and begins dancing. Either he can hold his liquor or he's still sober. He's quite good, actually.
The seats are too dirty for her to sit down, so she remains standing and moves closer to the dancer.
She gets on stage, taps her feet and falls in step with him, managing to keep up. "I must admit, I didn't expect someone of your skill out here." She adds a quick flourish.
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At a nearby table, a thin young woman begins to applaud. You can see that she's dressed rather plainly in a set of worn but clean explorer's clothes with a backpack and a couple of basic - and brand new, by the looks of them - weapons sitting on the floor at her feet.
"Meow?"
Suddenly, a black cat peers up and over the table; it seems to be sitting in the chair next to the woman.
"Yes kitty, they did a good job, didn't they?" the woman answers before turning her attention back to the two performers on the stage. "That was wonderful, Roark! You too, Miss!"
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"House Sidare, given name Bella." She curtsies. Of course, the best dancer is a flirt. Quite brazen, though. I'd slap him then duel him then kiss him if I had the chance. Bella smiles.
"Pardon me, are you... Mister Thunderbird, given name Roark? I was told you would stand out easily as a tengu dancer. And this is... Miss Rosemont, given name Fran? They were right, her cat is adorable." Bella can't help but bend down to scratch the cat's chin.
Animals are so simple minded. I envy their ignorance.
"I believe I missed Mister Steeltoe. His loud contraption ran past me as I left the Grand Lodge." Probably getting drunk somewhere. She corrects her smirk into a polite smile. "Nonetheless, the Pathfinder Society assigned me to your group. They said I would be much safer." She exhales some frustration.
"So... I assume we are waiting for more to arrive?"
A number of patrons and staff at the Inn pause to watch the performance, including the barkeep. "Quite the pair. Maybe you two could stop on by on the regular, after the dinner crowd thins out?" He slides a couple glasses of house wine in your direction.
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"Prrt!"
In typical cat fashion, Mister Midnight revels in the attention being paid to him - after giving Bella's hand a customary sniff, of course. He already knows Roark so there's no issue there.
I'm glad most of the people we meet seem to like animals, Fran. Or at least cats.
As you engage with Mister Midnight and watch his interactions, he seems like a typical cat...though you get the feeling that he might be a bit more intelligent than the average feline specimen.
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Nicole finds herself inside the Red Dragon Inn. She is a red-haired female human. She is accessorized with some weapons and stoppered flasks in a neat arrangement with a backpack on her back and a satchel of tools at her side.
She watches the tengu and a woman dancing with the playing band amusing. She claps her hand quietly as a sign of compliment to their performance. She then looks around to find a chair to sit. The place is too crowded.
She finally finds a table and sits beside the female human where a cat suddenly appears. She looks at the cat adorably.
Cute, she thinks.