GM Harrow’s Curse of the Crimson Throne - AE

Game Master GM Harrow

In the total, eerie silence that falls as the spell takes hold, Shrike bats away the dying monster's knife as easily as the shape of his bloodstained last words, and bares her teeth beneath the mask. Thorn's point flashes through the air in a precise and deadly arc, skewering the hated predator between itself and Pava's oncoming fists. Key-Lock Killer. Kidnapper. Torturer. Poisoner. Murderer. But still mortal. Not a nightmare or a demon or an untouchable spirit. Only a man. Only a man, after all.

Thorn v. Rolth Lamm, flanking: 1d20 + 12 + 2 - 2 ⇒ (16) + 12 + 2 - 2 = 28
Damage, Thorn, Lethal Grace, lesser hidden strike: 1d8 + 4 + 4 + 4d4 ⇒ (7) + 4 + 4 + (3, 1, 4, 1) = 24

If that drops him:
She pauses not at all, but rips the point free, shifts her grip to the end of the spear and lashes out over his slumping shoulders at the wounded cultist who is still trying to knife Pava. Full attack action, with a swift action in the middle to switch out of Spear Dancing Style before making the iterative attack.
Thorn (iterative) v. Purple: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (8) + 7 = 15
Damage, Thorn, Lethal Grace: 1d8 + 4 + 4 ⇒ (5) + 4 + 4 = 13

Rolth Lamm falls with a last inaudible gasp, crumpling to the floor in a gush of blood. His dead eyes stare at Shrike's boots as his head lolls to one side.

The remaining physicians are no match for the combat skills and repressed fury of the party, who makes short work of them.

"Strong willed little pimple, I'll give him that," Shane observes, and almost immediately begins looking for magic and , though he has concerns, signs of a cure or other advancements. Perhaps Rolth also has notes?

Perception: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (19) + 3 = 22

"This fellow was potent and strong willed. Unless we have a need of the body for evidence I might suggest we burn it to ashes to reduce the chances of him being revived as undead."

Audria shivers as Shane mentions Rolth coming back as an undead monster.

"We should probably do that for all of them, shouldn't we," she asks quietly. "Who knows what foul magics have been put on this place."

One of the necromancer's many oversized pockets does contain a sheaf of pages covered in a cramped handwriting that seem to document not only his initial observations that some Varisians seem to be immune to the blood veil, but also meticulous experiments aimed at developing a strain of the plague that turns its victims into animated corpses upon death.

Loot: On Rolth: scroll of teleport, wand of magic missile (CL 3rd, 43 charges), +1 dagger, belt of mighty constitution +2, cloak of resistance +1, headband of vast intelligence +2, ring of protection +1, unguent of timelessness (6), mwk thieves’ tools, fine mortician’s tools (worth 100 gp), 6 black onyxes (worth 150 gp), spellbook (contains all cantrips save those of the illusion and transmutation schools plus detect thoughts, grease, ice storm, magic missile, and 2d4 + 2 ⇒ (1, 1) + 2 = 4 additional spells of the necromancy and enchantment schools for each level from 1st to 4th, Shane's choice on the specifics), extensive notes on blood veil, 50 gp, 5 sp.
On the cultists: potion of cure light wounds, +1 breastplate, +1 scythe, iron key, silver holy symbol of Urgathoa.

Shane carefully and meticulously identifies each and every item, in calm academic manner...

Bluff Roll: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (2) + 13 = 15

Then his mask grows hopeful "These notes might be the best prize of all, for the city, not for us. More research required but we might have more clues to a cure."

Hard breathing inaudible even to herself, Shrike resists the urge to paw at her own ears like a distressed animal in response to the sudden deafness. As the last cultist falls the mask turns to face the others one by one, ending on Pava, and she nods, pausing for a moment, huge eyes appearing open but head bowed. Thank you, Hunter, for blessing this hunt with a wizard's arrogance, and with comrades to depend on when I fall short.

Then she shifts her grip on the spear to one hand, and with the other grabs the vile necromancer's collar, dragging his dead weight by main force out to where Kandru and Shane must still be able to hear, because they kept casting their spells. There, once she can hear her own breathing again, she drops the bloodied corpse to the stone floor so Shane can begin his inspection. Can't move his token, but Shrike wants to take Rolth out of the silence spell's area. Until Kandru declares dismissing it or 8 rounds pass, we can't hear each other talk in that circle.

She wait for Pava to emerge as well, until she is sure the tall Shoanti can hear her. The mask turns to make it clear where her gaze is, her mutter barely above the edge of audible. "Got that flask?"

Nips at Heels nods, visibly relaxing as the sound of their own heavy breathing returns. Their normally sure fingers fumble with the flask, nerves jagged with adrenaline and overpowering relief. "A good job I've kept this nicely topped off." They offer it to Shrike with what probably counts as a smile. "Do the honors then? I've made my libations after all."

"Whatever we do with the bodies, we should do it quickly. We don't want another group of enemies to get the drop on us like this lot did," Elric says, as he quickly swaps out his breastplate for one of the cultists' magically enhanced ones.

Slightly better protected, he covers the doors, ready to shoot anyone who enters.

Shrike takes the flask with a wordless nod. Despite her weeks-ago suggestion of emptying it on Rolth Lamm's corpse, she now ignores the body as though it is unworthy of her notice; as though it isn't even there.

"I wasn't there when I should've been. Told them to go out drinking without me." She studies the scratched and dinged outside of the flask of alcohol, seeming not to care that she has confirmed Pava's accusation that she was part of Gaekhen's theatrical company.

"Don't think he's been hanging around hoping for vengeance. Too much like his grandfather for that. But wherever he is, he'd approve that no one else will ever be made abomination by that one. So here's for Gaekhen. Who was brave enough to follow his brightness. And strong enough to believe in people. Even when they didn't deserve it." Shrike unscrews the cap of the flask and pours the contents in a steady stream onto a part of the floor that is packed earth, well away from any pieces of the bodies that Audria's wash of holy power had cleansed.

When it is empty she hands the metal container back to Pava.

As the party deals with the last of the necromancer's minions, Kandru nods, making a motion to dismiss her spell - she thinks better of it at the last second, however, moving to the glass separating the reanimated bodies in the walls from the rest of the room and silently breaking it with the stock of her crossbow before releasing the spell. "My apologies for the short notice regarding the spell, but it seemed prudent. Is anyone seriously injured?"

The Justicar gives the evildoers' gear a cursory glance, but decides to leave the spoils to the others - there's little of use to her in the pile of mage's equipment, and she hopes her compatriots will be able to make better use of the various bespelled items. While the others work, she moves over to the first of the twitching corpses immured in the wall, now free of the glass divider. Methodically making her way along the walls, she stills each corpse with bolts from her crossbow - she seems to take more of an interest in the work than her new companions might expect from the normally stoic Justicar, taking care to ensure that each of the mockeries of life are truly destroyed rather than merely disabled, and as each one goes limp, she stops to whisper a brief prayer that the unfortunate souls bound to these creatures be judged as they lived rather than for how they were desecrated.

The animated remains, although repulsive, are harmless once released. They cannot do more than writhe and scrape at the floor and the glass.

If you're ready to move on, let me know where you want to go. We have two doors to the north, two doors to the south, and one to the east.

While Kandru deals with the heretical abomination of an "art" installation, Audria moves the dead into a near row and says a prayer over them, praying that their souls will pass on. Once she's finished, she thinks back over what Rolth had said.

"What did he mean by what he said to Pava? The bit when he was talking about Gaekhen and-- and--," Her quiet voice trails off before she shudders and hugs herself. Without the adrenaline of the fight and with an all too vivid imagination, she finds the images floating through her mind disturbing.

"My apologies for the short notice regarding the spell, but it seemed prudent. Is anyone seriously injured?"

"It was smart. He might've popped away otherwise." That was what she would keep a scroll of teleport around for if she were a frogmaker, anyway: a last-ditch escape route. Shrike merely shakes her head in response to Kandru's other question and begins cleaning her spear with a weapon rag while waiting for Shane to peer closely at each item in turn and Elric to get one of the magic breastplates adjusted and refastened on his shoulders. There is something almost meditative about her practiced motions, though it takes hardly any time at all.

"What did he mean by what he said to Pava? The bit when he was talking about Gaekhen and-- and--"

Wordlessly, Shrike uses the weapon rag to pick up the curious key-shaped dagger the necromancer had tried in his final moments to stab her with. (I assume this is the +1 dagger.) She is careful not to even touch the flat of its blade with her bare hands, in case it has been poisoned. Then she reaches into the magical backpack, shaking off the cloth it is wrapped in to produce the hiltless key-shaped dagger blade they had found in the Dead Warrens. Shrike holds them out together for Audria to compare.

The complete dagger engraved to "an inspiration of a father" that had been found with Gaedren Lamm's treasures, which had been either one of the actual daggers of the Key-Lock Killer or a very good replica, had been sold on before they ever found this broken blade. With only memory to go on, she could not be certain they were identical to the first, or to the design carved in Brother Theolan's chest after his murder. But these two are right here to see.

There is only one conclusion: Rolth Lamm himself had been the Key-Lock Killer. He had thought of himself as an artist, and his serial murders as art. He had not stopped his years-long spree due to being killed, maimed, or caught for some other crime, as most in the city had long supposed, but out of simple caution after a close shave. If he was to be believed, anyway.

Yet hadn't Lamm also said to Pava something along the lines that they were too young to be personally angry about his Key-Lock murders? If those crimes were all over a decade old in his view, that meant he hadn't thought of the invasion at the Sanctuary as his. So he was— "Taking credit. But not for the Brother."

Pava sighs, their shoulders slumping. "Even when you think it's all tied up in a bow..." They shake themself back to fierce alertness. "Tomorrow's trouble then. Let's have done with today's."