Ethyl approaches the chosen door, a sign on the wall reading "Doctor Arosh Chawaar, Physician". The door is also ajar, but it opens silently at the half-elf's touch. Inside is decorated with rather realistic and disturbing sketches and prints of brains of assorted races pinned to the walls or lying in piles of thin folios. These pictures depict traumas and deformities found in the brains of humanoids. Unlike the main library, this office does not seem ransacked, with the desk drawers closed and piles of notes still piled somewhat neatly. Underneath the antiseptic smell there is a faint lingering of incense.
There is a desk at the far wall, a few still organized bookshelves, and a display case from which the mucus seems to have originated. The glass cabinet doors are shattered, revealing two glass jars also ruptured. There is a shallow puddle of the yellow-green liquid in the base of these jars, and the mucus drips from this down the cabinet to the floor. From this spot, somethings crawled out of this office into parts unknown. Spots on the cabinet's shelves imply other jars or containers once sat in a collection of varying sizes.
Ethyl surveys the room and is puzzled. ”Strange. This looks like it might have been a specimen case, the specimens were taken but the containers were opened or broken and then the preservatives were trailed elsewhere. The room has not been otherwise looted.”
She moves to the desk and bookcases and searches for anything of note.
Enoch's blue eyes follow the slime trail to its original habitat. He looks at Ethyl.
Probably left of its own accord. Rent too high perhaps.
The Paladin also enters the office/someone's spooky basement to peer about.
Ethyl, reaching the desk and opening a drawer, finds something that piques her interest. There is a worn, thick, rust colored leather folio containing the later drafts of Doctor Arosh Chawaar's thesis. Ethyl's medical mind is able to discern that it proposes new treatments for hydrocephalus, or build up of spinal fluids in the brain. The margins are full to bursting with notes and edits from a Dr Anya Chawaar, Arosh's sister.
Enoch finds a silver censer with five small cones of incense remaining. It is patterned with scales and swirls, the censer resembling an oil lamp.
Ethyl wrinkles her nose as she reads the folio, "It's a medical journal about hydrocephalus, fluid build up on the brain. I don't understand the majority of it, I will study it more later. It was written by Dr. Arosh Chawaar and the marginalia has notes from Dr. Anya Chawaar."
She regards the silver censer with some amount of interest but doesn't say anything about it.
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Alvar drums their fingers on their spellbook. "Troubling. Whatever was inside the specimen case was either able to escape, as our swordsman friend says, or... something else broke in and took it." They consider for a few moments. "I'm not certain which would be more troubling."
They look to Ethyl. "I'm not familiar with the matter myself, but it seems logical to find here..." They sigh softly. "But I don't think it will be of immediate use to us... unless there's something coded in there, but even then, it's not immediate."
Realizing something, they chant a brief spell to scan for magical auras.
"Is... a brain in a jar something that happens? Perhaps some kind of ooze? Both?" Iosif asks himself, and the others as he investigates.
"The silver censer is masterfully made and worth at least 150 gp to a collector. The incense is common enough, maybe 5-7 sp per cone and can be stored in the bottom half which serves as storage for more incense cones. Guess we have about 150gp to spend if we ever get out of here."
"This thesis would be extremely valuable to the medical field. While the notes would take... what, months to verify? and another draft or two is needed, the final draft might be worth around 800 gp!... to most medical institutions or scholars. Chawaar may pay more to have this returned if Arosh has passed."
"So if we get out of here, we have enough to start a life, at least?"
Enoch stands still as the Intelligent seeming folk appraise, recall knowledge and cast magical spells. The Paladin holds himself steady for their next direction to explore.....
Ethyl raises an eyebrow as Iosif questions the legitimacy of studying excised organs and then immediately deciphers the research notes. She responds, "Quite, though hopefully we can do better than just start a new life."
Ethyl moves to the southern door, inspects it in her usual untrusting manner. "We might as well check all of these."
Approaching the door, Ethyl finds it unlocked but closed. There appear to be no traps, but another skittering sound can be heard, followed harshly by a shushing.
Alvar gives Iosif a look of surprise. "I didn't realize you were so knowledgeable about medicine." They say mildly. After a moment, they frown. "There's something magical to our south." The planestouched points in its general direction. "Be careful. It could be something an enemy is wearing, a hostile spell, or a magical trap."
They follow Ethyl carefully, listening quietly in turn, then murmur something into their spell.
They lift their hands, hoping that this time their spells may be of some sort of use.
Ethyl whispers, "There is something in there. Get ready."
When everyone is in position she opens the door.
"I did not either. If I wagered a guess, I branch out into many things nonmagical. Your motions and the words on that page make absolutely no sense to me."
Iosif loads his gun with a standard bullet at Ethyl's words.
This office is labeled to a one "M. Barnellus", and as the door opens the rank of decaying meat and vermin musk wafts out. This office is especially damaged by the earthquake, the shelves and desk covered in rubble and tossed items. However, there is also a crack in the floor large enough for a Small creature to crawl through that cuts into the southern wall. Laying near the hole is the corpse of a man that sends a shiver of deja vu through all of you, despite not knowing why.
A ratling stands on a desk, surrounded by torn pages and ruined books. Two dire rats stand guard in the office. As the door opens, the ratling finishes summoning another rat swarm. "You! You puppet-servants of madness! You will not stop-hinder me!"
Ethyl's disgust and fear transforms into hatred and rage as she enthusiastically rushes the mass of rats.
Ethyl's rage at the vermin once again becoming a threat powers her through to rip and tear into the unnatural swarm, scattering the tiny creatures and ending the threat. The ratling shrieks in fear and fury, holding up two fingers and launching twin bolts of pale green magical energy at Ethyl.
The [green] dire rat scurries up and tries to bite Ethyl but her enhanced dexterity keeps her out of reach.
The sylph thinks she is prepared for whatever is beyond the door, but still gasps as Ethyl is struck. Her instinct takes over and she calls her friends to help the half-elf.
Iosif takes a shot at the ratling, aiming to disrupt the rat swarms. He then shoves a cartridge into his musket.
Again, the sylph grunts, puts her hands on her ears and stares daggers at Iosif when the musket goes off.
Alvar groans. "More ratlings?" They shake their head, summoning up their protective magics to surround themself and their compatriots. This one seems more communicative, though.
Iosif's musket once again flashes its light and thunder, its bullet tearing through the ratling's shoulder. As the ratling squeals in pain, the [red] dire rat scrambles forward and attempts to bite Ethyl. However, the awkward angle it approached with denies its teeth purchase.
Ethyl glares down at the rats now nipping at her heels, she does not like it. She comments to Alvar, ”This one looks different from the others. Be careful.”
Enoch Readies to rush into the room to confront the Blue Ratling!
Ethyl once again tears through the rats, her claws and fangs glistening with red blood. She steps into the room to gain access and finish off the second rat, allowing Enoch to approach and stand before the better-equipped ratling.
The ratling shrieks as Enoch approaches and attacks. As the paladin strikes, he will flee the melee and climb up the walls and onto the ceiling where he tries to remain out of melee range.
"Leave me be-be gone!"
He casts a spell onto Enoch.
Enoch smiles sadly at the ratling.
Enoch's strike would have been true, but an arcane flash deflects his sword as the ratling flees to his current position on the ceiling ten feet up, outrunning the missed AoO.
Iosif fires again, striking the creature square in the chest as the light in the room grows dimmer as his unholy symbol sucks in a flash of light.
The sylph steps to get a better view of the room to see Enoch inside locked in melee with the creature. She reaches for her shawl and focuses on the man, then lets out a slight gasp.
Protective Luck (Su): The witch can cause fate to twist so that it benefits a creature within 30 feet for 1 round. [b]Whenever that creature is targeted by an effect that requires an attack roll, including weapon attacks, the attacker must roll twice and take the worse result.[/ooc] At 8th level and 16th level, the duration of this hex is extended by 1 round. A witch cannot use this ability on herself. Hexes that affect the fortune hex, such as cackle, also affect protective luck.
"Excuse me." Alvar says politely as they slip past Ethyl, stepping into the room. Four limbs on the ground. The grease won't do much. Summoning a creature... no. It might take too long.
Instead, they step forwards, incanting a swift spell and tapping Enoch on the shoulder. "This should protect you from their threats such as this creature." They tell him.
They pause, looking up at the ratling, thinking quickly. "If you surrender and tell us what you know of this place, we can talk!" They say, only somewhat impulsively.
As the bullet rips into the ratling clinging to the ceiling like a spider, it almost loses its grip, dangling by claws dug into the broken ceiling rather than whatever magic allowed it to so easily scale the walls. "Please!" It cries. "No more! Don't kill-slay me! I'll talk-squeal! Anything you want to know! I'll talk!"
The ratling crawls along the ceiling to the wall, slowly, to reach the floor and then to climb atop the desk he was seated on before. He holds up his humanoid hands, his black rodent-like eyes glinting in the darkness. "Forgive me, masters. I was afraid-fearing you were more of the Tatterman's yellow cult. Longshanks on this side of this prison are insane-crazy."
Enoch's sword lowers as he nods at the creature's reasonable responses to the situation.
He ain't wrong.
The Paladin seems interested in what it has to say...
Tatterman's yellow cult. Tell us more....
The sylphs tilts her head to the side curiously. "Oh. It... speaks..."
She seems set aback, then processes the situation and sighs in frustration. She looks around the room while listening to what the creature has to say.
Alvar sighs inwardly at how easily the creature surrendered. Can we trust it? No. But we might be able to gather some information from it before it betrays us. They consider their own questions for a few moments.
"Do you know what happened here, that you and so many others of your kind are on this plane?" They start.
Ethyl regards the creature with contempt and backs away from its nest and the corpses of the rats. She asks, ”I thought Ulvar Zandalus was the leader of the Apostles in Orpiment? Perhaps a sobriquet. By the way the Apostles dress in yellow and have a yellow flame inscribed in chalk on their foreheads, to avoid further misunderstandings.”
"Ulvar Zandalus ... oh, yes. He is head-leader of the Tatterman's forces, but he is minion-slave. It is Tatterman that kills-creates. People go to sleep, Tatterman slip-sneaks into dreams, kill-makes monsters. Ulvar Zandalus serves Tatterman, finding survivor-sacrifices and dressing them in yellow. Tatterman came after the land shook."
The ratling nurses his bullet wound, an angry red canyon in his side. He hunches over, shrinking his form to appear smaller, not looking anyone in the eye.
"My tribe has lived-lurked under land for many-many generations, since witch lit candles. The shake-quake ruined our nests, driving us up. Only four of us survived. We found prisoners and guards mad-mad when we arrived. I had others search-seek answers in book hall-" He points to the library. "-while I searched this man's collection."
He shudders. "My tribe has legend-story of thing deep under nests. Thing that causes night fears. It dreamed, shaking earth. It was what shook land, shook fort-prison. Something guard-prisoners did gave it dreams. They made Tatterman and his friend-monsters arrive."
Iosif stares coldly into the ratlings eyes, unholy symbol still dimming. "Don't try to escape. Unsure about our status as cult members, but we serve no Tatter-man."
Enoch nod in the correct response segments as the creature explained it's position, plans, and possibilities.
The Paladin taps Ethyl on the shoulder.
Could you please write this down? My hands are busy holding this battered longsword as precaution.
Enoch looks at the surroundings.
The Paladin returns his blue eyes to...
What's your name, friend. I am Enoch', called the Wanderer. If I may, what Ancestry are you?
Tatterman... Alvar ponders, trying to determine whether the thing that the ratling describes sounds like anything familiar to them.
The land shaking - the earthquake, obviously, but something dreaming below? Some sort of local myth to the ratling nest? Could something large have dreamt us into the Dimension of Dreams? Or brought the Dreamlands to the mortal plane?
"He is a ratling." Alvar explains to Enoch. "Magical creatures that look, well, like that. They are able to use scrolls, summon swarms of rats, and speak with animals... some can cast spells themselves."
They consider the information they have. "How do you know about the Tatterman?"
"Name's Ratch, Ratch Mamby." The ratling bows his head. "I won't run. Can't outrun your weapon."
The Tatterman is a bogeyman of ancient Sarkoris, a messenger of sorts from the dark forgotten gods of that lost kingdom. He was seen as a divine assassin, enforcing the will of the gods. A theory has floated around academics of lost Sarkoris that the Tatterman was a cannibal doppelganger before becoming a favored servant of the deities of the Dark Tapestry.
As for the Dimension of Dreams, Alvar is becoming more and more convinced a ritual was cast to tear a hole in the veil between the waking Material Plane and the Dimension of Dreams. What ritual could do this they don't know yet.
As Alvar asked about the Tatterman, Ratch shudders and glances around the dark room. "He has many names among those who know-fear him: Shredman, Every-All, Final Dream. He has lurked-haunted this isle for long-long time. His victims die in dreams, returning as monsters - flesh eaters and shapeshifters. Every-All was said-believed to be cannibal shapechanger, so his victims become like him. Final Dream has served wicked monsters, such as the isle's witch and ..." He looks around once more, his bare skin covered in goosebumps as he whispers: "...the King in Yellow."
"Learned this much from listening to yellow-robed prisoners, from reading in book-hall, from myths of my tribe." He wrings his hands, clearly fearful of more than the five of you.
The sylphs keeps standing in the doorframe, only tangentially focusing on the conversation happening. She is instead eyeing the hallway and the office where their files are located. Supposedly.
Ulvar Zandalu works for this Tatterman who works (or aligned even) for this King in Yellow. And you received this information by reading books, dropping eaves and being really smart. Fair.
Enoch's blue eyes turn to his conspiracy company.
I was really hoping that we could just click our heels together.
The Tortured Crusader sighs
Pharasma took a pathetic Paladin like me for a reason. I suppose ending these folks that eat people is a good start.
Iosif nods along, trying to remember anything about this "King in Yellow".