Ethyl rushes past the oneirogen to get on the other side. Raking her claws at it as she does.
Why have thou forsaken me!
The Tortured Crusader seems to be having a flashback moment of shame and guilt!
His magical shortsword thankfully has it's own agenda!
"Probably because smiting non-good implies smiting Pharasmins," Iosif remarks with an unconscious smirk at the concept.
Enoch's breakdown and Iosif's mocking nearly distracts Ethyl from her terror, she even snorts.
Another oneirogen falls to the party, leaving the third. swings at Enoch, being the loudest: "Be silent! You must not wake the Tatterman!" Nyarai's hex wards the dutiful paladin, wailing arms unable to find purchase on his bloodstained armor.
Satisfied with the protection delivered by Nyarai, Enoch nods his appreciation.
The Paladin simply smiles at Iosif, as he turns casually to the final oneirogen to end its existence!
He frowns.
Pharasma is fickle no doubt.
Ethyl maneuvers closer to the rubble and tears into the remaining oneirogen.
Iosif fires away once more
He manages to successfully hit an oneirogen.
Again, the sylph takes a step forward, her eyes growing more and more wild with each passing moment. The air shimmers again, this time around Ethyl, and the witch's wild cackling echoes through the room.
The final oneirogen fell to the floor with a wail that got caught in his throat as Ethyl tore it out. As he fell, it was silent for a moment. Then - slowly - the fog outside began to dissipate. A star even blinked into view as the fog groaned and drew back, revealing more of the grounds. Those horrid shapes you'd caught glimpses of retreat with the fog, unwilling to be seen clearly by the waking world. Somethings you catch glimpses of.
A black thin gangling thing with wings silently flapping across the sky.
Mounds of roiling flesh with stretched faces gaping and gnashing as they roll and inch away.
A skeletal unicorn with blood dripping from its horn and jaws.
As these things fled into the amber veil, the ground and the asylum on it began to shake. Just for a moment, but enough to dislodge the precarious attempts to shore up the ceiling here.
Nyarai watches the last of the oneirogens fall, notices the fog receding, and walks to the nearest window. She looks at the fog slowly moving away from the asylum when she notices the shapes. Her face switches from slight amusement to curiosity to realisation to shock in a matter of seconds. "Maybe...", she takes a few steps back from the window before the tremors start. "The ceiling. Watch out!", she yells at the room, and quickly puts her forearms above her head to shield her skull from rocks.
Alvar is awoken by the sudden deluge of crushing stone, which slam into them, crushing bone and knocking the wind out of them. Jolting awake, they catch sight of the fascinating shapes in the fog, but put them aside as the pain shudders through their body.
When the veil of fog becomes diaphanous Ethyl’s nerves begin to calm and her heart begins to slow. Only to spike again as she lays her eyes on the naked horrors held within it. Her mind reels from the insanity of it all, she’s unable to reconcile these things' existence with her theory of the world, shattering some ordered part of her mind that she uses to prop up against the darkness.
Luckily for the Doctor her proprioception did not rely on her conscious mind and she maneuvered out of the path of the falling structure without thinking about it and suffers only minor bruising from the debris.
Enoch wobbles....
Stumbling a bit to stand next to Nyarai, the Paladin's blue eyes simply stare at the retreating fog, terrors, evil.
I've been promised that we shall meet again.
Turning his attention to his suffering companions, the Tortured Crusader seems at a loss as to any aid other than a comforting pat on one's back (which he absently does)....
It seems an evil has been dislodged from this place. Once you are steady we should continue to clear it of remaining nightmares.
The sylph did actually take some hits from the angry, stone throwing ceiling. Surely, her forearms and back will manifest bruises in the next few hours. But some scars are not obvious at first sight, perhaps with the exception of a thousand mile stare. Nyarai was initially torn out of her stupor by rumbling and falling rocks. Once the dust has settled, she coughs and looks around the place. She checks her bruises and her toes before looking at Alvar, making sure the cambion is not injured or buried under the rubble. "Are you okay?", she asks with a hushed voice. When she speaks, she looks towards the window, as if to make sure she did not attract the attention of... well, something.
Iosif narrowly avoids everything. "I am fine," he says as he goes to heal Alvar's wounds, bullet embedding itself in the rock in the meantime as he says the same platitudes about "now not being your time" and "you are not dying to this", as if it's merely the manner of injury that displeases him, and not that Alvar is wounded..
The healing energy too, to Alvar, feels distinctly... planar, somehow, especially to a tiefling who has hellish energy flowing through them as a native outsider.
A stimata begins seeping from the Tortured Crusader's blue eyes.....
Ethyl mumbles something, ”Icanstill…,” before trailing off. She stands up and regards the oneirogen corpses discompassionately. She finds her surgeon’s tools and begins to study the remaining tissue, searching for answers. She ignores her surroundings, for now.
Iosif goes and looks through the papers, hoping his positive energy doesn't leave many signs as to its origins... but he seems incredibly distracted by it.
"Ow." Alvar grunts, distinctly undignified, as their eyes flicker open and the jolt of not-quite-pleasant healing energy surges through them. Reminds me of home. Only worse. They pause to consider that thought for a moment. Was I healed magically often back home? It was something of a luxury for most, they know - reserved for those with the money to pay the priests or the influence to demand their service. Slowly, they sit up. I don't feel like I was wealthy...
They register Nyarai's words after a few moments, and they offer her a wry smile. "I think I shall try to avoid standing in the fumes of an oneirogen in the future. That was distinctly unpleasant... especially the roof falling on me."
They look to Iosif speculatively, then shake their head. "Thank you, Iosif. I appreciate your help." Their brows furrow slightly as they look up at the skies without. Troubling. Swiftly, they take inventory of their compatriots.
Deciding that they're able enough to work, the hellspawn takes the chance to collect the fluttering papers.
As the party recollects themselves, the papers fluttering about garner their attention. The slow, twirling patterns and flights the sketches take are almost hypnotic, lazy trails that spiral and draw the viewer in.
Enoch's blue eyes lazily follow the floating papers ...
Another Haunt connections to Zandalus and his sketches. Probably be around a bit...
Alvar nods their agreement with Enoch's assessment. "Take care." They say to the others. "It'll keep coming back until Zandalus is dead... or perhaps recovered from whatever afflicts him." They chant a quick spell and unleash their ray at the haunt, repeating it until it is banished for the time being.
When she approaches the group again, Nyarai seems shaken by whatever she had seen through the window. "The dislodging thought is curious. Perhaps the entire facility has been 'dislodged' from its original position and we are now... Somewhere else."
Ethyl focuses on her self appointed work but the routine of setting her mind to a problem helps her find her footing. With her samples taken and her initial theories noted in her formula book, she looks up at the strange pages, watching them dance for a moment.
This haunt proves the most benign of those encountered thus far, unable to ensnare the party as they scout ahead. The hallway turns to the west as the fog continues to clear, leading to a long westward hall plastered with more sketches in yellowed parchment and charcoal vistas. This are nowhere as fine of work as those framed in Losandro's office but as the party nears them they cannot help but be drawn to the fine lines and figures seen in these alien landscapes as single scenes are extended into dozens of pieces of parchment.
Five figures are seen in seemingly unconnected locations. A desert caravanserai beneath a moon very close to the earth. A ruined city with three titanic standing stones looming towards black stars. A doll-like woman dances with a masked and robed figure amid a decadent but decaying party. Things crawl up from beneath a manor on a hill and feast on humans. These scenes continue to plaster the walls, floor, and ceiling of this hallway and into the final chamber at its end.
Ethyl regards the sketches with no small amout of trepidation as she cautiously wanders through the hall. She begins to hum a forgotten tune absent-mindedly, her mouth and throat knew the motion even if her mind did not.
Even though a primal part of her screamed to turn around she inevitably put one foot in front of the other. Knowing that horrors lay behind her as well as in front.
She caressed a single green vial, ready to drink it if needed. Her final trick.
Alvar looks over the image, tilting their head thoughtfully. "Fascinating." They say. "It seems like... is this Zandalus' work? Regardless, it seems as though we were expected... and someone knows more about us than we do." After a moment, they shake their head. "Which is troubling, on reflection."
How are they holding up? The wizard looks over their companions, measuring their reaction.
Shrugging at the endearing Haunt, the Paladin continues down the hallway, leading the group further amongst the disappearing fog. Following the long westward hall, the Tortured Crusader notices the walls plastered with more sketches in yellowed parchment and charcoal vistas.
I'm interested in who is responsible for posting all of these?
Standing directly in front of each that seemingly depicts them in possibly Past,(future?) poses and places of currently unknown origin.
Is he prophetic? Or did we already visit these strange places?
Enoch's blue eyes look down at his current attire, while smirking at him in the paintings.
I am hoping the former. I look pimp in these.
"We already know we have a shared past. Perhaps Ulver Zandalus was involved as well. But these images are...", Nyarai stops mid-sentence, shudders for a hot second, and mumbles something under her breath. She examines one of the papers before contiuning. "The first recent thing we remember is a shared dream. Maybe it's like that.", she shrugs.
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At the end of the hall lies an amber lit room. Comprising multiple toppled cells, this chamber looks as though it could collapse at any moment. Thousands of parchment scraps cover the walls, as if in a pitiful attempt to plaster the countless cracks. The flickering of dozens of candles illuminates the artwork’s subject matter: innumerable forlorn, surreal landscapes stretching into bleak infinities. The multitude of visions transforms the room into a threshold of nightmares.
Scenes the party recognize turn to vistas they do not. The memory of the thing that hunted them returns to their minds, something changing shape to take on their fears and nightmares. Imagery repeats: swirling skies, empty cities, towering monoliths, and threatening figures cloaked by mist.
Upon a makeshift throne of mattresses and linens, sitting like a Keleshite or Vudran mystic, sits a Varisian with remarkably straight white hair. He wears multiple patients’ gowns that have been shredded and stitched to create a layered robe. His arms and much of his chest are exposed, revealing lines of charcoal and yellow chalk that streak his flesh, the most prominent of which appears to be a yellow flame on his forehead. His eyes are closed as if in meditation and has not seemed to have noticed the party's approach.
Alvar takes in the room, their eyes narrowing as faint memories dance through their mind. Those places... they're all one. Refracted through many minds, perhaps? Or some sort of spatial distortion?
They shake their head slightly, focusing on the "enthroned" man. Zandalus, I presume. The wizard examines him for any signs of what has happened to him and whether or not there's some mystical influence on him.
Enoch's blue eyes scan the pictures of familiar yet absent from memory scenes of horror, architecture, landscapes.
The Paladin shrugs at the scenes for a moment to turn his full attention to... Zandalus....
Ethyl walks slowly towards the cult leader, she tries to make it look purposeful. She tried to not think about the sketches and what they mean.
Iosif takes aim with an already loaded-bullet, but does not fire at the unconscious man.
Like a very moth covered in lamp oil attracted to a fire, Nyarai slowly moves through the hallway. She is not rushing things. Instead, she treats the hallway like a gallery, examining the depictions plastered to a wall with morbid curiosity. If someone touched her arms right now, they'd probably confuse the sylph for an overgrown goose.
With each step, the fear wells inside her, but her curiosity seems to be winning. So far, at least.
Finally, she stands behind Enoch and Ethyl to look over their shoulders and scan the man.
"Ulver!", she shouts. "We should talk."
"Indeed we should, witch."
Ulver's head rises with a jerk, more something pulling it up. His whole body is drawn taut, his dilated eyes snapping open and his jaw gaping just a bit more than should be comfortable. The voice does should like it should come from his throat, and it is heard differently by each of you.
Iosif hears overlapping Infernal and Abyssal.
Ethyl hears three male voices, each sentence beginning with an affectionate tone before ending with venom in their voice.
Nyarai hears a mob of overlapping voices, bloodthirsty and zealous.
Enoch hears a dying man, tortured and scared.
Alvar hears a voice he suddenly recalls hearing just before waking from one nightmare into this one.
"I killed you all already, yet you stand before me without changing. Is it that shrine to the Queen of the North Star? I'll be sure to tear it apart once I remedy my mistake in allowing you five to live."
Zandalus is "pulled" to his feet, picking up a scepter-like mace with spirals carved into the tube-shaped head, and he steps forward.
He casts a spell, a shimmering arcane layer covering him, and his skin pales and his eyes darken - an effect the party recalls from their one-time ally Elyssa.
The voices resonated with her, she felt her own venom in return at the sound and it made her want to kill Zandalus, like an itch that she didn'trealize needed scratching until just now. "Get out of my head!" she yelled.
Ethyl approached Zandalus while pulling the last full vial from her belt. She drank the liquid but didn't swallow, instead she spat it out in a gush after it has reacted to her saliva. It expanded out as it touched the air, a sticky foam that hardened after a few seconds. Hopefully it would contain the cult leader.
Enoch's response seems to be quite appropriate! The Paladin--Swiftly--proclaims Zandalus as Pharasma's Smite, as he rushes forward to cut off his head!
The Tortured Crusader calls out for Pharasma's arm to guide his!
He sighs....