Alvar sighs as the would-be prophet attacks them. Always with the violence... They draw on their resolve, however, and endow their crossbow with the power of gravity, chanting and flicking their too-many fingers over it. With that done, they move forwards, ready to fire on the human.
Once again, the light slightly dims as an Abaddon candle, and you hear a loud resounding bang.
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"This is not talking.", the sylph steps forward, uncommonly showing signs of her anger welling up from within. She inches forward, summoning protective rusty brown wards around Enoch, then cackling loudly. "This is not talking at all.", she repeats her point.
Enoch's strike is true enough, his short sword carving an angry red line through Ulver's robes. The cult leader attempts to break free from Ethyl's spittle but is held fast. He casts a spell at Enoch, and despite the retaliation from the paladin it goes off but the ray misses.
Beathing a sigh of relief that her trick worked, Ethyl maneuvered around Zandalus . And she slashed with her claws! She says, having regained some composure, "Clearly not talking, I can't say I'm surprised my dear."
Iosif snarls, daemonic speech spilling from his lips.
Enoch smiles in gratitude of Pharasma's guidance! The Paladin attempts to pierce the cult leader's heart!
"Talk to us, you stubborn bastard, or you die here." Nyarai shouts at the man after activating protective runes around Alvar. Her words echo through the halls.
Alvar grimaces. We're missing something, I can feel it. Still, they can't put their finger on what it is, precisely, that's missing, so they prepare to fire their crossbow.
"I'm not certain he's capable of speaking to us coherently." They muse aloud. "He is in a considerable state of distress."
After loosing their bolt, they swiftly begin reloading their crossbow, eyes narrowed as they try to discern what is going on.
With the cult leader stuck on the spittle, the party are able to tear into Zandalus. Claw, blade, bolt, and bullet shred his skin, knocking him over onto his back, his feet planted to the floor bending at the knees. From his handful of wounds, yellow fog spews forth the fill the room with the same density as the wall that was surrounding the asylum in six seconds.
Ethyl stands her ground as Zandalus begins to spew yellow fog, "That can't be good..."
Enoch simply whispers
Anyone else have a bad feeling....
"Yes. Stay close." The sylph looks around, curiously, but continues spreading and maintaining her wards, just in case. This time on Ethyl.
Alvar's eyes widen slightly as the smoke belches out of Zandalus' wounds. "Take care! That is the manifestation of an oneirogen! If he's got a portal in him somehow, things might come out!"
They level their crossbow, ready to fire it at any hostile that might emerge from the smoke. "Fall back!"
"Ah..." A voice from somewhere in the fog sighed. A voice Alvar is familiar with but the others now hear. "That's so much better. Thank you for killing poor unfortunate Ulver. I so wanted to speak to you face to face, but he wanted to keep me locked away."
"Now, tell me. Why - by all the dark forgotten gods - are you five still alive?"
Ethyl is puzzled by the voice and its question, she can’t help but answer, ”Because our vital functions have not yet ceased. That is the nature of living. What a bizarre question. What exactly are you? And why do you care?”
Then it dawns on her who is speaking, ”You’re the Tatterman. I suppose the evidence is preponderous and that Ratch wasn’t just spouting superstitious nonsense.
She continues to interrogate the voice, her curiosity overriding her amygdala screaming at her to flee, ”How did you make the oneirogens? I suppose you’re also behind the doppelgangers and ghouls as well. Are they the same method with different results or different methods? Why bother making a cult?”
She does take a step back at Alvar's insistence.
Not familiar with the voice, Nyarai seems confused. "What if it's Lowls?", she whispers at whoever is nearby.
Enoch's blue eyes just stare intently into the fog as the Voice speaks....
That's what I was afraid of... Alvar grimaces inwardly, but even as he does so, he desperately tries to identify the voice now issuing from the fog. Who are you? Their eyes narrow slightly.
They repress a sigh at Ethyl's literal response to the voice's question. "Desna's favor, perhaps." They add to the doctor's comment, then whisper back to Nyarai. "It sounds familiar to me. I just... can't put a finger on the name or, indeed, face."
"Ah, it is nice to finally listen to intelligent thoughts for a change." The voice rasped in a dry sigh. "I am the source for most of the monsters here, yes. I see you've had little lasting issues dispatching my works. I use the same method, the forms they take are due to their own issues."
"It should be familiar, tiefling. This voice was the one I used when I killed you. Or at least when you died there. The Queen of the North Star has opposed us before, perhaps that is all it is."
"As for the cult? That was all Zandalus. He didn't want me loose, and he misunderstood his role in what is occurring. The insane have their uses, doctor, but they are exhausting. As is this conversation, since you do not seem to know more than what I have gleaned from your immediate thoughts. Having no memories is frustrating, no?"
"What makes you think we'd know why we're alive."
Enoch seems inclined to enter the fog....
Alvar grimaces, the skin around their eyes tightening. When it killed me? They shake their head slightly, fingers flexing around their crossbow. Iosif's strangely grating mix of Infernal and Abyssal sets them even further on edge. "I take it that you are behind the memory loss?" They pause, then shake their head. "Or perhaps not, given how oblivious you were to our survival."
Nyarai is listening to the thing in the room speak, and her frustration bubbles up. "Speak your name, creature!" she shouts at the roiling fogs.
The voice laughed. "Who else am I going to ask, black powder warrior? You're doctor has it correct, witch. I am known by many names, the most enduring being the Tatterman. As for the absence of your memories, if I was behind such a thing why would I ask you about it?"
The voice sighed. "Clearly we are all so very tired. Voices being raised. Questions circling back on themselves. Why don't we all just rest for a while?"
A haunting hum emits from the fog, slowing minds and adding weight to eyelids.
The voice asks. "Iosif, was it? Why don't you put down your musket and rest?"
Enoch simply enters the fog....
Iosif puts down his gun, but his hand begins to glow the same eerie, Abaddonian black as his unholy symbol does when firing. "I am unsure how, but I instinctively know I can still cause damage regardless."
Ethyl demands, not feeling the least bit tired, "Enough with this prattle Tatterman! Why don't you show yourself instead of hiding behind mists and nightmares?"
"Oh, for the love of..." Alvar hisses as Enoch enters the fog. "Don't go in there, imbecile!" They call, then shake their head, leveling their crossbow once more. "I think I speak for all of us when I say that we're not tired." The wizard adds, forcing confidence into their voice.
Iosif just stares at Enoch blankly. "Do you want to meet your patron this early, dumbass?!" he says with derision.
The voice purrs as Enoch steps into the fog, humming that damnable lullaby. "Wait your turn, haunted one. Iosif? Sleep."
Nyarai walks up to Iosif, giving him a soft slap on the cheek. "Wake up."
And then Iosif is (presumably) slapped awake by Nyarai's turn. "... Alright. Time to send you to whichever afterlife the hag deems appropriate."
Entering the fog, the Tortured Crusader begins searching for the speaker....
"Come, little lost heretic. Come and be properly reintroduced to the Spire's whore." That damnable rasping voice calls to you.
His blue eyes crinkle in appreciation as the Voice 's physical form is revealed for a brief moment of rebuttal.
We thank you for your cooperation.
The Paladin then exits the fog to rejoin his companions. He describes what he seen....
Iosif laughs when what was said is relayed. "Still not going in there, though."
"He's clearly not going to stop trying to enspell us." Alvar scowls, shaking their head. "Enough is enough." They release their grip on the crossbow with one hand, and begin invoking a spell to conjure an entity from the celestial planes to unleash on the being in the fog.
The Tatterman's voice cackles from within the fog. "You think this over, no? You slayed the oneirogens and think yourselves safe?"
The fog begins to swirl, mingling with the droning lullaby as the party watches it intently. It grows hypnotic, loosening the tension from your bodies.
Iosif picks it up and fires, hoping to break anyone out of fascination. "The only thing I'll concede to is calling Pharasma a whore," Iosif says sardonically.
If this doesn't work, then we might have to enter to be able to target him.
Alvar shrugs off the mental influence with ease, gesturing to send their heavenly dog into the fog to strike at the horror.
Blazing with the might of the celestial planes, the hound rushes forwards to attack the monster within the fog.
Enoch simply enters the fog again to physically confront the Tatterman.
The Paladin winks at his adversary.
Pharasma wants to discuss recent attitude of yours.
Driven By Guilt [Campaign]
Source Strange Aeons Player's Guide pg. 8
You awake after your ordeal with a lingering feeling that you have taken part in something outside the normal bounds of your morals. Whether you were corrupted at one point or compelled to perform some forgotten actions, this guilt drives you to fight against those forces in the world that prey upon the good. You see your present condition as a chance to redeem yourself and banish this unsettling emotion.
You gain a +1 trait bonus on saving throws against any spells or spell-like abilities cast by evil creatures. In addition, once per day as a swift action, you can add your Charisma Wisdom bonus to your attack rolls and deal 1 additional point of damage for each class level you have against evil creatures for 1 round. You must have a good alignment to take this trait.
For a moment Ethyl can't help but focus on the movement of the fog, the way that it moved was at odds with an ideal gas.
But when Iosif fired his gun she snapped back to reality. Scowling she entered the fog after Enoch.
Alvar summons his celestial hound. However, it enters the fog and tries to attack the Tatterman, but becomes repulsed and retreats whining.
Enoch misses his attack on the Tatterman, who strikes back with his war razor. Thankfully, the bloody, rusted blade scratches the paladin's armor rather than flesh.
Nyarai sighs and enters the fog, albeit hesitantly. She wipes some sweat from her forehead as she does so, and the fluid glistens in the light.
Alvar hisses irritably, shaking their head. Useless. "Help the aasimar." They growl to the creature. The dog circles the creature, snapping and harrying in an attempt to distract him.
The wizard takes a few steps forwards, hesitating. "I must get a means to deal with obscured vision." They say irritably, keeping their crossbow leveled at the fog. And I can't cast a grease without risking making the others slip...
Iosif steps into the fog, and fires, smoke mixing with fog.
... It misfires, and Daemonic curses are heard spilling from his lips.
Ethyl’s claws managed to snag the dream creature, she eagerly watched to see if she drew blood.
Uselessly praying for more usages of Smite, the frustrated Paladin takes a swing at the annoyance. Saluting Alvar from across the Delusional dumbbell, Enoch strikes!
Enoch is not entertained....
The Tortured Crusader decides to give Pharasma a chance...
Pharasma gives him the finger.