”I repeat that I am not responsible for this most fortunate turn of events,” Sveth says, eyeing the two men that stand before you.
”Oh?” asks Alastir, looking at his note again. ”It was so long ago, but your face looks familiar. I can remember you skulking outside the courtroom, during Mord’s trial, with an unaccountable interest in the proceedings.” This appears to be an accusation, though one that is at least thinly veiled.
Alastair addresses Zinli. ”Why are you suspicious of him? And what exactly are you all doing here, in this dangerous and accursed place?”
Sins of our parents. Our parents or ancestors were involved in laying g down unjust judgement.
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Neronius purses his lips as he looks over the note Judge Trabe holds in his hands. "Interesting, very interesting," the portly man mutters. He looks up. "Notice the distinct trail of the 'Q' and slightly askew 'W'. It's obvious to a trained eye--such as mine--that you, Alastir, did not write this letter to Judge Trabe. A simple comparison to your journal confirms it."
Neronius paces. "The question then becomes: if Alastir didn't write the letter, who did?" He turns dramatically and looks at Trabe.
"Well, regardless of who wrote the letters, the two of you seem well aware that you condemned an innocent man to die," Rekkart narrows his eyes at the two men, "so logically, you would know the true villain - or villains - who slew his family, would you not?"
Voices are rising as three separate conversations continue at the same time, Alastir and Trabe struggling to talk over one another.
"I didn't write any damned letters!" Judge Trabe insists to Neronius. "Since you're such a clever expert at handwriting, why not compare them to some of my writing? My old office should be rife with the stuff." Neronius realizes that while he spent some time flipping through the moneylender's journal, which was written by Alastir, he probably hasn't seen a sample of Trabe's own hand yet.
At the same moment, Alastir addresses Rekkart. "I condemned no one to die, though I'm not sure you can say the same, Rekkart." The barrister's sneer is decidedly punchable. "As for the murderer..." he casts a long glance at Sveth.
Sveth, meanwhile, has engaged Tobold in his own side conversation. "Alastir is a slippery bastard," he says quietly, "your friends will trust you. Don't let him take control."
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"Sveth brought us here to solve the murder of Mord's family - and then the guy's execution. Which would be an incredibly dumb move, if he's the one responsible for all of this."
"Which mostly leaves you two, to be honest."
As the situation is getting more confusing and tense, Zinli observes Trabe and Alastir, trying to get a sense of their reactions.
Zinli's revelation quells the rising voices, as everyone looks at her in silence. Alastir blinks for a few long moments, clearly surprised. "Sveth didn't do it? Are you certain?" He rubs his face with both hands. "It was you all along, Trabe? That does explain a few things..."
Trabe sputters noisily.
When Zinli reveals that Sveth is not a suspect, you get a momentary glimpse of fury painted across Alastir's face, hidden so quickly that you're sure no one else can have noticed. This makes sense, Alastir was clearly trying to pin Wade's murder on Sveth.
You're also fairly certain that his surprise is feigned, meaning he must have already known Sveth was not the murderer.
Neronius watches the conversation carefully, and then speaks up. "I remain curious, Mr Wade, how your own debt collector, Malgrim, could find his way onto the jury, and why he would then mutilate another jury member to vote guilty as well. May I ask what your relationship was to Mord, and more importantly, to his wife Malene?"
At the mention of Malene's name, Wade touches his face, just below one eye. His other hand goes to the hilt of his sword.
Judge Trabe slips on a trail of blood, nearly losing his balance. He drops the small bag he was carrying, which clinks when it hits the ground. The blood itself is not out of place, there are other places in this room where injury has been dealt. But those of you who were here an hour ago realize that this trail of blood was not here then. It looks like someone dragged a corpse into the Jury room recently.
"That is an excellent question. I believe Judge Trabe was in charge of ensuring that there was no witness tampering, as would be in accordance with proceedings. Perhaps you should ask him?"
"Dammit Alastir, can't you see the jig is up? Stop this useless farce, please. I'll tell everything, just everyone hold on a moment. No one needs to die here." Alastir is cool, calm, you get the sense that he could go on talking for hours. His heartbeat is probably slow and steady. Judge Trabe is afraid for his life.
"Sure thing. Looks like the only thing that's going to get us out of this mess is truth. Unless you think you have a chance against ghosts you can't even hit." Zinli's hand hovers near her holster, ready to draw. She doesn't trust Wade one bit.
Neronius nods. The truth always comes out, sooner or later . . .
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"Truth, damnable thing, never bothered with it, in the old days." Judge Trabe looks at Zinli for a long moment, and then looks away. If he's acting, he's doing a very good job. "Alastir had me in his pocket for a long time." He points a finger at Wade, who is quite composed. "Always expected he would come asking a favor, but that debonair bastard never seemed to need it...until one day." A shadow passes over Judge Trabe's face, and he looks older suddenly, his skin thin and wrinkled beneath his the few grey hairs that still cling to his skull.
"Alastir was well bloodied, but unharmed save a little scratch on his face. Knitting needle, I think." Trabe looks down at his hands. "'You will preside, Judge Trabe,' he told me, 'and then there will be a short drop and a sudden stop for old Jarbin Mord.'" Alastir still listens patiently, a bemused look on his face. "Then he told me he'd send Malgrim after my wife if I ever crossed him." Judge Trabe shakes his head, frowning heavily.
"Strange that you've grown a conscience now that you're cornered, Trabe." Alastir's voice is so...flat. "Obviously, accusing me is the only thing the old judge can do," he explains, as though he were teaching rules to a group of children.
"Dammit you slithering snake, this is no game!" It is at precisely this moment that you realize Alastir is drinking something. He moves fast.
Then he disappears completely.
Trevor suddenly snaps out of his depression and lunges fowards.
Don't let him get away! He flails with his rapier.
There is a pained grunt as Trevor's blade slams into something solid, then turns red near the tip.
Tobold shouts "Right look out!" He then moves over to the side of the room Alastir is on and unleashes a wave of color at the man.
Tobold's display of magic is very pretty. You have no way of knowing if it does anything other than light up the room momentarily.
Zinili, whose hand had been hovering by her holster for a moment already, takes a step to one side and then fires. A puff of smoke follows the now familiar bang.
Sveth, without his darts, races forward to Judge Trabe's side. "You were wrong. Someone must die here. Needn't be you." He reaches for the old man's sword, and Judge Trabe begins to pull away.
Neronius takes a few steps and slips something out of his vest pocket . . . a prism! As he holds it up to the flickering torchlit courtroom, the prism seems to scatter the light in a bizarre way . . .
Does the light reveal a human figure where Wade once stood, or is it merely a trick played on credulous eyes? In any case, it was only a momentary flicker.
Judge Trabe pulls away from Sveth. "Get away!" he cries. The old man moves towards the jury deliberation room and opens the door, hoping to escape the sudden violence. The room is shadowy, the Judge's round frame and the partially open door blocking the light.
He pays little heed to the blood streaked on the floor.
Rekkart gives a resigned yet annoyed sigh as the barrister vanishes, "Damn it, Wade!" he shouts, drawing his sword, "hiding isn't going to save you. Mord's spirit wants justice and he's not letting anyone leave until he gets it."
"Come clean and perhaps Iomedae may still have mercy on your soul."
Wade makes no attempt to be stealthy, and can be heard running south, towards the front door. He obviously doesn’t heed Rekkart’s warning. You can’t tell where he is.
Rekkart also notices movement inside the jury deliberation room.
Should we go to the jury room?
Tolbold moves over next to the door to the jury room and looks in. Looking at the judge he says "Get out of the way unless you are going to help. Wade isn't going anywhere."
"If he manages to go through that front door unharmed, he'd be the first," Zinli reloads her pistol. "I'm more worried about whatever the f~&! is going on in there."
Knowing that no one can leave by the front door, Trevor goes over to the jury room to look inside.[/b]
There is movement in the dark. Wet squishing noises herald the sight of Patrissa's bloated corpse, her face now a grim mask of death. Sticky tendrils work their way along the tabletop, others slithering up the backs of chairs. With horror, you realize that these are her entrails, writhing from her gory abdomen, flopping and snaking about the chamber with a life of their own.
Carolynn is here, beside, impossibly, the headless corpse of Madge. Strips of Patrissa's innards have wormed their way into the backs of the dead, which jerk like puppets under her control. Patrissa's empty eyes gaze at nothing, her cold face impassive, but a single serpentine rope of intestine rears up to regard you ominously, while below, a mass of entrails coils and twists like a nest of vipers.
Recoiling in horror, Sveth slams the door shut. "Help me!" he cries desperately, bracing himself against the door.
Patrissa has turned into a gutdragging lurcher, a particularly vile strain of undead who feed on the entrails of the living, often choking their victims to death with their flapping wet tendrils of rotting intestine and then pulling the foe’s guts out through their mouths to add to its wriggling collection of viscera. Gutdragging lurchers are intelligent foes and some command a sizeable force of corpse puppets.
Augghhh!!! They have all come back! Trevor helps brace the door
Every instinct in Neronius tells him to flee, but he knows that, really, there's no where to go as long as this courthouse remains haunted! He adds his impressive bulk to try to hold the doors closed.
"Ah yeah. Shit," is Zinli's phlegmatic reaction. She looks around for something she could use to barricade the door.
Trevor also braces himself against the door.
There are two thumps from the other side, one louder than the other. It doesn't budge.
Judge Trabe backs away, clutching at his jacket and sinking to the floor. He withdraws a potion and clutches at the stopper with limp fingers, unable to open it. "Merciful gods, take pity on me!"
Neronius keeps his bulk pressed against the door, sweat pouring down his face.
We cant keep doing this forever!
She looks around for something she could use to barricade the door.
The great hall has little that would make a good barricade. The smashed remains of the chandelier litter the floor nearby, but there isn't anything heavy and solid enough to jam the door shut. The grandfather clock on the western wall is the only other object of note. The first time you walked near it, it's dissonant tolls tugged at the tethers of your mind. Would it be safe to touch?
There were other objects in other rooms, benches in the courtroom nearby, for example. Retrieve enough and you might be safe from Patrissa for a while, though there is still Wade to worry about.
Rekkart sighs wistfully and shakes his head at the sight of the undead body of Patrissa, "Damn it all," he mutters under his breath.
"We are going to have to deal with her eventually," he says as he returns to scanning around the hall for Wade, "The undead do not tire, on top of her having two extra bodies to work with; she will break through at some point."
"If anyone can help me move those f@+$ing benches - 'cause my hands are f!#@ed, and I'm not going anywhere near that clock. Come on, Judge, snap out of it!" No matter how desperate the situation, Zinli is not one to simply give up.
Sveth keeps shoving himself against the door. He clutches at the wall beside it, searching for some purchase.
Trabe looks up at Zinli with wide eyes.
Tolbold looks at the group struggling against the door and says "You'll run out of strength long before they do. Move back from the door and attack them as they come through it. If we limit them to one at a time we stand a better chance of bringing them all down."
He stands ready to launch some acid at anything coming through the door.
"You're right," Judge Trabe says to Zinli. He manages to stand up and drink his potion, which causes the gash Wade had inflicted on his arm to close. "I have a second potion," he says, patting at the pocket of his jacket.
The door pitches and buckles more strongly than before, enough to open a crack...
Pulsating obscenely, a giant worm of wet intestine snakes through the crack, groping blindly for a target.
Sveth has the presence of mind to swat it away before it can hurt him.
While Tobold stands at the ready to splash acid, he doesn't have a good opportunity to do so. The entrail is tiny and moves quickly. You'd be a lot more likely to hit your friends than anything else.
A moment later, and the door slams shut on the section of intestine, slicing it off. It makes a wet sound as it flops to the floor, and then wriggles underneath the closed door.
The front door of the great hall opens. There is a rush of cool night air, and a little mist begins to stream in from beyond. Then there is a scream, and the sound of something human sized landing heavily.
Ok then! Let's back up and attack while it comes through the door single file!
Trevor moves back from the door.
Neronius nods and backs up. "That's enough heroics from me for one day!"
Zinli curses under her breath, and fumbles with her pistol. "If everyone can get behind me; I'll hit them with fire. There's still a bottle of brandy in my backpack!"
Rekkart nods to Zinli as he takes a step back from the door. He glances briefly in the direction of the scream in the moments before the undead monster is able to break through the door.
"I warned you that you couldn't leave now," he scolds what he assumes is Wade.
Tolbold stands ready to fire a ray of acid though the open door at his first target.
Trevor gets his rapier ready to stab Anyone still have that axe?
Everyone steps back, and for a moment the door holds shut, it's old handle twisting as a dead hand turns it from the other side. Sveth backs up too, drawing his cane and staying close to Tolbold and Judge Trabe.
Then the door bursts open.
Carolynn's corpse comes stumbling out first, her thin hands reaching for the halfling Sorcerer. Whatever strength she lost in life has returned in death. The acid melts half the skin on her face, leaving her a grisly look.
Flanking her on all sides are Patrissa's innards, now enlarged to monstrous proportions. They heave themselves forwards, reaching for Tolbold.
Tobold realizes, as one of the disgusting ribbons of flesh slaps against the side of his face, that it is reaching for his mouth. No doubt to rip his innards inside out.
There is a shuffling sound near where Wade must have landed. He doesn't move far.
Judge Trabe runs. Towards, Rekkart, fortunately. He draws his sword, though whether he intends to use it remains dubious.
Back up so we can all attack!