Djehuti digs around in their backpack again. "I have some antiplague. That might help with the symptoms, Senemheb."
Djehuti looks down at the antiplague, shrugs, then stows it back in their backpack unused. "I had thought it was from the haunt, to be honest. Glad to have another opinion."
"Lover boy springs a fever in that vision only for Sen to start burning up? After touching what's probably the very ring the pair were lookin' for?" Luke could only agree with the elf's theory. "Yeah, if I was a betting man, I'd guess this too is the work of whatever spirits are mucking about this place."
He squinted into the dusty ceiling, as if expecting to see ghosts flittering there like flies. "I'm thinking you just got treated to the spectral equivalent of a leper coughing in your face..."
Which was terribly rude, really. Of course, whether this made Senemheb's condition more or less 'real' was anyone's guess. The Taldan certainly had no idea, feeling increasingly out of his depth in the haunted mansion. Even so, he hated the idea of retreating. Whether it was kings in their castles, corpses in their fancy tombs, or indeed ghosts in their darkened halls, Luke couldn't stand surrendering to the powers that be, whatever these be. His rebellious streak ran too deep to accept surrender.
So if the maybe-necromancer said he was willing to continue, then continue they should. Luke looked to the ominous staircase leading up to the second floor. "Eh. Probably best we clear the ground floor before venturing anywhere else." This said, he turned to the room directly north of them.
"Yes, just because a haunting is residual doesn't mean it's any less dangerous than an intelligent one such as a true ghost," Jolánka comments. She advances to join Djedefre and Luke in looking around.
"Thank you, Amal..." Senemheb pushes himself up with the help of the young warrior. He still feels feverish, but perhaps the worst has passed.
"I'll survive. This malady at least." Of course there's no telling what surprises are still lurking in this-plague ridden house. Thus far every room has hidden a monster, or a... whatever this ghostly disease is.
"Just go on. I'll follow," he says, and stands up straight. That is of course merely a pathetic attempt to look stronger than he feels. Luckily his weapon doubles up as a crutch for the weakest moments.
Djehuti follows along behind the tougher members of the group as they move on.
A tiled walkway surrounds a square patch of earth and sand in this high atrium. A balcony on the second floor overlooks the courtyard, and a square hole in the ceiling opens to the sky. Four columns in the corners of the atrium support the roof above, and the walls are decorated with symbols and hieroglyphs depicting animals, celestial creatures, and the sun and moon.
There is a great amount of sand piled in the center of the room, deposited from the open roof. It also looks like a indoor garden might have once been a center piece, but like the gardens outside all that remains is sand. The morning sun casts a pillar of light at an angle towards the east.
The Court sees no traps or creatures.
Djehuti sets about sketching the room, copying down the symbols and hieroglyphics, trying to get the shaft of daylight spilling down into the atrium just right. "Does anyone see a way up to that balcony?"
--
Senemheb's gaze follows where Djehuti is pointing. "Maybe the route up is somewhere else." They would surely find it faster if they'd split up to search. But perhaps it's better to stick together.
As the notetakers of the Court step into the inner courtyard, the sand shifts and swells to take a humanoid form. She rises from a bowed position, appearing as a beautiful Ancient Osiriani woman carved of living sandstone. Smiling she addresses the Court in Ancient Osiriani.
"Greetings, visitors of the noble House of Pentheru." Her voice reminds one of sand falling through a masterwork hourglass. "I am Heshsharu, a spirit of this house. Might I trouble you for a conversation? It has been so long since we have had visitors."
Jolánka curtsies to the spirit as well.
"It is an honor and a pleasure, most noble spirit. I am Dame Jolánka of the House of Graydon."
Djehuti also gives the spirit a greeting, though the elf is wary of giving strangers- especially spirits- their whole name. "Djehuti, recently of your fascinating city Wati." They nod at Djedefre as the conversation continues and the elf thinks back on anything they'd read about spirits.
The Taldan could only look on bewildered as sand sculpted itself into a pretty young thing only to start babbling at them in something he only vaguely recognized as related to the local cant. "...I understood some of that."
Although his grasp of modern Osiriani was rapidly improving, its ancient equivalent was still beyond Luke. Whatever the language, however, he did know he didn't trust her. Strange women propositioning strangers in haunted mansions? These were the sort of girls his mother had warned him about! Or she should have, at least.
One hand clenched about the sword handle. Would a blade even harm whatever this was? Ghost or not, the lady was made out of sand. Suspicious eyes roved about her shifting form, he letting the others talk whilst wondering at how to put the being down if necessary.
Would that holy water have any effect here? Hold on, would plain old water? Maybe enough of it would turn her into a mud puddle...
While the more charismatic types talk, Djehuti takes notes and once they remember some can't follow what is being said they make sure to translate out loud for those who don't understand the ancient dialect.
Djehuti calmly puts away their notebook, something they usually only do when violence is imminent. Trusting that it cannot speak Taldan, the elf switches to the language of the northern continent, doing their best to keep the urgency out of their voice.
"This creature is evil. Do not approach too closely; sandmen such as this are known to put their enemies to sleep just by being nearby. It truly is made out of sand, so it will be difficult to damage. Blunt weapons would be best."
"Sandmen? Sandmen who put people to sleep? Stavian's fire, is this thing a walking pun?!" Luke could only shake his exasperated head in realizing that the elf was, in fact, not joking. What utter fuddy-duddy chuckled themselves to sleep on starched bedsheets after coming up with that one? As if disliking academics and their damn taxonomy wasn't easy enough. Honestly now, how witless did you have to be to name the earth elemental with sleep inducing powers after the figure from folklore?
No, hold on. Was this maybe one of those, whatchamacallit, reverse causality cases? Surely this was too on the nose to be mere interplanar coincidence? Could this creature be named not after the mythical figure, but in actuality be the original inspiration for said folklore? Was it the chicken or the egg?
Did it matter? Nah, not really. Not if it meant to deceive them and... smother the group in their sleep? Was that what sandmen did? Whatever the creatures' wonts, homicidal tendencies took precedence over etymology. And so the Taldan slowly, trying not to arouse suspicion, reached for his pack. He kept a cudgel there - little more than a hefty stick, blunt as blunt could be - for just such occasions.
If the "spirit" understood Taldane, it did not show it.
"We have not had visitors since that dreadfulness centuries ago, when the populace rose up in madness and killed everyone in the house. I manifested afterwards, learning the horrid history from those who cleaned up the mess."
The sandman does not yet approach, keeping herself at least 25ft from those who entered to make notes or sketches. She tilts her head with a slightly annoyed furrow of her brow despite the smile plastered on her face.
"I'm afraid I do not recognize that tongue, dear guests. Has mortal language evolved so radically in the last two millennia?"
|
If the "spirit" understood Taldane, it did not show it.
"We have not had visitors since that dreadfulness centuries ago, when the populace rose up in madness and killed everyone in the house. I manifested afterwards, learning the horrid history from those who cleaned up the mess."
The sandman does not yet approach, keeping herself at least 25ft from those who entered to make notes or sketches. She tilts her head with a slightly annoyed furrow of her brow despite the smile plastered on her face.
"I'm afraid I do not recognize that tongue, dear guests. Has mortal language evolved so radically in the last two millennia?"
In Ancient Osiriani, "It has. Much has changed including Osirion falling under foreign conquest for centuries which brought many new languages to the nation. Could you tell us about the 'horrid history' and who 'cleaned up the mess'? We are here, in part, to find the lost knowledge, history, and stories of those who lived here."
Djehuti edges toward the door, getting up close to the wall, pointing and looking at the hieroglyphs as if studying them, doing their best to hide the fact that they are trying to get away from the potential combat zone.
"Of course." The sandman's form shifts to make it appear to be sitting. "The younger Pentheru fell to the Plague and was buried with his father in the estate's crypt. His family tried to outlast the mob outside, but they were leaderless and were slain to the last. I remember those who resettled and walled off the old city. Mostly Pharasmins and worshipers of the new gods. A party of them scouted the estate but didn't stay long."
The sandman shrugged. "Besides a few grave robbers or bored youths, the estate has only seen disquieted spirits and vermin of assorted sizes and dangers."
"You manifested? You were not summoned?"
"What is your purpose here, as a spirit of the house?"
The sandman's face shifts and writhes, sand falling away to create a fanged maw rather than a woman's gentle jaw. "Endless questions. That's all you mortals have to offer? I'm bored now."
Like the proverb said, forewarned was forearmed. Thanks to Djehuti's warning, the Taldan wasn't taken by surprise at their sabulous host's turn, demeanor and appearance both shifting into the decidedly more monstrous. Instead he rushed forward like a racehorse hearing the starting shot, club gripped in both hands.
Hope you're right about bludgeoning being the way, elf!
His own momentum adding to the force behind the weapon, Luke swung the cudgel as lumberjacks did to trees, the impact sending sand scattering in every direction.
"What is this?!" Jolánka snaps as the battle begins. "You would harm a guest under your roof? You will PAY for this breach of hospitality, spirit!"
She marches forward to aid Amal and Luke, and gives the sandman a fearsome glare. There's a shift in the breeze, sending a cold ripple through the elemental's sandy form.
Remembering Djehuti's warnings about the creature, Senemheb does not approach it. Instead he brings up the skull from his satchel, and presents its empty stare towards the sandman.
"Yes, it is not polite to attack the guests of the house."
"..."
"It was likely lying, Jolánka." The elf moved closer alongside the formidable woman, fingers contorting into strange sigils as they summoned up a small dart of acid out of the ether.
As the Varisian and the skull hinder the "rude hostess", the party - bolstered by Ra's blessings - tear into the sandman with the provided window. However, as they close in, they feel grit in their eyes and yawns on their lips.
The sandman's arms, while appearing like claws, merely bludgeon Amal, despite the debuffs, and deals .