"More menaces of the desert!?"
Is it just bad luck that all these creatures jump on the party, or is there something behind these attacks?
No matter, Senemheb lifts his blade once again, and prepares hack the serpents.
Djehuti recoils and takes a few quick steps away from the snakes, flicking a splash of acid as they retreat.
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Jolánka watches as the party dispatches the revealed death dog and are assaulted anew by serpents, and finally speaks.
"This is the work of a spirit!" she says. "I can hear it. It wants us to leave and these creatures are its means to encourage us to comply. I suppose we should consider it a compliment that it referred to us as "mighty ones" in between its more insulting names for us."
Then she yelps as she realizes her lack of attention has left her open for an asp to attack, and she yelps as it bites her.
She hisses herself and grits her teeth, steeling herself to keep the venom from taking hold and sending her the way of at least a few Pharaohs who'd died of asp bites whether by accident, assassination or suicide.
She focuses her attention on the one that bit her and glares at it.
"Take that reptile down!"
Two of the snakes remain, each attempting to bite Jolánka and Djedefre respectively. Her head back in the moment, Jolánka dodges the second bite at her leg, but this time the cleric is bitten. As the snakes prove more vexing that the death dog, a voice is heard cackling from within the House.
"The spirit's LAUGHING at us!" Jolánka comments. "Luke, you're not about to let some dead rich a@*!+&! laugh at you from beyond the grave, right?"
She draws her sword and then tries to stab at the asp that bit her.
"As you say, Jolanka." Senemheb is not sure if the woman is seeing some spirits in play here, or just suffering from the snakes poison and heat. But since she seems to be drawing attention from the snakes, he maneuvers into flanking, and strikes from there.
Two snakes are slain. The third takes the not-quite-crit blow from Amal before it turns away and flees northward . Looking under the stone table will reveal evidence of a nest, even some eggs, but no further serpents.
Finishing your check of the next outbuilding, the Court finds another similar structure to the one holding the death dog. Thankfully, this one is truly abandoned and lamentably holds no treasure upon search.
"Dammit, Dame," a frustrated Taldan yelled over the rattling of blades and hiss of snakes, "I can see your veins turning purple from here! Just focus on not keeling over, yeah? Also, what's this about you hearing voices?! You too?!"
While more members of the Court going loony certainly wasn't a positive development, at the very least this meant he wasn't going to the funny farm alone. More seriously, Luke considered, it meant that whatever haunted the mansion wasn't aiming for him specifically. The earlier sorta-possession and disembodied voices still had the young man just a little rattled... Why any spirit should have it in for him of all people was a question he didn't quite have the ego to guess at, but it was nice to know one didn't have a spectral target painted on the back regardless.
A relief tempered by now knowing they were all potential targets.
"This place, I swear..." No, grousing could wait. Dispatching these ghost-employed serpents came first. A task done in short order as it happened. Senemheb and Amal hoeing at the ground as were they wielding farming implements, the snakes were quickly torn to pieces. The last of them slithered away defeated before the foreigner could reach it. Good riddance.
"The spirit's LAUGHING at us!" Jolánka comments. "Luke, you're not about to let some dead rich a$!&&+~ laugh at you from beyond the grave, right?"
The snort let out by Luke at this was worthy of a dragon. "Dame, I should be insulted at that naked attempt at playing me." His gaze traveled to the ominous house looming beside them, bright eyes growing darker. "Thing is, you're right."
Luke had to wonder whether he really was that predictable. Because it was true enough: old Akhentepi had irked him terribly even long dead. Now whatever plagued this place irked him even undead. Apparently his dislike of the high & mighty extended beyond the grave. Yeah, no way were they backing down now. Whatever this menace was, its methods were too plain mean for Luke to ignore. The mental invasions, the mutilated corpse, leading them into ambushes... Surrendering this lot now would be too great a blow to Luke's pride.
"Gonna give those haunts something to really moan about... Seriously though, you two okay?" He looked to Jolánka and Djedefre. "You were bitten, weren't you?"
"Dammit, Dame," a frustrated Taldan yelled over the rattling of blades and hiss of snakes, "I can see your veins turning purple from here! Just focus on not keeling over, yeah? Also, what's this about you hearing voices?! You too?!"
Jolánka gives a dark chuckle.
"Not keeling over is what we Ustalavs do BEST!" she says. "When spirits speak, I can hear," she adds. "You may have latent talent for the occult if you hear it as well."
"The spirit's LAUGHING at us!" Jolánka comments. "Luke, you're not about to let some dead rich a$!&&+~ laugh at you from beyond the grave, right?"The snort let out by Luke at this was worthy of a dragon. "Dame, I should be insulted at that naked attempt at playing me." His gaze traveled to the ominous house looming beside them, bright eyes growing darker. "Thing is, you're right."
Jolánka snorts back. "You call it playing, I call it, 'motivation via well-deserved spite.' You'd probably be insulted by this too, but you do wear your heart on your sleeve."
She lets Djedefre look her over calmly.
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"Whatever that spirit throws at us is easy to deal with," Amal cleans their blade of blood, and sheathes it. "It can keep hiding if it wants."
"Please don't become overconfident. Perhaps it is testing us, learning what we can do well and where we might be lacking. It's dangerous to underestimate any opponent."
Checking over his and Jolanka's wounds, "We managed to escape the worst of it, praise to Ra."
He retrieves the Vulture Court's wand and uses it on he and Jolanka.
Looking up into , the Court would see a large empty pantry. This small room is empty save for dust, debris, and empty shelves built into the walls. Luke peers around, aided by Djedefre, but sees nothing worth noting.
[dise=GM Screen]1d20 + 10 ⇒ (16) + 10 = 26
"You call it playing, I call it, 'motivation via well-deserved spite.' You'd probably be insulted by this too, but you do wear your heart on your sleeve."
"You're the academic, Dame," the Taldan replied, speaking over one shoulder in pawing through the empty shelves. "Don't you prefer your books open?"
Luke wasn't much of a reader himself, but he certainly preferred the open book approach in all things. He was a simple man, almost proudly so. What was the point of anything but plain speech when courtesy was what let fools get away with incompetence, when lies were what let scoundrels get away with evil? In Luke's world, idiots weren't tolerated; they were told off. Just as evil wasn't told off; it got a swift fist to the face. Hell, the world would be a better place if everyone just spoke their mind. "Decorum is for cowards and hypocrites," he concluded.
It was a worldview obviously influenced by his homeland, decadent Taldor being so enamored with its high society and the myriad social rules that governed it. Yet it was this same outlook that made a hypocrite of the young man himself. For he too had a few skeletons rattling in his proverbial closet. He too had wants and fears he wasn't eager to share.
Although for right now, his only real concern was how this pantry had nothing of its own to share. Having examined every shelf, all his hand had collected was dust. "This place is a bust," he grumbled. "Shall we wrap up this side of the yard and then go beat that haunt to whatever death ranks beneath undeath?"
"It's not overconfidence," Amal retorts. "It's being thankful that we're faced with creatures we can actually hit back. So far."
"Oh?" The usually so wary brow rose in such deferential respect there could be no doubt it was wholly disingenuous. "Are we not finding enough dragons for Sir Knight to slay? Giant, two-headed zombie dogs and ghost-employed snakes too pedestrian for the young hero? Well, I'm sure glad we have you to fend off the real threats, Amal!"
The words were mocking, of course. One didn't need to see the smirk that followed to know that much. Yet ribbing on friends - especially younger friends! - was a perfectly normal part of comradery as far as Luke was concerned, as natural as sharing howdy-do's. In fact, such good-natured teasing was the only way many lads knew how to share affection. And despite his earlier sermon on the virtues of people simply saying what they mean, Luke was to be counted among these.
It held true, too - Luke liked the kid. Enough that he hoped he wasn't growing overconfident at their challenges so far. It wouldn't do for the kid to get overconfident now. Brashness had killed more adventurers than blades ever had.
Senemheb shakes off snake blood and guts from the blade of his weapon, and follows Luke. "I wonder if the courtyard has nothing to offer but poison and misery. Let's investigate this quickly, and then head back."
Luke peers into the corner building . Within he sees the time worn remains of a simple abode, wooden furniture rotten away, dust scattered across the floor and built up in the corners. In the back three skeletons, wearing tattered bloodstained linens, lie in each others arms, two adult humans embracing the smaller set of bones.
Something glints amid the bones, catching Luke's eye.
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"Oh? Are we not finding enough dragons for Sir Knight to slay? Giant, two-headed zombie dogs and ghost-employed snakes too pedestrian for the young hero? Well, I'm sure glad we have you to fend off the real threats, Amal!"
Amal raises an eyebrow - slightly.
"Pedestrian, no. Not intangible, and vulnerable to regular weapons - yes."
Their apparent nonchalance in the face of danger is somewhat undermined when they have to stand on tiptoes to see what's actually in the room. Luke, tall and broad-shouldered, is blocking their view. "Doesn't look like these ones will get up," they conclude. They keep a hand on their blade's handle, just in case.
"Let's hope not," a grimacing Luke replied. "Scene's grim enough as is..."
The grumble wasn't without sympathy. Eyes narrowed in taking in the doleful shack - a servants' quarter he presumed - the young man stepped up to its occupants. He stood there a moment, considering the skeletal trio. Two adults and a child, perished whilst clutching each other. The mind could conjure up a few narratives to fit this outcome - none of which were very pleasant.
Hells below, no wonder this place was haunted.
With a heavy sigh, Luke reminded himself that sentimentality was a luxury not afforded a tomb robber. While his scorn for the upper-crusters of the world ran deep, it came with a certain inverse sympathy for the common man. Biases had a way of evening out like that. Still, a tomb robber was he. And that glint spied among the bones needed investigatin'.
"Don't you dare spring up to un-life now..." he murmured in squatting down to reach. Though not before grasping for his cudgel again.
"You're the academic, Dame," the Taldan replied, speaking over one shoulder in pawing through the empty shelves. "Don't you prefer your books open?"
"I do," Jolánka replies with a shrug, "But books don't usually have feelings about whether or not they're read. People do. And treating a person like a book without regards to those feelings is a great way to belittle them."
Luke wasn't much of a reader himself, but he certainly preferred the open book approach in all things. He was a simple man, almost proudly so. What was the point of anything but plain speech when courtesy was what let fools get away with incompetence, when lies were what let scoundrels get away with evil? In Luke's world, idiots weren't tolerated; they were told off. Just as evil wasn't told off; it got a swift fist to the face. Hell, the world would be a better place if everyone just spoke their mind. "Decorum is for cowards and hypocrites," he concluded.
She frowns a bit at Luke's conclusion.
"So which would you say I am?" she asks. Her tone is quiet, oddly non-judgmental to Luke, as if she's waiting to judge herself based on his answer.
It was a worldview obviously influenced by his homeland, decadent Taldor being so enamored with its high society and the myriad social rules that governed it. Yet it was this same outlook that made a hypocrite of the young man himself. For he too had a few skeletons rattling in his proverbial closet. He too had wants and fears he wasn't eager to share.
Although for right now, his only real concern was how this pantry had nothing of its own to share. Having examined every shelf, all his hand had collected was dust. "This place is a bust," he grumbled. "Shall we wrap up this side of the yard and then go beat that haunt to whatever death ranks beneath undeath?"
She nods and follows the group to their new destination.
Jolánka steps to the forefront of the group and chants "Khu Ba Heteph" to open her eyes to the magical auras of the space.
"Don't you dare spring up to un-life now..." he murmured in squatting down to reach. Though not before grasping for his cudgel again.
"Hmm.." Senemheb grunts, and by instinct touches the satchel by his belt. But creating undead servants out of any of those three might rise a bit too much ire from his companions. Better leave these bones to rest.
"I wonder if it was the plague that took these three..."
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"Don't you dare spring up to un-life now..." he murmured in squatting down to reach. Though not before grasping for his cudgel again."Hmm.." Senemheb grunts, and by instinct touches the satchel by his belt. But creating undead servants out of any of those three might rise a bit too much ire from his companions. Better leave these bones to rest.
"I wonder if it was the plague that took these three..."
No, no I don't think I will...
As Luke reaches down the glimmer vanishes. The sound of dry hacking coughs rattle in the Court's ears as the bones come to unlife, ancient dust disturbed. Feelings of desperation, hopelessness, and surrender flash through Luke's mind as he had allowed himself near compassion for the servants/slaves of the fat cats buried in luxury.
The three skeletons groan, the sound of sand ground between bones awful to hear. They attack from prone with all six of their claws. Fortunately, Luke was expecting this and is able to ward off the haunted fingers of the unfortunate family.
"Shit, I don't have one!" Jolánka complains. Nevertheless, she follows behind the others and peeks between their shoulder, glaring at one of the skeletons!
"Decorum is for cowards and hypocrites," he concluded."So which would you say I am?" she asks. Her tone is quiet, oddly non-judgmental to Luke, as if she's waiting to judge herself based on his answer.
It was a bit like seeing a barking lapdog confronted. The simple query swiped away the young man's carefully crafted layer of gruff machismo like a razor to a beard, uncovering someone softer and more boyish in much the same way. He looked to the noblewoman momentarily befuddled. Luke was no stranger to contention, of course. Whether stubborn quarrels with opposing views, or jocular trading of barbs with comrades - as with Amal seconds earlier - these were engagements he was always game for. But this? The young woman seemingly taking his hyperbole as genuine critique? His blather being taken for something actually hurtful? This put him on the back foot.
"Oh, gods' sake, you know I didn't mean it like t..." he began defensively, tone somewhere between apologetic and annoyed. Was the lady being sincere? Or just playing him again? Not knowing only made him feel that much more flustered. Which in turn made him feel that much more the fool.
Which, ultimately, made him laugh at himself.
"No, you know what?" The sigh whistled through a crooked smirk. "That's a moot question. 'Cause you've compared me to a camel's rectum on at least three occasions. Never mind cowards or hypocrites - you never had much in the way of decorum in the first place. You unladylike lout."
Stavian's fire, what was he doing, letting the college girl of all people get to him? He had an image to maintain! Honestly, how was a guy supposed to navigate deadly traps and the vengeful dead if he let himself get surprised by - ? "Holy sh-!" The skeletons that suddenly rose to grasp at him took the tomb robber by surprise.
"What did I just tell you?!" Unscathed but for his pride, it was a very irked Luke indeed that stumbled backwards, splintered finger bones still caught in his armor. "Did I not just tell you to stay dead?! You literal numbskulls!" The following swing of his cudgel reflected his agitated state.
Djehuti has been head down in their notebook for several minutes as they frantically rushed to capture everything the group has seen and heard. At the appearance of the skeletons, the elf backs away and flicks a globe of acid at the nearest one.
The skeletons are laid back to rest, albeit with broken bones. The Court may feel complicated from this particular encounter, as these bones might have been more victims that most restless spirits here. However, they also recognize that whatever attempted to trick them into fighting is watching them, testing them.
"Whatever force keeps animating these bones? We must be wary of any corpses we encounter."
And such a waste of good material...
Senemheb puts the mace back to his belt, and picks the dropped bardiche from the ground. He then nods at Djedefre, preparing for whatever waits in the next area.
is the estate's granary, with a small domed roof and a small door in the front.
Opening the door to the granary the Court is hit with the foul, fresher stench of decaying flesh. The buzzing of insects was heard by Djedefre as he neared the doors, but once opened the noise becomes startling as not flies but scarabs are disturbed by the sudden light. A swarm of them rises from three fleshless skeletons and moves to engulf Djedefre.
"Decorum is for cowards and hypocrites," he concluded."So which would you say I am?" she asks. Her tone is quiet, oddly non-judgmental to Luke, as if she's waiting to judge herself based on his answer.It was a bit like seeing a barking lapdog confronted. The simple query swiped away the young man's carefully crafted layer of gruff machismo like a razor to a beard, uncovering someone softer and more boyish in much the same way. He looked to the noblewoman momentarily befuddled. Luke was no stranger to contention, of course. Whether stubborn quarrels with opposing views, or jocular trading of barbs with comrades - as with Amal seconds earlier - these were engagements he was always game for. But this? The young woman seemingly taking his hyperbole as genuine critique? His blather being taken for something actually hurtful? This put him on the back foot.
"Oh, gods' sake, you know I didn't mean it like t..." he began defensively, tone somewhere between apologetic and annoyed. Was the lady being sincere? Or just playing him again? Not knowing only made him feel that much more flustered. Which in turn made him feel that much more the fool.
Which, ultimately, made him laugh at himself.
"No, you know what?" The sigh whistled through a crooked smirk. "That's a moot question. 'Cause you've compared me to a camel's rectum on at least three occasions. Never mind cowards or hypocrites - you never had much in the way of decorum in the first place. You unladylike lout."
Jolánka blinks, considers for a moment, then nods.
"That's fair," she says. "Thank you."
Then the dead rise and can't offer more than an annoyed grunt before they're knocked back down.
"The spirit's still about. It's toying with us," she comments.
Entering the granary and being ambushed by scarabs only confirms her suspicions.
"Dammit, my weapons aren't meant for fighting such small things!" she barks as she defensively crouches and covers her face.
"...I hate undead."
No veteran of the Worldwound crusades had ever uttered so weary a grumble. Which might be a touch dramatic of the young man, but then he really didn't like 'em. Beyond the fact that the undead were plain creepy, they were also uncomfortable. Like, emotionally. And Luke didn't like to talk feelings even knee-deep in the liquor. Case in point, the shattered remains of a child now lying all higgledy-piggledy at his feet.
What are the odds that was just a gnome? Sigh...
It took another second before the Taldan pulled himself together to sift through the bones for that glittering something spied earlier.
"Anyone has anything against this??"
"Duck!"
A flask flew over the Wati native's head as if in response. The acrid stench that followed its path revealed it for what it was even before it shattered, the liquid contents immediately sparking and flaring into an angry pyre. Heavens' sake, Luke thought. What was this now? More minions of the ghosts? Or just some vermin who didn't appreciate intruders stomping into their nest?
"Oh, of granary of their own? Rich people have rich needs."
When the door is opened, Senemheb is first hit by the disgusting smell, making him almost gag. But this is soon followed by alarm as the scarabs take flight and start swarming towards them. He quickly takes his vial of alchemists fire from his bag, and flings the liquid fiery death upon the bugs.
"Fire! Use fire!"
Djehuti, taking notes at the back of the group, looks up at all the yelling. They dig into their belt pouch, muttering to themselves about always fighting the last war as they make a note to buy a flask of alchemist's fire. "No, wait, maybe..." The elf pulls open the spell book hanging at their hip and starts fratically reading.