The horse flinches as Marc's first swing passes through it, but it's not there for his next attack. It recoils and pounces with both hooves aimed at Marc's head-
-and misses as the Eidolon is spirited away.
The unearthly horse circles in place, looking for its prey. When it finds nothing, it snorts in frustration and disappears into the shadows.
A reminder: Marc was sickened by the horrible atmosphere of the stable, so he takes a -2 penalty on all attack rolls, damage rolls, saving throws, and skill and ability checks. Therefore, he inflicted four points of damage on the unearthly equine, and no points of nonlethal damage because the Undead are immune to nonlethal damage.
Marc has also taken one point of strength damage. This is not enough to affect his skills. He will heal that damage in one day, unless he is restored first.
Names Mean Little halts his charge when he sees Marc appear by his sister. For a moment, he seems confused as to who he is supposed to fight, for his helmet swivels from Marc to the stable and back. Then he stomps over to the barn doors and kicks one closed.
"Spirits are vulnerable to fire. Fire will drive it out into the sunlight."
Delbina's feet are more than just scraped. There are some deep punctures and cuts, as if she walked over some sharp rocks. There is a spot of necrotizing skin on her big toe, from which Zaszisar'ǃixakaǂaʔ pulls a small shard of yellow stone. Sinmarrow.
He suspects that the stuff he cleans out from between her toes would tell her whole tale, if only the Inquisitor was a learned alchemist with a laboratory at his disposal. There is red clay mixed with dark earth and crushed plants, as well as a trace of blue powder and some kind of grit. But he wipes it away and bandages her feet, confident that the one clue is all he needs.
Spoiler:
Perception:1d20 + 2 ⇒ (19) + 2 = 21Damn.
Delbina snaps her head around when she hears Leah's shout, and the Inquisitor's soothing words don't do much for her. She retreats under the counter and hides in place.
Names Mean Little's eyes flash yellow. With a grunt and a basso "Yes," it charges after the shorter Dwarf.
Marc's hands slash through the horse, but he feels nothing. The apparition's head flows like smoke in the wake of his claws, but Marc doesn't taste smoke when he bites down.
And Marc feels that. Numbness spreads across his chest, and the horse cocks its head at him. The pitch black spots it has for eyes are spreading like a bloodstain.
Marc has taken one point of strength damage.
The lock pops open and hangs on its latch. When Kogril open a the door, he finds a very well-stocked tool room. Hanging from the east wall is a full set of well-used blacksmith tools, with a few homemade woodworking tools thrown in for good measure. They are sharp, but oiled to preserve them in this climate.
The whole of the north wall is taken up by mining tools, which are much less well-cared-for. Picks and hammers, shovels and wedges, and some tools familiar to Kogril and Kogril alone. These tools have a coat of orange rust, likely due to sitting unused for a month.
The west wall is a mixed bag. There are gardening tools, some missing, as well as carpentry tools and wood axes. Looks like some of the guard weaponry was stored in here as well: spears with crossguards that could stop a charging boar as surely as a rioting prisoner.
The Golem raises its flail as if to examine it, and then says "Once." Left unsaid is whether it has only been present for one prison riot, or if it only had to use the flail the one time to stop the riot.
On the last attempt, Kogril can almost feel the lock catch. Almost. If you were a prisoner here, the guards up in the watchtowers would already be loosing bolts at you. And it occurs to you that you don't see any divots in the door where arrowheads were pulled loose. Either the prisoners of this colony were well behaved, or the guards were good shots.
Inquisitor
Delbina Rask stares at you, but she adjusts her posture to give you a better look at her feet.
Heal check Y/N?
Marc
The air is foul in here, and the flies can't decide whether Marc is food or not. And if those weren't bad enough, the sight of the horses stirs up pity and disgust in the eidolon's mind. He sees white bone poking obscenely through dead skin, as if someone tried to bundle sticks of white wood in an old hide bag. There are three stalls, and three horse skulls watch him pass with weightless, maggot-eaten eyes.
Marc feels as if they're watching him go by, which he puts down to nerves. Dead horses can't watch anything, he knows. But he feels that same gaze upon him as he fiddles with the lock.
Then he hears someone clear their throat behind him. No, it sounds more like a chuckle. Or a nicker.
Marc turns in time to see something that looks very much like a horse pass through the last stall door. The horse-thing fixes an eye as black as an inkstain on him. Then it snorts and charges.
Rolls:
1d20 + 6 ⇒ (8) + 6 = 14
1d20 + 12 ⇒ (16) + 12 = 28
1d20 + 3 ⇒ (3) + 3 = 6
1d20 + 2 ⇒ (15) + 2 = 17
Shadow goes first
The horse-thing steps forward and rears up, flailing its forehooves.
Miracle of miracles, or perhaps because it is moving like a thing that has never walked on four hooves in its life, it comes nowhere close to touching Marc.
Leah
The building just to the north of Captain Ashferthe’s quarters is a small wooden building rising out of a stone foundation. A flag bearing the Chelish coat of arms hangs over the roof, fluttering gently in the sea breeze.
Inside, you find the mining office. Ledgers and inkbottles clutter a large desk, and maps hang from the walls, and a path of dirt has been trodden into the plank floor from year after year of the mining supervisor delivering his report at the end of the day. The shades over the windows are drawn, but a candelabra on the desk is lit and shedding plenty of light.
There are seven maps on the walls, one for each of the mines. Each map bears the names of the mines: Avernus, Dis, Erebus, Malebolge, Cocytus, Sygia, and Caina. Each one is named for a circle of Hell. Must have been wonderful for the miner’s morale.
Perception DC12:
There’s no heat coming from the candelabra’s flames, and you can’t snuff them out with your fingers. Magic?
Spellcraft DC18:
The candelabra is enchanted with a continual flame spell. Magic!
Perception DC20:
A thorough search of the papers and ledgers yields some interesting information. The ledgers for dig sites Avernus, Dis, and Erebus indicate that they have not been mined in some time, pending heavier equipment to access deeper deposits. Dig sites Malebolge and Cocytus have had pockets of vermin unearthed, and some of the miners were poisoned. Dig sites Stygia and Caina were the current sites of mining when everyone went missing. They’re also the furthest sites from the colony.
The rest of the paperwork contains tedious accounts of daily production at the mines, supply lists, and requisition orders. Right at the top of the stack is the ledger that Durotas Palamar wanted you to retrieve. It seems like Captain Ashferthe was halfway through the last day’s entry when he disappeared; he dropped his quill on the page and it bled out, blotting out the production numbers from the previous day.
Marc
A painted sign depicting a horse hangs from the eaves of the long, tall building, just above a pair of large double doors. A foul stench wafts from inside, and it only gets worse as you open the door.
Fortitude save:1d20 + 7 ⇒ (19) + 7 = 26
The rancid smell of death and decay assaults your senses. In a former life, it would have left you doubled over in nausea. Instead, you just feel sick.
The stable contains stacks of hay bales across from several sturdy stalls- too sturdy, in fact. In each stall you can see the rotting carcass of a horse. With the disappearance of the miners, these poor animals must have slowly died of thirst, and now they are slowly succumbing to the flies and the mold.
At the far end of the stable, through clouds of flies, you see a locked door with a brass and iron padlock.
Kogril
Names Mean Little nods at you and raises its flail. Its eyes flash green. ”Good for prison riots.”
Despite its humble appearance, the tool shed is stoutly constructed and the door is as stout as a stone slab. And the moment you touch the door, the sound of a loud clanging bell erupts from the wood. It continues to ring until you back away from the door, at which point it goes silent.
The door rings when you touch it again, just as loudly as the first time, and it continues to ring for about six seconds. Must be some kind of alarm spell. They’re common enough in the mines, and you know that they’re only as good as the guards near enough to heed their call.
Leah:
The first building you search is a plain building made of stone and wood. Though simple in design, it appears opulent compared to the other buildings in the compound. It has a porch. And over that porch is a sign depicting a pair of white swords over a field of red and black.
Once inside, you see that it's the captain's quarters. And judging from the footprints on the floor, the Inquisitor and Names Mean Little already searched the building. But that doesn't mean they didn't miss anything...
Perception:1d20 + 3 ⇒ (16) + 3 = 19
You find nothing of interest in the building. Just the normal accoutrements of living, and a bookshelf full of military curios that hint at a different life he lived before captain Elgin Ashferth came to the island.
Kogril
Your path and Leah's path stay close for a minute, and both Marc and Names Mean Little fall in behind you. Just before you two reach the captain's house, you see the smithy to the east, against the wall. There, your paths diverge.
Names Mean Little falls behind, looking from Leah to you and back. It reaches a decision when Marc follows Leah into the captain's home, and With a grunt and a clattering of metal, it shuffles to catch up with you.
You pass a building with the sign of a pickax over the ironbound door and a sturdy padlock on the doorlatch. Something to look into later.
The smithy is an open stone building next to a shack that might be living quarters. It has a stone forge at the center, surrounded on three sides by slab-topped worktables, as well as numerous hooks on the walls for tools. It's a very tidy working area.
You don't see any tools however. Perhaps they're kept at the other building? The prisoners at Deepmar colony are supposed to be violent criminals, so the tools would probably be stored securely when not in use.
The front door of the living quarters bears a simple woodcut image of a dwarf shoring up a fractured wooden beam in a collapsed mineshaft. The house inside is considerably less well-kept than the smithy. It's simply furnished with a bed, a table with two chairs, a washroom with a small tub, and a small stove. On the table and piled in the corners are half-finished side projects. It seems that Uzikal was a prodigious woodcarver. There's carvings of fish, horses, men, and... classically built dwarven women.
Uzikal was also a painter. There's a half-finished sign of an anvil and horseshoes, surrounded by bottles of long-dried paint. Maybe he did the other signs in the colony.
You find a mattock hidden under the bed. Looks like Uzikal was ready for a prison riot.
Zaszisar'ǃixakaǂaʔ
Your words seem to help Delbina. At least she doesn't get worse.
She curls up under the counter and continues to stare into the distance.
"I don't remember a month," she says. "I don't remember a month. I remember... running. And hiding."
"I remember white milky eyes watching from the dark."
Sense Motive DC 20:
She's doing a little better, but it will take some convincing to let you finish tending to her wounds. And it would be nice to take a look at her feet.
"Milky white eyes" is annoyingly vague, but you don't think you can press her without losing her.
Just seeing if Kogril's kind words bring Delbina back from the brink.
Something about Kogril's words snap Delbina back from her fugue. She glances over at him, and nearly breaks into tears. "Uzikal Understave. Our blacksmith. He was a good Dwarf."
Delbina goes rigid in fear when Zaszisar'ǃixakaǂaʔ opens the medical kit. This makes it easier to examine her and apply the medicine, but the moment that the Inquisitor releases her, she shies away from him.
Zaszy:
Delbina's wrist wounds look like the kind of burns prisoners receive from manacles or rope. You also see some really nasty cuts on her bare feet, but that will take a few minutes*. If there is any other, more subtle injury, you do not see it.
*Ten minutes. The wounds are equivalent to the kind received from caltrops or the Spike Growth spell.
"The others..." she says, slowly parsing the Inquisitor's accent. "Roald and Crem were watching the prisoners and... One month? One month? The ship was due in three days."
”The only way you have only been here one day is if you only arrived yesterday. I highly doubt that is the case. A rotation of guards came here before us several days ago. And you were here, weren’t you? How is it that they did not find you? Why didn’t you go to them for help?”
"One month?" Delbina Rask asks. "One month?"
She looks at the cobwebs under the counter. "One month?"
She looks up at the baskets of moldy food and the shriveled vegetables hanging from the opposite wall. "One month."
She is trembling and looking at something a thousand yards away as she quietly whispers to herself "One month."
Sense Motive, DC20:
This woman is terrified, confused, and just a few prods short of a full-blown panic attack.
-----
Lacking clear direction from Tyran, Names Mean Little falls in behind Marc. It makes no comment, aside from some long, drawn-out groans.
The woman looks haggard, thin, and terrified.
Anything more about her physical condition will require a Heal check
Zaszisar'ǃixakaǂaʔ has interviewed battered women in the past. Housemaids, sex slaves, war-widows and victims of more ordinary crime. Women in Delbina's state are generally not good at lying, but they don't make reliable witnesses either.
DM:
Futile attempt to see through Zaszy's bluff:1d20 - 1 ⇒ (17) - 1 = 16
Delbina Rask's relief at the word "heroes" is almost palpable. After half a minute of mumbled thanks, she launches, unsteadily, into her account of the events.
"Last night, I was in the kitchen with Levin. We were making the second course, because the guards eat after the prisoners, and I was gutting a chicken when Levin heard a noise outside. Someone shouting. I went do the door to see what was the matter, and everything after that is fuzzy."
She sighs, and thinks for a long moment. "That was last night. When I woke up this morning, I was hiding in that apple barrel over there. I had all these scars and I don't know how I..."
She trails off as she stares at the welts on her wrists. Her face, somehow, turns even more pallid than it was before.
Kogril: It is hard to tell what one way or the other, because her clothes are so filthy. Too, she has welts around her wrists, as if she has been bound with manacles for some time. But you recall that the Deepmar prisoners all worked in the mines, and you are fairly certain that this woman has never swung a pick in her life. Her hands are too soft, and a frail thing like her wouldn't last a quarter of a shift before passing out from exhaustion.
She takes the waterskin from Kogril, swishes a sip of water around her mouth, and swallows.
"I am Delbina Rask. I'm a cook," she says uncertainly. Her eyes widen at the sight of the Inquisitor. "Who are you people?"
Tyran: Compared to the frenzy and cacophony of the fight inside the mess hall, it is positively peaceful outside. The wind is whistling over the walls that circle the colony, the surviving chickens are clucking as they slowly retreat to the safety of the coop... Oh, and there is a seven-foot-tall mithril golem leaning against the kitchen.
Names Mean Little utters a tuneless moan at the sight of the soldier, and then its green eyes turn yellow and it starts talking. "The screaming has stopped. Do we continue searching?"
The girallon's next room-shaking roar is interrupted when a crossbow bolt slices into its chest, and the next two cancel the roar permanently. The great ape stumbles, falls against the wall, and slumps to the floor. Its eyes still glow blue, but there is no sign of life behind them.
The only sound left in the mess hall is the heavy breathing of the combatants and the sobs of terror from the woman under the counter
Knowledge: Nature DC15:
Barring magic or really weird biology, eyes don't usually glow like that. What sense does that even make? How is something supposed to see anything but bright light when its eyes are glowing from the inside?
Upon closer inspection, you see that there is fungal growth on the girallon's scalp. It's the color of bread mold, and it has roots that dig down under the skin. Ew.
Tables shake. Plates shatter. Chairs are crushed underfoot and the pieces scatter. Having read some of Captain Ashferth's letters, Zaszy is confident that this is the most violence that the mess hall has seen since a prison riot erupted over "Meatless Mondays."
The Girallon is deeply wounded, but there is fight in it yet!
There are windows all along the mess hall, but they are over Kogril's head, and all of them have heavy storm shutters closed and possibly locked from the inside. No way to know until they're tried. Now that he thinks of it, the Dwarf notices that all of the other windowed buildings in the compound have their shutters up.
The door budges under the combined efforts of the Inquisitor, Kogril, and Tyran, but whatever is blocking it is big and heavy. Names Mean Little was standing back, uncertainly swinging its flail back and forth. But at Tyran's order, the golem's eyes flash yellow. It steps forward and slams its free hand against the door.
Aiding STR Check:1d20 + 4 ⇒ (9) + 4 = 13
The door opens with a clatter of cast iron. The smell of spoiled food and wet fur assaults yours senses. The woman inside is now screaming for you to go away. You spot her cowering beneath the counter to your right; the stove that had been blocking the door barely misses her as it rolls over. And you hear feral snarls now, coming from a mass of shaggy fur that disappears around the corner.
Leah and Marc
You hear the crashing and banging of the beast moving through the mess hall. In a moment, the beast steps into the light that pours through the door, and you get your first good look at it.
It's an ape wit' horns sticking out of its head, but the horns are the least remarkable thing about it. It stands six and eight feet high at the shoulder, which is to say that it has two pairs of arms, and each of those arms ends in a hand that could cup a man's head. It could likely crush a man's head too. Under all that fur, you see coils of ropey muscle.
The girallon snarls at you two, but then the commotion in the kitchen catches its attention, and it retreats from the door.
Knowledge: Nature DC 16:
You've heard of these things. It's a girallon, said to be one of the jungle's most dangerous predators. They are aggressive, carnivorous, highly territorial, and incredibly strong. Gods have mercy upon anyone that falls within reach of their four powerful arms.
Their exotic appearance and ferocious manner makes them popular creatures in the circuses and gladiatorial arenas of Infernal Cheliax. Sometimes they are starved and pitted against each other, sometimes they fight gladiators hungry for fame, but most often a purse is offered to anyone who can survive thirty seconds in the cage with one. One who kills a girallon is all but assured of fame, yet most battles against these ferocious beasts end poorly.
Note: The Girallon's actions were move to the mess hall door, look out, move to investigate the noise at the kitchen door. Because the tables are difficult terrain for it to move past, it didn't actually have enough movement to step within range of Marc's attack.
As Marc steps inside the mess hall, he and his sister see the dark shapes of tables and benches. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to what little light filters in through the shuttered windows, but you see shattered plates of moldy food and chairs tossed aside or crushed underfoot. And, at the end of the hallway, you see a beast with white shaggy fur bashing through a door.
The beast turns. You see glowing blue eyes above terrible white fangs!
And it's a go! Good thing you used your Bond Senses ability, or I would have omitted Leah from the initiative rolls and the beast would have gotten the drop on you.
Previously on No Response From Deepmar:
Four heros answered the call to action. A Lizardman inquisitor and a scion of a Dwarven merchant family were summoned to Kintargo by a sleazy bureaucrat, while a Chellish soldier and a vagabond summoner were inspired by the sad tale of Captain Ashferth's daughter. Together, they all set off to investigate the strange disappearance of the garrison on the distant island of Deepmar.
A violent storm was weathered, and our adventurers were very nearly carried away on the wind. But they rallied and drove off the feral elementals. For their heroics, the crew became fast friends with their passengers, although they still avoided Inquisitor Zaszisar'ǃixakaǂaʔ and they had no more than wild rumors of Deepmar's disappearance to share with Kogril.
They arrived at the southern coast of Deepmar Island without further issue. Leah went ashore to summon her brother, while Tyran uncrated the Gul-Dottari sent by Durotas Palamer. The golem's reaction to the sight of a planar summoning was unexpectedly hostile for a Chelish construct, but Leah allayed its suspicions.
The party soon entered the Deepmar colony, and found it just as strange as Captain Molron foretold. Everything is as if the whole colony dropped what they were doing one evening and walked away.
But, as the party began to search the colony building-by-building, screams of terror were heard from the mess hall.
Leah and Marc
The door to the mess hall lies ajar beneath a sign depicting a frothy mug and a plate of food. From inside, you can hear crashing, clanging, screaming, and roaring.
It seems that the others are going through the back door. Do you wait for them, or go inside?
Kogril, Zaszisar'ǃixakaǂaʔ, and Tyran
Kogril is the first to reach the back door, with the others quick on his heels. Screams ring from inside the kitchen, but the door is stuck fast! It is not locked. Instead, it feels as if something heavy was shoved up against the door.
That will be a DC 25 strength check to open the door, unless you decide to break open the door.
The room comes alive with an aura like nothing Leah has ever seen before. It is very faint, yes, but it is everywhere!
After a few moments of concentration, she realizes that the aura is coming from the clothes and the cots and everything the prisoners touched. The color of the aura tells her what she is looking at: residue of powdered sinmarrow crystal that must have clung to the miners. There is nothing else here.
The chickens were killed, crushed, and pulped so badly that the Elf has trouble telling what it was. Not helping things is that the chickens were killed sometime this morning, if not the day before, and clouds of flies hover over each bit of bloody meat.
But the creature's bloody meal provides other clues. There are tracks of dried blood on the ground in the shape of broad, five-toed feet. Likewise, there are bloody handprints on the well, far too many unless there was more than one killer. Or if the killer had more than the normal pair of hands.
In the past, Tyran has seen captive Girallons on display in traveling circuses, giant four-armed apes that were said to come from the heart of the jungle. It appears that their range is closer to home than Tyran thought.
After some more searching, Tyran sees that the tracks lead off towards the kitchen (A4). He also hears someone scream, and it doesn't sound like the angry roars of the girallon he remembers.
Zaszy and Names:
As Zaszy passes by the gate of the internal palisade, he checks inside. From what he can see out here, the vault where the crystals are kept is undisturbed. But "Danger- Keep away!" is painted on the palisade in large red letters, and perhaps it's best to heed that advice.
The next building (A17) is the captain's quarters. Like most of the other buildings, it is constructed of wood and stone. It is more opulent than the other buildings, which tend toward the drab and utilitarian. It was built along the same lines as the ranch houses of southern Cheliax, and a sign over the porch depicts a pair of white swords on a field of red and black.
The front room contains a couch, a dining table that seats eight, a stone fireplace, bookshelves full of military curios and a few books, and paintings of pastoral settings that might have been done by the captain himself.
The back of the building serves as the captain's sleeping chambers, with a washroom as well. Next to his bed, on a small table, is a half-finished letter to his daughter Temara describing rather routine events at the prison. There is nothing in the note that indicates any sort of trouble, although it ends in the middle of a sentence talking about the poor weather.
At about this point, Tyran finishes tracking the chicken killer.
Leah and Marc:
The two longhouses that make up the prisoners' quarters are built for containment, not comfort. The windows are small and barred, and the walls and the doors are sturdy hardwood.
Each longhouse is a central hallway with one exit and eight cells on each side, and therefore quick to search. The prisoners, of course, did not own anything of value, but Leah notices that there are clothes left on the cots and hanging on pegs. Bowls of half-eaten gruel lie on the ground, covered by three or four weeks' worth of mold. Some of them are cracked, as if they were dropped halfway through the meal.
It's as if everyone suddenly stopped what they were doing and walked away.
The very first thing that captures the soldier's attention is a pair of heavy crossbows and a drum full of bolts.
The crossbows are of very good craftsmanship, though not as good as his own.
Found: x2 Masterpiece Heavy Crossbows
x60 crossbow bolts
The watchtower itself is in a deplorable state by the standards of the Chellish military. Leaves, dirt and dead insects litter the corners, and the weapons ought to be locked up in an armory lest they fall into the hands of the prisoners.
Similarly, the rest of the camp looks abandoned. Tyran can see every building on the map, and no sign of violence. No broken doors, no burned buildings, no sign of anything that ought to happen during a prison riot.
Well, not quite. Tyran sees fresh blood on the ground by the well, and the remains of half a dozen freshly killed chickens.
Kogril:
Kogril doesn't see much that he didn't notice before, nor he does notice that the Half-Elf is up and over the wall before he can get the gate unlocked. On the other hand, Kogril has the gate unlocked faster than Tyran could ever hope to haul the rest of the party over the wall. That's teamwork!
Perception (Zaszisar'ǃixakaǂaʔ):1d20 + 14 ⇒ (1) + 14 = 15I had high hopes for this one. Perception (Leah):1d20 + 3 ⇒ (11) + 3 = 14 Perception (Marc):1d20 + 6 ⇒ (3) + 6 = 9
None of the others notice anything they did not see before. The prison is abandoned, and on its way to being overgrown.
Remember. Distance affects Perception checks. I will upload the annotated map tomorrow. In lieu of that, you guys can has your characters investigate the buildings that Durotas Palamer mentioned on the previous page.
Assuming that they search all around the compound.
Marc and Leah don't find much for the first leg of their search, but that changes when they reach the north gate. The ground inside and out show footprints, as if someone climbed the gate!
As they race around the compound to report their find to the others, Marc notices that one of the timbers was scratched by something with long sharp claws, and those clawmarks lead all the way up.
That will be a DC18 survival check to determine if the tracks are going in or out. DC23 for the claw marks.
Tyran and Leah:
There's not much to see from the gate. The compound looks unkempt, and in another month it'll look positively overgrown. But they can't see any signs of violence, just neglect and roaming chickens.
"Names Mean Little," the golem says, though it's not clear if that's a sentiment or what it prefers to be called. It doesn't say anything more. The light shining from its visor changes from yellow to green, and the golem emits a low, rumbling moan as it turns and follows Leah.
Everyone meets up where the docks meet dry land, in front of the penal colony gates. Two towers stand abreast of the wrought iron gates, silent and empty. Walls made of timber stakes stretch to either direction and curve out of sight about a hundred and fifty feet away. The only sign of movement is the tattered remains of a Chelish flag, fluttering at the top of the western tower.
It seems like the first challenge will be to get inside.
I'll need perception checks
Gate:
The gate(s) are double-doors twenty feet tall, made from criss-crossed iron bars three inches thick. A very large locking mechanism joins the doors in the center, which can be picked by a DC30 Disable Device roll. The gate is also marginally easier to climb than the walls.
Walls and towers:
The walls and the towers are made of thick reinforced timber, and have been treated with a resin that left them slick and rather hard to climb, from the inside or the outside. The walls have a climb DC of 28. Or, like the gates, you can break through them.
So, I screwed up the rolls when I split the posts. The results were as follows:
Head aura: Arcana check failed.
Body aura: Arcana check succeeded, Spellcraft check failed.
Left hand aura: Both checks passed.
Right hand aura: Both checks passed.
There are all kinds of auras emanating from the golem, too many for Leah to get a quick read. After a moment of concentration and some squinting, she separates the auras into four distinctive bands, the strongest of which radiates from the golem's head. It is very strong, blazing red like the setting sun even through the golem's thick helmet, but the summoner can't tell what kind of magic it is.
The rest of the golem's body glows with a moderate aura of transmutation, though Leah can't tell what the magic does. A faint aura of conjuration seeps from the golem's left gauntlet like smoke, and Leah recognizes it. She's seen it before. One time she was offered a magic ring that would make her never have to eat or drink again. What need could a golem have of such a device?
The last aura isn't anything special. Just a combat enchantment on the golem's flail.
As it turns out, the Magrat has made regular deliveries to Deepmar Island over the years, and the old hands were well acquainted with the guards. There is much debate as to what could have happened to the prison, but one of the least outlandish theories is that the garrison took advantage of the confusion caused by the revolution on the mainland to escape to a foreign country with a secret hoard of crystals and possibly some of the prisoners.
Alternatively, and Kogril is bemused by some of the vast misconceptions the sailors have about mining underground, the miners dug too greedily and too deep, and unearthed something best left buried. A demon of smoke and shadow, or a long-lost temple to the diabolic gods that is also the source of the precious crystals.
The more probably, more mundane, and therefore less popular version of the theory is that the miners simply tunneled into Drow warrens, and the whole prison were killed or taken as slaves.
Two glowing green eyes stare back at Tyran from the half-shadow of the crate. With a clanking of armor and a creaking of timbers and a loud groan, the Gul-dottari shuffles out of the crate and into the light of day.
It's an old and very battle-worn model; Tyran hasn't seen its kind since he was a young lad. The golem's body is made of layer upon layer of mithril armor, metal plates riveted over chainmail and leather. Once upon a time, it might have belonged to one of the great houses, because tarnished remnants of brass trim still cling to the armor plates. But that was decades ago, and even the seal of the city of Kintargo upon its chest is dented and scratched from dozens of battles.
For all that wear, the old golem still moves with the ponderous-yet-deliberate efficiency of its kind. It takes a moment to survey its surroundings before it turns to Zaszisar'ǃixakaǂaʔ and raps its left fist against its chest. The green light that shines from the slits in its visor turn yellow.
"I serve." rumbles out from the golem's helmet. The voice sounds like two millstones grinding together.
Leah's incantation catches the Gul-Dottari's attention, and it watches the others as Marc Oakfounder is summoned. The moment that the Eidolon appears, the Gul-Dottari twirls the heavy flail clamped in its right fist. The head unwraps from the haft in a few spins, and moments later it is a blur.
The Gul-Dottari answers Marc Oakfounder's shriek with a roar of its own and lurches down the dock, each footfall shaking the wooden frame.
A board snaps, followed by many more as the Gul-Dottari falls through the dock and disappears in a geyser of water. At first, there is no sign of the golem, certainly nothing that can be heard over the splashing water and the laughter from the sailors. Then a stream of bubbles moves out from under the dock and advances upon the shore.
Water pours from the golem's body when it breaks through the surface, and it continues to pour long after it climbs up onto the shore, orients itself, and advances upon the summoner and her brother.
Back on the dock, a sailor quits laughing long enough to unmoor his line and return to the ship. Once aboard, he throws the gangplank onto the dock.
"That should get you across the gap," he yells as the ship pulls away. "Gods' speed to you all!"
Inside the crate, Tyran spies an envelope tacked to one wall.
Message:
'I'm not sure what the Durotas told you, but we'd greatly appreciate the return of our Gul-Dottari once his mission is finished. It doesn't need much more than two hours of rest each day and an occasional shot of healing energy to keep it going. Treat it with respect, and it'll serve you well.'
'PS: These old Grandispater models can be very temperamental. If you don't address it as "Names Mean Little" or "Names", it tends to ignore the orders it doesn't like.'
The sailors furl the sails, and the Magrat slowly drifts past the dock. Some of the sailors leap over the side and wrap mooring lines around a bollard, though they don't tie her down. Evidently, the captain doesn't intend to stay even that long.
"Roschk" Molron says to one of his Orc-descended crew. "You take the crane and get the Guldottari off my ship. And whatever you do, don't bump the crate. I've heard that these older models can be irritable."
The little jib crane groans to life after the cargo hatch is thrown open. After some bickering over the proper hook to use ("'e's made of mithril, but there's a lot o' him!") the alchemically-treated crate is lifted out of the hold and swung over to the starboard side of the ship. After a moment of consideration, Roschk realizes that there is no way the gangplank is going to bear the weight of a metal golem, and reverses course to swing the crane over the port side and slowly lower the crate to the dock.
"It's all yours," Captain Molron says as he hands a crowbar to Tyran.
Perception 15:
The colony certainly looks abandoned. The road leading up to the prison compound is choked with weeds, and moss is starting to take hold on the dock. There's not much you can see of the prison from down here, but it appears that the tattered remains of a Chelish flag is fluttering from atop one of the guard towers.
"Chance encounter?" Molron rumbles, peering up through the rain at the lantern archons. "Hardly chance at all. Windsprites are at the heart of every seasonal storm. It's just bad luck that I couldn't stay upwind of that pack."
He coils the lifeline he had ready to save Leah, hangs it on a rail, and climbs down from the forecastle. "You've all done your part. I'll see about sailing us out of this storm."
For the next few hours, the captain does not leave the quarterdeck, and the storm does not abate. From their cabin, it is impossible for the adventurers to know how many more close calls the Magrat sails past. They see more air elementals in the distance, some of which bank to follow the ship for a while before losing interest. More apparitions roam the storm, barely seen through curtains of rain. And not once but twice, the adventurers feel something long and scaley scrape the bottom of the ship.
If there is any improvement in their journey, it is the change in how the sailors treat them. No longer is there the unspoken message that the party is unwelcome cargo.
By late afternoon, the storm rolls on, leaving the Magrat afloat in choppy seas. The sails are unfurled and the ship sets out on the best course for Deepmar Island.
When dinnertime comes, the party is invited to dine with the rest of the crew. In celebration of the safe passage through the storm, wine is served and sauerkraut is warmed up to go with dry and incredibly well-preserved sausages. The good eating and the relief loosen the sailors' tongues, and some of the regular crew start telling stories they heard from the Deepmar prison guards. Late into the night, they tell the party tales of vicious white apes and escaped prisoners and unseen things that stalked guards through the jungle.
--------------------
It is just after the midday meal on the third day when the island first comes into sight, due west. Captain Molron works with the prevailing winds to bring the ship around until he is tacking into the wind along the island's eastern coast. In accordance with the map that Durotas Palamer so graciously commissioned for the party, the island is square-ish, and perhaps thirty miles across. Rolling green hills give way to lush forest as the ship sails south.
"Excellent wood in there," the captain remarks, which gets an appreciative nod from the ship's carpenter. "It's all old ceder and pine, and it's never been touched by a lumberjack's axe. Not that I'd be fool enough to stop here, not unless I found myself in dire straits. There's too many shipwrecks along this coast, and the stories they tell..."
The captain shrugs. "There's stories everywhere. Goblin raids in Sandpoint, cannibal cults in Magnimar. In fact, I call myself unlucky to be the one bringing you here and not taking you home. I should like to know how this all pans out."
The ship rounds the southwestern corner of the island, and it is not too long before the ship sails into a shallow harbor with a single dock. A trail leads up the dock to a walled settlement, Deepmar Prison Colony.
"So. This is where we part ways," Molron says as the ship ever-so-carefully sails toward the wooden pier. "And once again, I thank you for saving us from the storm. Any last requests?"
Waves. Sea. Rain. Clouds. Rain. Waves. Ship. Sea. The world spins around Leah as the air elemental charges back toward the ship. Her family dagger does nothing to the creature, and the rays of the lantern archons miss altogether.
Kogril's pick strikes true, but it is not enough to slay the elemental. The whirlwind overruns him, tearing at him with savage winds. But before it can attack him, a bolt from Tyran hits home and slays the elemental.
Reflex:1d20 + 4 + 1 ⇒ (12) + 4 + 1 = 17
Leah lands on her feet, safe and alive. The air elemental floats up past the masts as parts of it slough off and dissolve in the rain. The Magrat is safe, or as safe as a ship tossed around in a storm can be.
Damage Taken:
Leah:28
Kogril:11
Tyran:6
Zaszy:9
700 xp awarded each.
Will post the rest of the wrapup and the arrival at Deepmar tomorrow, after I've had some sleep.
You guys just unloaded 130 HP of damage on the air elemental. You killed it dead. Excellent rolls!
But then I remembered that it has Damage Reduction.
The whirlwind twists upon itself like a clenching fist when the nimble summoner escapes its grasp. The Lantern Archons are upon it before it can pursue, but the little light rays do little but distract it.
But then the more martial adventurers attack, and they do injure it. The whirlwind shrieks as steel points slash and pierce its essence. But as Kogril swings Kindness through the vortex, the unexpectedly high winds nearly tear the weapon from his grasp.
Coming in contact with the whirlwind prompts a reflex save to avoid taking damage and being swept off their feet 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (5) + 10 = 15 1d8 + 4 ⇒ (7) + 4 = 11 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (11) + 10 = 21
Kogril takes 11 damage, but stays steady on his feet. For now.
The air elemental sweeps over the Dwarf and the Inquisitor and then up over the forecastle. The strange being of air and smoke all but disappears into the storm...
I will need reflex saves from Kogril, Leah, and Zaszy. Don't forget the Haste bonus!
Perception DC 21/Anyone hoovered up by the air elemental:
Unfortunately, or perhaps very fortunately, it is swinging around for another attack on the ship!
"Good work!" Captain Molron shouts from the quarterdeck. "There's another one out there! Keep it away from the sails!"
No sooner than he is done shouting when a creature of fog and rain descends from the low clouds above. Its form is that of a diving eagle, but then it constricts and lengthens into a whirlwind!
Spoiler:
1d2 ⇒ 1
Before anyone can react, the large windsprite touches down on the ship, and Leah is almost picked off the ground by a vortex of gale-force winds.
So, the last enemy is a large air elemental. It is using its Whirlwind special attack. This means that Leah must make a DC 18 reflex safe to avoid taking damage:1d8 + 4 ⇒ (4) + 4 = 8 damage. She must make another DC 18 Reflex save, or be bodily picked up and carried by the whirlwind, which will make it harder to attack and cast spells.
Kogril's quick strike is rewarded by a piercing wail from the windsprite, and his overhead strike slashes through the side of the last one.
The cabin boy staggers off to the safety of the fo'c's'le, glad to be alive.
The windsprites surge low over the ocean, flying toward the ship like arrows shot from a f----- ballistae. But then Leah's spell flashes around them. Raindrops slow. Sea foam hangs in midair. The spell collapses around the extraplanar beings, slowing them. Now it is plainly visible that the windsprites are shaped like crude dolls, but made from smoke and seaspray.
But the one in the rear shrugs the spell off! Where the three others crash into Zaszisar'ǃixakaǂaʔ and Kogril too slow to harm them, the fourth one zips past and slams into Leah! Who doesn't get moved back at all, because she's twice as sturdy as she looks at first glance.
Bull Rush:1d20 + 6 ⇒ (11) + 6 = 17Zaszisar'ǃixakaǂaʔ, Kogril, and Leah will each get an AoO against the Windsprite, in that order. The other elementals came in at a sufficiently oblique angle that they didn't pass through anyone's threatened area.
Being faster than the Inquisitor, Kogril slashes at the first elemental to come within reach and deals a fatal blow.
Guided by innate knowledge, the Inquisitor runs his shortspear through the next elemental within reach. It shakes and swirls around the haft, but cannot escape. In moments, the air elemental is naught but wisps of smoke that dissolve in the rain.
Perception DC 30:
There's something else moving out there. It's hard to tell through the rain, but it might be another air elemental. A bigger one.
Neither Leah nor the Inquisitor manage to hurt an Elemental, though the Inquisitor at least manages to touch it. The brief moment when the elemental slips through his fingers is enough to reveal its true nature.
Tyran's first shot comes close, the second hits true, and the third is carried off by a gust of wind.
The Awn Spirit rounds Argo Isle and turns to the northeast. Through the transom portholes in their rooms, and from the quarterdeck should they decide to go topside, the party can see the city of Kintargo fade into the distance until only the shining spires of the castle can be seen, and then those too disappear.
It is at this precise moment that the first sign of trouble appears, a thin smear of grey on the eastern horizon. What alcoholic exuberance the crew has left evaporates at the sight of that distant storm. And as the stormclouds grow closer, the mood gets even grimmer. This is one of the tropical storms for which the Steaming Sea is infamous, full of driving rain and waves that will smash ships to kindling.
At the captain's insistence, the party stays below as the sailors prepare for the storm. It arrives swiftly and with little warning. The wind picks up again, followed by heavy raindrops that rattle the deck above. Then the ship starts pitching forward and aft, and the party is forced to shutter their portholes to keep the sea out.
After what feels like an eternity, a runner comes down and shouts for the party to come topside. "Captain wants you above deck!" the boy shouts, hammering the flat of his palm against the bulkhead for emphasis. "Blades out and eyes open! We're being attacked by windsprites! Follow me!"
Lightning splits the sky and thunder booms like the roar of an angry god. Between the sheets of rain and the clouds dark as charcoal, it is hard to see very far. But then more lightning rolls across the sky, and for a few heartbeats the storm is lit up as bright as daylight. Several miles off the starboard side, backlit by thunderbolts, the party can see a massive waterspout with black things spinning about in its core. The party also sees four figures like nimbuses of sea spray streaking toward the ship.
Windsprites, hell, those are air elementals! They're fast and slippery, and especially vicious against anything else that flies. Not that they'll pass up groundbound prey...
The 'windsprites' are using their flyby attack ability, which means that they attack on the move. On the other hand, this means that each of them provokes an attack of opportunity from anyone holding a melee weapon.
Attacks of opportunity:
Tyran and Kogril, if they are wielding melee weapons, can AoO the first and third air elementals, and the fourth one passes through everyone's threatened space.
The windsprites slam into the party with enough force to knock the wind from Leah and Tyran. The cabin boy is very nearly knocked overboard. They almost disappear into the driving rain, but then they curve back around for another attack!
I swear that one of these days I will relearn the art of timely updates.
Without a shred of hesitation, Captain Molron leads the Inquisitor forward and down belowdecks. A dozen sailors look up from their tasks, see the Inquisitor, and return to lashing down cargo with a very forced casualness.
"I see rough seas in our way, but this ship will weather them just fine. Her keel was laid down from century-cedars cut from the forests east of Magnimar. There is no lumber I have heard of that bears the wrath of a storm better. This is, however, a merchant ship, and we do not usually accommodate passengers of your stature, so the quarters are quite Spartan and, ah, confined."
The hold is filled with bundles of long, unfinished lumber and crates of oranges. But right beneath the main hatch is a wooden crate with "Property of Kithargo Dottari" branded on one side. The crate warrants a second look, as it has been doused with the same noxious alchemical substance that soldiers across the Chelish Empire smear on their armor to ward off rust. Zaszisar'ǃixakaǂaʔ' nose is still full of the pungent, acrid smell when Captain Milton leaves him in the room with Tyren Longeye.
Minutes later, the ship rolls beneath the party's feet. Captain Milton has ordered the sails unfurled, and the ship is riding a strong breeze out of the harbor.
"Aye," says the squad leader. "That would explain a few things. Let's find you your ship."
The doghandler kneels down next to his Met-hound and says "Brute. Find us Names Mean Little."
The dog, which has been sitting unnaturally still this whole time, lurches to its feet and trots down the wharf. It seems to catch a scent near the customs house, and after a few quick zig-zags, it leads the Dottari squad and Zaszisar'ǃixakaǂaʔ to Pier Seven. The squad leader respectively bids the Inquisitor good luck and they resume their earlier search. Or at least they try to. The Met-hound paces up and down the pier, sniffing and growling as if it smells contraband.
"Good morning," Captain Milton says from the far end of the gangplank. "Inquisitor, all of your companions have arrived and we are ready to set sail."
--------
"Meal three times a day, not much more," Captain Milton says as he turns to leave. Then he turns and eyes the adventurers' weapons. "Bad storm coming. Stay out of the way of the crew, but if I call for you, come up on top deck ready to fight."
He leaves without another word, vanishing around a large crate that looks like it was nailed together the night before.
-------
As she claims the top bunk, Leah notices constellations of nicks and pits cut into the ceiling above.
Knowledge: Nature:
Someone has cut a passable map of the night sky into the ceiling. The stars typically associated with good fortune have been circled.
"Deepmar? I heard one of the ships was chartered to go out there. One of one of the ones going to Magnimar.," the squad leader says in a tone of voice that indicates he has no idea where any of these ships are going.
"I thought that there was a dedicated ship that made the run to Deepmar and back," the doghandler says.
"Burned down when the city revolted," the squad leader replies.
"Wait," the third soldier says quietly. "Palamer is sending a team out to the Deepmar prison? Is that why they were crating up that old golem?"
The squad leader whistles and turns to Zaszisar'ǃixakaǂaʔ. "Sir, is an old model Gul-Dottari part of your team?"
A careful read of the last page will show that Palamer did, in fact, mention a Gul-Dottari before Zaszisar'ǃixakaǂaʔ ran out of the room.
"Much obliged," the captain says. "Drop what you can and gather 'round, lads! Our passengers have proposed a fine toast to this voyage! Liquor like this i'nn't likely to pass your lips ever again!"
Within a minute, the whole crew is gathered at the forward end of the ship. Weatherbeaten Men and tusked Half-Orcs stand shoulder to shoulder, all with eyes gleaming at the prospect of free alcohol. The captain pulls a little wooden cup from his satchel and passes it to Kogril. After the passengers drink their share, he drops a little gold piece into the cup and passes both it and the bottle around.
"Do not let your lips touch gold, lads. The sea is a jealous lover, and she punishes those who are unfaithful to her."
When the bottle finally makes it back to Kogril, there is about four fingers at the bottom.
"Captain, wasn't there supposed to be a fourth passenger?" one of the sailors asked.
"Aye, but he ain't here yet. That besides, Inquisitors don't drink while they're on duty."
A ripple of absolute silence passes through the crew. Furtive, terrified looks are exchanged.
"I told the lot of you last night. Not my fault if you weren't paying attention."
"Going to be a heavy storm tonight," one of the sailors says, trying and failing to keep his voice even. "We should get those oranges down below and, ah, strap them in place."
The other sailors mutter hurried assets and hurry off as Captain Molron takes the passengers to their berths. There are two cabins big enough for two people each, but each has three bunks crammed in there.
Somewhere on the ship, the party hears a hatch being thrown open and dozens of objects being dumped overboard.
----------------
The Inquisitor finds a three-man squad of Dottari combing the docks with a Met-hound. When the sergeant meets Zaszisar'ǃixakaǂaʔ's eyes, he brings the whole squad to a halt and salutes. "Can I help you, sir?"
"I've been sailing these waters all my life," Captain Molron says. "But not so long that the sea can't surprise me. I imagine it's not so different mining underground?"
------
Temera is very reluctant to let the letters go, but she understands the necessity. She slips back into her room and returns with a weathered mailbag to keep the letters in.
"Good luck. And please, tell my father I love him and I never lost hope for him," she says, and then returns to the kitchen.
It's a beautiful day outside, and the red skies to the east are fading as the sun climbs ever higher. It promises to be comfortably hot and humid by the Inquisitor's standards, and his journey to the docks is pleasant and uneventful.
The Magrat is a proper galleon, with two main masts and an aft mizzenmast. She is low and wide with only a single deck over a spacious cargo hold. What this means in practical terms is that she was built for stability at sea and maneuverability close to shore. Perhaps her most unusual feature is a jib crane that hangs over a large hatch. It was installed to speed loading and unloading of cargo at underdeveloped ports, such as those in northern Varisia. But since the ship is docked in Kithargo, the jib crane is lashed down and a larger crane on the docks was used to load bundles of hardwood into her hold.
The ship has plenty of seasons under its belt, though it's not yet old. It can be plainly seen where the original Chelish oak has been replaced by other varieties of wood, scars from rough seas or piracy. Curiously enough, in some places a plank of oak can be seen seamlessly blended with a plank of cedar, indicating that not all of the repairs have been mundane.
Leah:
"Red skies at morning, sailors take warning". You don't see red skies, so the captain must be getting his warning from something else.
From here, Argo Isle (I.E: Half of Kithargo, including the castle) blocks the view of the ocean. Between the island and the mainland is a stretch of water, a few hundred yards wide and full of ships going this way and that. Seagulls circle overhead, and they don't seem too concerned with inclement weather.
Kogril isn't sure, but he thinks that breaking the bottle of horilka across the prow would be a bad idea. For one thing, he's pretty sure that ceremony is only done on a ship's maiden voyage, which was years ago for this galleon. Besides, peeling the paint off the figurehead would be a fast way to end up on the crew's bad side.
Kogril has heard of a tradition that if all aboard drink from the same cup before a voyage, then none will be lost at sea. It's worth a try.
"You volunteered? The Durotas said he'd find some, but I didn't believe it. I guess I do now," the captain says as he sees the man matching Leah's description walking down the dock.
"Right now, my crew is busy stowing our cargo and your golem in the holds. When that's done, and when the other two- sorry, that's probably the Emberforge engineer walking this way- when the inquisitor gets here, we will be off. I've got some quarters in the aft end of the ship usually set aside for the guards. That's where you'll bunk until we reach the island."
He shakes the hands of all three adventurers, and then pulls a piece of braided, salt-encrusted rope out of his pocket and studies it with dismay. "Nestle in tight. There's rough seas 'twixt here and there."
---------
Temera leads the inquisitor to her room and disappears inside. She reappears moments later with a slightly thicker stack of letters. If Captain Ashferth wrote a letter to his daughter every week for years, the two stacks would account for most of them.
The letters are disorganized, though the larger stack seems to contain the older letters. Back then, it seems, Captain Asferth was more interested in the geography of the island, though he quickly branched out into botany, zoology, and epidemiology.
There is far too much to take in with a single reading, even if Zaszisar'ǃixakaǂaʔ had time for more than a quick perusal. Meanwhile, Temera stands in front of her door, waiting for him to hand them back.
"You've found him," says a bearded sailor wearing a vest emblazoned with icons of wind and water. He stands up from his stool, tucks a scroll under one arm, and walks down the gangplank. "Palamer must have sent you. You're not the Dwarf, so you must be the Inquisitor?"
Tyran Longeye finds a stall set up on the docks, near the section allotted for the Chelish Navy. From the goods available for sale and the chatter from the officers watching the stall, he gathers that the warship Lady of Night ran afoul of a freak storm, and the crew is selling surplus supplies and provisions to help pay for the repairs.
Whatever the reason, Tyran is soon on his way with everything he needs, most of which has the sigil of the Chelish navy crossed out with "S.B.O.Q."
--------
Leah runs into trouble down at the docks, but fortunately trouble is uninterested in her. As she walks down the wharf, a squad of three Dottari soldiers come from the opposite direction, two swordsmen and a dog handler. They barely spare her a second glance. The dog does. It catches her scent as they pass, and it turns to follow her so fast that the handler is nearly pulled off his feet.
The summoner has seen the dogs used by Chelish soldiers before, but never this close before, and she learns up close is upsetting. The dog has a rough coat, like a mangy stray that was taken off the street and fed well. The Dottari have fit this one with banded leather armor, and the whole head is encased in a heavy leather hood with only a large rivet over each eye for the dog to see through.
The dog sniffs Leah's boots, and then the hood splits open like a mouth. Instead of the canine teeth Leah expected, there is row after row of steel spikes like daggers.
"Brute, heel!" the handler shouts. The dog's mouth snaps closed, and it meekly returns to the man's side.
"That's not him," one of the soldiers says. His eyes flick up Leah's body appreciatively. "Obviously."
The squad continues on without another word, in search of... well, whoever they're looking for.
At the end of Pier Seven is a fast ship laden with oranges and hardwood, bound for Deepmar island and beyond.
--------
Simple Solutions has everything that Kogril Emberforge is looking for, except that there is only a lone bottle of holy water on the shelves. There is a dusty bottle labeled "Oil of Hairline Fractures". The alchemist is surprised to hear Kogril ask for it, and claims that he only made a batch in the first place to see if it could be done.
There are no poisons available for sale in Simple Solutions. There are some bottles of rat poison and something that might be labeled "Natural Causes", but nothing meant to kill people. The Dottari wouldn't like it, and the House of Thrune's chemists don't like competition.
Kogril gets to the docks with plenty of time to spare, along with potions and a wicker-wrapped bottle of horilka.
---------
"Ye-" Temera says, only to be cut off by Zaszisar'ǃixakaǂaʔ's curt request. She doffs her apron, wipes her hands and follows the Inquisitor into the dining room, where the proprietor of the inn is still poking away at an abacus and a sheet of expenses.
Temera produces a sheaf of letters from a skirt pocket and points toward the stairs. "I have more up in my room, if you'd like to see them."
Letters:
The letters do indeed tell all sorts of tales about the flora and fauna of Deepmar island. The images are good, but the descriptions are buried in long, rambling anecdotes, which almost always refer to previous letters.
The one on top, for example, has a drawing of a vine snake. The letter, among other unrelated things, describes how a tropical storm blew a few vine snakes, each as long as Captain Ashferth's arm, onto the roof of the camp kitchen. The very next day, a pair of snakes fell onto the unlucky sod who was first to open the back door, and none of the cooks would enter the building until three prisoners ventured in and searched the whole place for snakes. Somewhere in all of this is a brief mention that the snake's bite only sometimes inject poison, which can be treated with standard antitoxin, and that the snake is often found in the branches of a mahogany tree.
"Pier Seven. I think they might have crated it up last night. Now the rest of you remember, the ship is scheduled to leave in three hours, and Captain Molron is a very punctual man."
-------
The proprietor points to the kitchen and returns to his figures.
When Zaszisar'ǃixakaǂaʔ enters the kitchen, he finds Temara arms deep in a sink full of hot water and dishes. She is surprised to see the Inquisitor, but she gets over it quickly and asks the cook's son to take over for her.
"Can I help you?" she asks as she steps around the counter and dries her hands on her skirt.
"Special abilities? Yeah, they were all able-bodied and didn't look like they knew much about wilderness survival," Palamer says bluntly. "And yeah, the kind of prisoner we send to Deepmar tends to be the dangerous sort we aren't eager to see again. I wouldn't think any magic users were sent to Deepmar... there's somewhere between thirty-five and forty prisoners on the island. A prison riot would have left clues all over the place, but a lone magic user... maybe. Any other questions?"
------
Sense Motive:1d20 + 8 ⇒ (13) + 8 = 21
Palamer gave no sign that he noticed Zaszisar'ǃixakaǂaʔ's reaction, and he only waved the Inquisitor off when the saurian left the room.
Little has changed outside. The courtyard is slightly more organized, and the crates of restricted goods are being opened and searched with hounds. The street outside has more travelers, but they all give the Inquisitor a wide berth. Even the ones who don't know what his job is.
The Rusty Lobster is almost empty. Breakfast is finished, and the patrons have either retired to their rooms or gone about their business. The proprietor is sitting at a table adding figures, but looks up when the Inquisitor enters the tavern.
The bags of cavalry rations have unit emblems stitched on the flap, the rust-red rose of the Terapasillion Elder Dragoon Company. Someone has stitched over the emblem with brown thread, but neither of you recognize the pattern.
What could this be? More investigation is required.
Kogril:
Kogril does know of two potion shops, one on the way to the docks and the other a bit out of the way. On Pier Four is the shop of a merchant who has a bit of everything from every corner of the Inner Sea, including a cabinet full of assorted potions. Closer to the upper class districts is an apothecary called Simple Solutions. The alchemist there serves all kinds of clients, from housewives to diabolists, and so he should have what Kogril has in mind.
"So, the penal colony. I had one of the prison guards draw these up for me, so you can bet your life on them."
He lays out a map of Deepmar Island, drawn on a sheet of vellum. The island is a thirty mile-wide square of land, large enough for several small forests and lakes. The northern part is dominated by hills that rise to a central mountain, and the southern half is partitioned by long, forking roads that lead from the mines back to the colony.
"Here is the island itself. I know for a fact that there are seven mines: Avernus, Dis, Stygia, Erebus, Malebolge, Caina, and Cocytus. Some of them are closed down, but the guard couldn't say which ones were mined out. Wasn't paying attention at the time."
"And this map shows the colony. Pretty standard outpost design. The colony is surrounded by a palisade twenty five feet high and bedded with gravel. A lizard could climb over it, maybe, but not a prisoner. The north gate and the south gate are wrought iron, and flanked by forty foot guard towers."
"In the northeast quarter, there's a stable, smithy, toolshed, mining office, everything that was needed for a mining operation. And that's the captain's quarters, the building closest to the well. Southeast quarter is the vault. That's where all the reagents were stored until the supply ship arrived. I don't have to tell you to leave it alone, but I will anyway. Besides, only Captain Ashferth can open it. Southwest quarter is the prisoner's quarters and that building there up against the west wall is the barracks. Northwest quarter is taken up by the mess hall and the garden."
"So, that's the outpost," Palamer says as he folds the maps and hands them to Kogril Emberforge. "If anything happened, it happened within those walls. The staff under Ashferth's command included two cooks, a blacksmith, a medic, and the dozen guards we rotated out weekly. Find them, or find out what happened to them. Sound doable?"
"Right, the boat. The boat leaves in three hours, and it takes three days to reach Deepmar island. And supplies, well, I have you covered."
Bluff DC 33:
Palamer makes no mention of the ship staying at Deepmar, and it's likely that the ship is on its own schedule. The PCs will be on their own until the ship returns.
Palamer jumps down from his chair and trots over to the far wall, where a number of satchels are hanging from coathooks. He takes four and passes them out to the adventurers. "Those are cavalry rations, good for ten days. Mead, tea, and wandermeal cakes just like my mam used to make them."
"Reagents? Like sinmarrow crystals and the other stuff we find on the island? You can forget about them. Anything I have in stock is the property of House Thrune, and I can't just give it away. You might find a merchant around here who still has some. Good luck."
"Like I said, I can't spare any of my men. But I did find something I can spare. There's this one old model of guldottari stationed in Kintargo. It's just surplus at the moment, but I had it boxed up and loaded onto the ship. It'll get orders to defend you on the island. Just be careful with it and try to bring it back in one piece."
Knowledge: Local DC 10:
The Dottari in the big cities are divided up and named in accordance with their jurisdiction. The condottari (canal wardens) patrol canals, and the wodottari (wall wardens) patrol the walls and guard the city gates. Goldottari (golem wardens) are animated suits of mithril armor commanded by select dottari squads.
Knowledge: Local DC 20:
The Dottari in the big cities are divided up and named in accordance with their jurisdiction. The condottari (canal wardens) patrol canals, and the wodottari (wall wardens) patrol the walls and guard the city gates. Goldottari (golem wardens) are animated suits of mithril armor commanded by select dottari squads.
Guldottari are special golems crafted in a single workshop in Egorian. They are widely reputed to be smarter than the common golem, and tougher than even the fiercest Chelish watchman. Old criminals refer to the time before the invention of the guldottari as "The good old days."
"I'm not going to be pleased, but I'm not going to throw you all in jail if you fail to find anything. I'll just send you home to your papa without a reward. From what I hear, that's punishment enough. But remember, I need that ledger. It's absolutely crucial if we're going to continue operations on the island, so I'll make you a deal. Every crystal we dig up is the property of the House, so we always search everyone coming back from the island to make sure they're not filling their pockets with the Lord-Mayor's money. But if you return with the ledger, I won't search those mealbags you're holding. You can stuff whatever you like in there and walk away with it. I'm going to assume that the good inquisitor will stop you from stealing the House's property."
Palamer broadly winks taps his thumbs together as he makes his promise, a gesture that means "mutual profit". Judging from the inflection of his words and the gesture itself, the officer fully expects everyone to come back loaded with valuable crystals, and doesn't care so long as he gets his ledger.
"And yes, I do have a map of the island. One of the guards drew it up for me. It'll take a long time to go through, so I'll pull it out if nobody has any other questions."
"Knock yourself out," he says as he tosses the crystal to Kogril.
Kogril:
The crystal reminds Kogril of the dirty yellow diamonds that the craftsmen of the Mindspin mountains use in their tools. Such diamonds are too common and ugly for jewelry, but diamond has far more uses than merely looking pretty. Likewise, the sinmarrow crystal is too ugly for even the most garish of costume jewelry, but Diabolists are apparently willing to pay a fortune for them.
If Palamer was telling the truth about the crystal's worth, then this six-ounce specimen must be worth nearly two hundred gold pieces.
Kogril isn't quite sure what processes made the crystal. They were certainly not mundane forces, because he sees no trace of those red veins. In fact, he can see no flaws or inclusions. Palamer spoke of grading the crystals, so it is probable that this is a very good specimen.
"The wildlife on the island is a big unknown. I've only got tall tales from the guards to go on, and the truth is that none of them, to my knowledge, has ever been killed on the island. Sure, prisoners die, but that's pretty much what we send them out there for. They're murderers, rapists, and pirates, and we promise them they can go free if they serve a fraction of their sentence in the mines."
"Look, maybe the wild stories are true. Maybe there is a dragon wandering around the swamps, but it's not what caused everyone to go missing. When the supply ship showed up, the relief guards came ashore and looked through the colony. They say everyone was gone but the chickens, and it was as if everyone stopped in the middle of whatever they were doing and walked away. Spooked the sailors pretty bad, and they left in a hurry."
Sense Motive:1d20 + 5 ⇒ (19) + 5 = 24
Leah's rebuke makes the Halfling's smile slip for but a moment.
"Honey, this isn't Gilren. A few months ago, the peasants were revolting. The Kintargo Dotarri failed to keep order because they were corrupt, lazy, and disloyal. The guards assigned to Deepmar Colony were Kints and some skullcrushers from Vyre, so yes I find it plausible that "poisonous, acid-spitting wildlife" was a convenient excuse to blame for the equipment that they kept losing through neglect. But that's changed. The Lord-Mayor fired them all and brought us in. The locals don't like us much, but they'll get over it."
"So, what I'm hoping you'll find once you get to the island is the staff, the guards, and the prisoners all alive and well with a solid explanation for what happened. What I expect you to find are dead bodies and evidence of an attack. That's why the Inquisitor is on this mission. My personal theory is that another one of the royal houses made a grab for the crystals. If that's what happened, I want evidence. Additionally, I want you to visit the mines. Master Emberforge is a scion of one of the foremost mining families in the Mindspin mountains. If he can assess the condition of the mines, you all get paid."
"Failing that, there's something else I'm willing to pay you for. To answer your question, Inquisitor, I don't have any accurate records of the operation on Deepmar Island. I just have this."
The officer pulls a ledger out from under his desk. It bears the old seal of Kintargo, the one that was in use until the recent revolution. "A few months ago, someone else was sitting behind this desk. You should have seen him. Looked like someone taught a pig to walk on its hind legs. Long story short, he was skimming off the top. And the sides. And nibbling off the corners too. And he cooked the books to hide what he was stealing, hid the theft in losses due to animal attacks and inclement weather. There's another ledger on the island, kept by the captain of the prison. Find that ledger and bring it to me. Any other questions?"
"A soldier," says Palamer as he shakes Tyran's hand. His accent, similar to every other Dottari soldier that the adventurers have talked to, is from anywhere but Kintargo. "Yeah, that's exactly the sort of man I need."
His smile falters a little bit as Leah introduces herself, but only for a moment. "And it is rare that we get a traveller from so far away as yourself. But since you're a summoner, you know what this is."
He picks a chalky yellow crystal out of the bowl on his desk and spins it on his palm. Momentary veins of red energy pulse inside the crystal, and disappear as soon as it rolls to a halt between two fingers. "Sinmarrow crystal. We mine it, clean it, grade it, and it fetches its weight in platinum in the markets of Egorian. It's one of the reagents that can be found on Deepmar island, and it goes without saying that the prison colony we have out there digging this stuff out of the ground is very profitable for the House of Thrune. Or it used to be. Everyone at the colony disappeared last month, and I do mean everyone. The prisoners, the guards, the cooks, everyone but the chickens. The supply ship arrived and found the place deserted. I need the four of you to go out there and find out what happened to everybody."
The Halfling hops back onto his chair and shuffles through the ledger in search of something. "Now, I'd send a platoon of soldiers, but we're stretched thin. Every man of the Dotarri has to go about town in squad strength, or they go missing and we find them stripped naked and dumped in an alley. Locals won't volunteer because the island has developed a reputation. We cycled the guards through once a week, and they spun wild stories about creeping plants and great hairy apes and swarms of flesh-eating bugs. They were angling for a pay raise, y'see."
"Recently... very recently, last night in fact, the Lord-Mayor realized that shouting at me wasn't going to solve the problem, and we've put a reward out. Ten thousand gold pieces for each person that goes out to the island and returns with information. And if you're willing to do a little more, I'm willing to sweeten the pot."
"So," Palamer says as he finally finds the map he's looking for. "Before I begin, are there any questions?"
Temara mutters thanks to both Kogril and Leah, but she seems lost for words. The door is about to shut behind Kogril when she shouts "I'll stay away from drink, don't you worry! I have hope now!"
The lieutenant leads the way, and the Dottari squad falls into formation around the four adventurers. The soldiers are relaxed, and appear to be more apprehensive toward the other citizens on the street than their charges.
Down the street and just a little bit up from the wharf is a blockhouse surrounded by a stone wall and a courtyard that smells faintly of blood and alchemical reagents. There is a gallows in one corner where three pirates are shackled to the platform, awaiting their sentence. Crates of contraband lie next to crates of restricted goods awaiting inspection, piled so close that the adventurers are forced to squeeze between the crates to follow the lieutenant.
The inside of the blockhouse is considerably more orderly than the outside, possibly because it's kept by secretaries, not soldiers. Off to one side is a corner office with embrasures for windows, and inside that office is a low teak desk, and behind that desk is Durotas Palamer.
"Inquisitor Zaszisar'ǃixakaǂaʔ!" the Halfling officer calls out in greeting, scarcely missing a beat as he snaps a ledger closed. "And Master Emberforge, of course. Just the men I need to see. And... I don't know you?"
He steps around his desk and approaches Tyran and Leah with an outstretched hand. "I suppose you've been recruited by either of these gents?"
At the sight of Kogril getting ready to leave, the young boy dashes into the kitchen and retrieves the Dwarf's order of taters. He grins a big toothy smile at the gold coin.
Temara hands Kolgril the picture of Elgin. The captain of the prison colony has a meager (Even by human standards) beard and a widow's peak, but also a square jaw and the stern look of a man used to leading soldiers.
"Please, may I see it for a moment?" she asks. Not waiting for Kogril to give it back, she pulls the picture out of his hands and scrawls a quick message on the back.
"Give that to him if... when. When you find him."
The lieutenant is surprised to see Leah volunteer, but he recovers from it quickly. "Yes! Of course! Any and all help is welcome! We shall wait outside for a moment and give you time to gather your things."
