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The stairs just lead up to a track of sturdy-looking catwalks that soar over the warehouse floor below, the evenly placed and well-trod platforms supported from above by iron poles. A nice option to look at the whole room from above, spoiled by two more Gray Maidens patrolling here.
The rough functionality of the warehouse below gives way to beige tile and a whitewashed hall on this floor. Double doors engraved with images of rampant gazelles stands to the south, their once fine teak bearing obvious scores and chips from rough use. Looking around might be an issue, as Two Gray Maidens in full plate guard the hall.
There are controls that cause the lift to operate. Not so obvious is an additional control set within the slot of the operating lever is missing it's button.
Several cubbies and wooden lockers line the walls of this small workroom. Four rickety chairs surround a water-damaged table, and a well-used but solid-looking cargo lift rises up through the ceiling.
Everyone is busy with patients. One question is, if the door will make sound. If someone will notice that in all that moaning, coughing and sneezing is another matter.
The group came through a large double door at the back end.
The stinging scent of alcohol and medicine floods this dingy reception room, an odor typical of hospices—and morgues. Across from the entrance sits a long wooden desk, beyond which a stained leather curtain covers an archway, muffling the moans issuing from the rooms beyond. The warehouse’s vast interior has been converted into one gigantic convalescent ward. The stench of alcohol, sickness, and waste chokes the breath, and tight rows of low, stained cots cram the stone-floored hall. Every bed is filled with a pitiful story—men and women of all walks groaning and wheezing as they’re consumed by blood veil, their sufferings multiplied by the echoing chamber. While Tisha looks around a group of people emerges from the back. Three more doctors that move to beds and one skinny nurse, that comes towards the leather curtain.
The doctor is behind the curtain at some patient's bed. He doesn't care or hasn't heard the door.
Map provided. Around the back, several larger doors once provided access to the building’s loading bay back in its time as a warehouse, but now they are boarded up. Entering the building through these reinforced doors requires them to be smashed down ]ooc](hardness 5, hp 30, break DC 25)[/ooc].
Narciso agrees, that for only one it is probably less effort and risk. He casts message and invisibility on Tisha.
Narciso confirms, that invisibility would be an option, but points out that it is a rather expensive way to get them all in. In his opinion it would be possible to send Tisha in, disguised as a blood veil victim with a message spell, so she can keep the party updated and call for help if needed. On the assumption that the wooden building would allow for the use of the spell as long as no stone or metal walls get in the way. And that there don't seem to be armed guards around to actually hinder the party to get in in such a case.
He is still on vacation.
The stinging scent of alcohol and medicine floods this dingy reception room, an odor typical of hospices—and morgues. Across from the entrance sits a long wooden desk, beyond which a stained leather curtain covers an archway, muffling the moans issuing from the rooms beyond. "If you prefer Dr. Davaulius to tell you that you waste your and our time, I can call for him. But don't expect him to be in a good mood then." the doctor replies.
There is no one standing at the door, and the door is not locked. But as soon as Ernhild enters someone immediately comes to meet her.
"But your attempt to help by coming here is misguided. The best way to treat blood veil is to use divine magic, as you for sure know. We are here for those that can't get that. For lack of money or lack of clerics who can aid in this way." "And our treatment is still experimental which can't be handed to the untrained. There is no vial to administer to the suffering." The doctor looks Ernhild into the eyes "So the best course of action for you would be to return to the temple and help the people in your way, and send those you can't help to us. Beyond that we can't help you as we have our hands full as it is."
Sitting in the shades somewhere the entrance is in sight for a few hours shows some of the doctors coming and going but the most traffic is people in later stages of blood veil walking into the hospice.
How it actually went: Clara comes out of the bath again. "You can go first." she generously offers." On closer inspection it becomes clear why: There is no water in the tub and a serious lack of modern plumbing. Tarjun walk in and cries behind the closed door "Aw, come oooon!"
When Tarjun gets out, he is much cleaner, and smiles at Clara like a cat who's just got the cream and a canary to spread it on. "Your turn!" The water in the tub is... a sight. Possibly an entire batallion just had their annual bath in that tub after returning from the war. It's hard to say. "You didn't pee in it, did you?" Clara inquires. "No," Tarjun replies very sincerely, and with more than a bit of pride. "They wanted me to have a real wash, right? So I did." Jewel walks up and looks in the tub with Clara. Glaring at Tarjun she growls. "I'll help you. And I'll heat some water so you don't have to take a cold bath, like he did." Glancing at him she mutters, "I hope you get a fungus!" While there isn't a faucet to fill it, there is a drain. Then Jewel turns to Erastil, holding up her tiny bow carved out of an elk antler. "MITTE AQUAM SINJE PLUVIA." The holy light of Erastil's intervention fills the room and shines into the hallway accompanied by the noise of a waterfall. Followed by a "CALEFACERE!" that shines the flickering octarine light. With that done Clara can finally take a bath too and does so by applying soap and water generously. "JEWEEEEEL! Please come and rinse me down." Clara whines as there is no way to get the soap out of her clothes that she is still wearing in the milky water of the tub. Jewel enters, looks at the mess and tries some other cleaning magic. "AQUA PURGARE!" Again the divine light shines from the carved badge she holds up. "HEY! I'm no food to purify!" Clara protests. From the other end of the hallway out of the dining room Donna shouts "WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THAT BATHROOM?!?" "I PLEAD THE FIFTH!" Clara hollers back.
As the cinematics in our heads seem to diverge again, here an attempt to align that a bit. How it's supposed to go:
Once the boy is out of the bath Clara complains "I'm not setting foot into this mud soup!" After calling in Jewel for help they try to figure out a way to pull the plug on the tub without reaching into the water. After the tub is drained, the first bucket full is used to rinse the tub. With Tarjun standing on the side grinning, revelling in his new role of spectator it is now Clara's turn to haul buckets. She isn't happy about that from the start she mutters under her breath about "Dirty boys. Such a nuisance. One could believe they are made out of dirt and stink." After a while Jewel helps with filling the buckets as Clara is a bit short to operate the pump efficiently.
The bath door closes again and after a while with a lot of sploshing and bubbling noises, a soapy Clara appears in the hallway again. The bath looks like it got hit by a flood by now. "Jewel, you have to rinse me!" Clara whines through soapy squinting eyes. Jewel leads her out to stand under the pump and then operates the device, showering Clara with cold water until the whining turns into annoyed complaining again. At last Jewel makes Tarjun and Clara stand outside, while she mops up the bathing flood in the bath and all the way through the hallway outside.
The former warehouse at the docks is accessible from all sides. The main entrance to the hospice is a wooden door that is kept locked after dark. Around the back, several larger doors once provided access to the building’s loading bay back in its time as a warehouse, but they are not boarded up. The building has no windows.
Carowin doesn't like that suggestion. He stays back though til you made sure there are no undead left. A quick search of the premises brings up no further zombies.
"How about you take this crazy woman to prison? Or far, far away from me anyway." Carowyn suggests. "I'll follow you out of the house at a safe distance and then... contact an undertaker." He buries his face in his hands.
"Why, what? No one had any symptoms of blood veil at the party!" Carowyn objects.
"Yes, I'm Ausio Carowyn. My wife is Olauren Carowyn. She was dressed as a Galtan queen, her sprawling pearl-studded gown flowing around her and an elaborate, powdered wig nearly brushing the ceiling."
"We were greeting the Westerkiers when the elven acrobat we hired as an entertainer went crazy. I saw her open fire on one of my guests with her crossbow, laughing all the while in the most frightful, shrill way. I’ve been locked in here for days, and every time I got up the courage to sneak out, I heard that horrible laughter above." the man tells. "Do you know what happened to my wife?"
"B-b-b-ut there is the crazy woman!" He points the painting knife at Jolistina.
Behind the door is a small workshop that was converted into a studio. among the painting supplies, is a tawdry-looking divan, a small shrine to Shelyn, several scandalous portraits of a woman that looks somwewhat familiar, and a man. He brandishes a dull paint knife at Briggi when the dwarf enters trying his best not to shake too obviously.
You get no answer.
The door is locked from the other side.
Tisha: No trap visible.
The polonaise moves on and in the next room there are some stairs leading down. A well-stocked wine rack and several large casks line the
Narciso's poor man's fireball ends the banquet.
Initiative:
Tisha leads the polonaise through the rest of the floor. Eight corpses sit at a finely set dinner table, looking at one another blankly. Of the eight, four are zombies who mechanically go through the motions of eating the rotten food on the table before them, spooning it back into their mouths after it dribbles out onto the table from their slack jaws.
Decades of practice finally pay off and Briggi clubs the elf.
Tisha: Friends in a very broad definition of the word. Like not killing each other on sight.
Ernhild walks over and makes sure the elf has no option to leave.
Jolistina is dressed like a harlekin and looks like she'd perfectly fit into this now dead society as an entertainer. The elf is in size between Narciso and Tisha. The most in your face attribute about her is the smile that tends to a grin and the eyes. It is like crazy written all over her face.
All the zombies abandon Jolistina.
Jolistina dosges Tisha's attack easily but looks like standing besides herself otherwise. The zombies attack the nearest living person.
Jolistina dosges Tisha's attack easily. She orders her zombies and dances past Narciso into the next room smiles and blows him a kiss "Hello sweety!"
The destructive effect of the holy energy make the zombies even more terrifying to look at. One Zombie punches Narciso.
Annesley is completely made up just like Oaksteadt. I'd say it's a historical city built mostly out of hewn sandstone at the mouth of the river. Over the centuries the river has pushed the land out by a mile. Therefore the docks and harbour buildings have moved with that and are of newer but only wooden construction.
I quickly read up on riptides and there are some geographical conditions you need to get one. So how does that look here at the river mouth to get one?
Two undead nobles wearing matching lion and lioness masks sit before the empty fireplace, with a third zombie dressed as a peacock and holding a silver serving tray attending them. Narciso also sees the hidden shooter clearly from this perspective, but not without catching a bolt first.
The door is open, but no one is in the room behind the door. The next door is open too and beyond it you catch the glimpse of the hem of a cloak shortly close to the left door frame. GM:
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