Kyrax detects nothing unsavoury on the other side of the door, and soon enough you all pile through. Zhu fires a last spell at the approaching darkness - and watches it be engulfed entirely while the black wall approaches.
Beyond the door, you find a small room with a floor worn smooth and one wall chiseled smooth again. Etched out in black are the words
The Rough Beast rose, but at last it fell
On the night when it was 'prisoned, there sounded a knell
When Desna, Mirarae and Sarenrae in wearied sleep closed their eyes
Three powers so disappointed said a prayer beneath the lightless skies
Seven black pearls, seven prayers, seven sins in a crown so pure
When that blasphemy is assembled, no Creation may endure
You have barely a moment to wonder at the meaning of these words when the blackness pours out of the letters and comes oozing under the door. Blackness engulfs you all... and you are at peace.
As soon as Arma reaches the door of the throne room, she sees an oddity. A highly unpleasant oddity. Darkness is rising - literally so, rising up the corridor you all came through. It looks like a solid wall of blackness - or maybe a gigantic ooze - is headed your way, advancing through the granite-walled corridor. A sighing noise precedes it...
The odd bird chuckles at Arma's questions and shakes its head.
"My dear child, I am an agent of the Office of Death. I am neither male nor female. Such as I are created in accordance with Purpose, we do not breed like... well, like mortals."
The creature seems amused by Arma's assertion that she is unique and ruffles its feathers.
"You are not very widely traveled yet, are you?" is all it will say on that subject. "Hm, hm, your 'father', is it. I see, I see. Hah, yes indeed."
On the question as to the nature of the magic suffusing the tower, the bird clucks and its voice becomes less personable.
"I am Neutral in these matters, child. I really cannot go about tipping the scales in anyone's favour. That is simply not done! You will have to look about for yourselves and form your own conclusions. No, no, do NOT try to persuade me, I am of Death. I can not be swayed."
The bird puffs up its feathers at Zhu's tone, but steals a glance at the shadow-Goblin regardless.
"'Harmed', he says," it scoffs. "No, that can not be 'harmed' in this realm. Poor, ignorant savage -- er, mortal. Poor, ignorant mortal. Ahem. That is clearly what it is; a person who had nowhere to go and found a temporary residence. One might even say a mortal residence, yes?"
With a soft 'caw', the creature launches itself back into the air and hovers near the ceiling, four wings flapping.
"I am reasonably certain that your stay here is temporary," it tells you in a lofty tone, "so no need to fret over that. Should it turn out that your bodies have perished for some reason, then we might meet again. Seeing as this is not yet the case, however, I must depart; I have a very busy schedule to keep."
With that, the single bird erupts into a cloud of shadows which scatter in all directions and are then gone.
You can go through the doors east and west of the throne or you can try to go back down the tower and explore this strange dreamworld there, if you'd prefer. Of course, you can also elect to stay put until your bodies wake if that's your preference. ^^
When Kyrax shouts, the shadow-Goblin briefly looks up and seems to be searching for the source of a vague sound, but seems unable to pinpoint it. You all see the Goblin stroke the hilt of a phantom weapon, maybe a scimitar, but in the end it shrugs and continues to dog Mirandix' every step.
When Kyrax addresses the bird, it holds up a foreboding wing.
"Please! Do let's not be too hasty in applying such epithets," it says, its voice fussy and almost offended. "Mortals are forever calling people 'friend', only for them to then get bent out of shape about people doing the task they were created for, with nary a bit of understanding for the demands of Purpose."
The bird caws softly at the Bard's statements about the group's presence and shakes its head.
"Personally, I find the proper cataloguing and disposition of souls to be a higher calling - but I understand you may not share this sentiment as you lack Purpose. Rest assured that I am not here to harm you, but neither am I here to help you; you shall have to find your own purpose here, temporary as it may be, if you can. The only reason I am here at all is that this place has gotten so polluted with strange magic lately that the Dream-Realm and the Path to Judgement have begun to bleed together a bit. The Lady of Graves does insist on good filing, after all."
The bird looks at all of you - then looks at Arma and does a doubletake.
"Now this is interesting," it says as it takes wing, only for it to land on Arma's shoulder. "I have not had the pleasure of encountering one like you before," it says in a more companionable tone of voice. "Your kind are usually handled by other scribes."
A rude noise sounds after Arma's emotionless words of pain and Zhu's words of wisdom. It is a sound you might expect to hear out in the field, not here inside a building: the cawing of a crow!
A black bird does, indeed, come flying into the room through the very same doorway you all entered by. It flies through the hall, lands on top of the throne and from that position regards you with evident curiosity. To your astonishment, you can see that the bird has four wings instead of two and is wearing a mask, rather like a plague-doctor's mask, over its beak!
"Well, this is an embuggerance and no mistake, pardon my Chelish," the creature says with the stuffy, fussy voice of a thwarted clerk. "Souls gone already, are they? Tisk, tisk! And proper procedure flouted by means of a cheap permission slip. Honestly."
The bird ruffles its feathers again and regards you all with glittering eyes.
"I say, do you all have legitimate business here...?"
Knowledge (planes) DC 20:
This creature is a Nosoi Psychopomp. They are generally non-hostile, unless someone interferes with the office of death.
You have a hazy memory of falling... then a dull impact against the ground. For some of you, this impact was greater than for others, but it is difficult to get upset about it. You pick yourselves up, dust yourselves off, look around...
You seem to still be in Xorshak's throne room, but it looks... different? Is it different? It is so hard to focus on everything... anything... something? Is something wrong? You simply cannot seem to focus on what the problem is. The floor underfoot and the walls to all four sides are made of rough stone, the throne is a broken seat of corroded iron, but that is all in order. Isn't it?
As you look about you, you see Bangu-Bangu, Secunda and Doritian nearby, also looking around themselves in a state of confusion. That is all in order. Isn't that in order? Why is everything so confusing right now?
You feel a mild stir of anxiety that you realize your comrades are nowhere to be seen. Where they were, last you remember, are insubstantial shadows that flit about. Wavering in and out of sight, these shadows of your friends seem to move with unbearable slowness one moment, then zip from place to place in short bursts of speed.
"Where are we?" Lady Secunda asks, her voice warbling with fear. The Lady is hugging herself, trembling like a frightened child. "We shouldn't be here. This is not right..."
Bangu-Bangu falls to his knees and starts to bawl. "Ruined!" he wails. "Tricked and ruined, ruined, RUINED! Oh, Mother of Monsters, have mercy! I was tricked! TRICKED! TRICKED!"
Doritian turns frightened eyes to Arma, the colour draining from his face. "I..." he starts to say -- then stops speaking.
The roof is suddenly lifted up and hurled away to spiral into a void too terrible for you to look at. Something is outlined against that void, something feminine and beautiful and hideous and majestic and just too much for you to be able to process what it is. Gorgeously manicured hands - three of them! - dip into the throne room and seize your three enemies as neatly as a housewife nabbing an insect by the legs or the wings just prior to crushing it to death.
Your enemies look up at what has captured them and scream as they are yanked up and out of sight, scream like lost souls facing something worse than the torments of Hell or the Abyss, scream as sanity and hope leave them.
Doritian briefly turns his terrified, mad face towards you and cries out, his voice coming so fast that the words bleed over into one another, making him difficult to understand: "Seven! Seven black pearls! Seven prayers! Seven sins in a crown so -- OH MERCIFUL GODS NOOO~!"
The three shrieking voices are cut off as they pass into the unbearable radiance of the thing still looking down upon you as though you were bugs in a box. You feel the pressure of its gaze -- and then the roof is back.
You have a hazy memory of falling... then a dull impact against the ground. For some of you, this impact was greater than for others, but it is difficult to get upset about it. You pick yourselves up, dust yourselves off, look around...
You seem to still be in Xorshak's throne room, but it looks... different? Is it different? It is so hard to focus on everything... anything... something? Is something wrong? You simply cannot seem to focus on what the problem is. The floor underfoot and the walls to all four sides are made of rough stone, the throne is a broken seat of corroded iron, but that is all in order. Isn't it?
You have a hazy memory of falling... then a dull impact against the ground. For some of you, this impact was greater than for others, but it is difficult to get upset about it. You pick yourselves up, dust yourselves off, look around...
You seem to still be in Xorshak's throne room, but it looks... different? Is it different? It is so hard to focus on everything... anything... something? Is something wrong? You simply cannot seem to focus on what the problem is. The floor underfoot and the walls to all four sides are made of rough stone, the throne is a broken seat of corroded iron, but that is all in order. Isn't it?
You have a hazy memory of falling... then a dull impact against the ground. For some of you, this impact was greater than for others, but it is difficult to get upset about it. You pick yourselves up, dust yourselves off, look around...
You seem to still be in Xorshak's throne room, but it looks... different? Is it different? It is so hard to focus on everything... anything... something? Is something wrong? You simply cannot seem to focus on what the problem is. The floor underfoot and the walls to all four sides are made of rough stone, the throne is a broken seat of corroded iron, but that is all in order. Isn't it..?
You have a hazy memory of falling... then a dull impact against the ground. For some of you, this impact was greater than for others, but it is difficult to get upset about it. You pick yourselves up, dust yourselves off, look around...
You have a hazy memory of falling... then a dull impact against the ground. For some of you, this impact was greater than for others, but it is difficult to get upset about it. You pick yourselves up, dust yourselves off, look around...
You have a hazy memory of falling...
You have a hazy memory...
You have...
You... sleep.
Kyrax and Zhu only:
Kyrax and Zhu just barely manage to pierce the murk that somehow seems to fill both the air and their minds enough to notice that a slightly more solid figure is dogging Mirandix' shade - it has the form of a grinning Goblin!
Xorshak's head lies on the ground, separated from its body by a powerful stroke from Kyrax' sword -- and yet it smiles at you. It is active and smiling.
"Well," it says, speaking quite easily despite not being attached to lungs, "a bit of excitement before the end."
Then the body on the throne starts to... melt, clothes and flesh and all turning to slush and water while you watch in amazement. The death of Xorshak has an immediate effect; two doors shimmer into visibility, each set in the back wall, one to the far left and one to the far right of the throne.
"Well, what a hero you are," the head says with its dry, deathly voice as he gazes at Kyrax. "A battle well-fought. You have certainly deserved a rest."
As the head also starts to melt, it utters a sardonic laugh. A golden slab falls free of the melting ice.
Initiative: Mirandix - Noya - Kyrax - Bydar - Robert - Arma - Secunda Jeggare - Kezzat - Doritian - Pontia - Zhu - Bangu-Bangu - Xorshak
That's a hit... but unless my calculations are off, it's not enough to break his Concentration. You take magic missiles to the face for 13 damage...
"Mad?" Xorshak repeats, smiling ethereally while his magic erupts and blasts Kyrax' body. "On the contrary; I am having almost an enjoyable time. Aren't you?"
Xorshak finishes his casting despite your best efforts to thwart him -- and casually lays one hand on a black quarterstaff propped up against his throne.
"Well now," the Wizard says, his eyes boring into Kyrax'. "You are certainly quick on your feet."
All around, Kyrax can feel the gathering momentum of the spell coming into effect!
"Let us see how well you dance with these," Xorshak says, a lugubrious smile creasing his lips as two small portals open next to you and disgorge creatures that reek of brimstone and rot. Rats the size of terriers harry Kyrax from both sides, squealing even as they nip at him! One of the rats manages to find a tear in Kyrax' armour and digs in, sharp teeth slicing through his skin and injecting some infernal foulness into his bloodstream!
"And just to show that I am not a distant host," the Wizard murmurs -- and he starts to chant again!
Xorshak finishes casting and summons 1d4 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 1 = 2 fiendish dire rats! Kyrax takes 1 damage and has to make a Fort. save, DC 11, or contract Filth fever. Xorshak starts casting again; this allows Kyrax an immediate AoO to disrupt. Xorshak has a Concentration check of 24; this is what you will have to beat...
Unless Kyrax manages to interrupt the spell, he finds himself pelted with four bolts of unerring force!
That would be 13 points of damage to you, so... Yikes!
Seated on his throne, Xorshak views the battle with sardonic and detached amusement. The Wizard calmly steeples his fingers and starts to chant under his breath, his voice unheard through the din of battle, but the movement of his lips possibly giving something away...
The cruel-faced, Keleshite Wizard looks resplendent in robes of pure jet, accented with gold and rubies. A venomous smile twists his thin lips, and his ring-bedecked hands hold two fine wands. A particularly fine ornament on his black turban is crowned by a black pearl that winks and gleams in the light of four winking, strobing orbs of light. Two other wands are thrust through his belt.
"So," the Wizard says, his voice laden with menace.
His lips twist further in that evil smile.
"You dare to invade my abode," the Wizard says, his voice as threatening as a vuper's hiss. "To kill my slaves. Tisk. Tisk. Tisk. I shall give you measly worms one final change to depart. Refuse, and..."
The Wizard raises one of his wands, and a giant ball of crimson flame erupts. Crackling, reeking of brimstone and the foulness of the Abyss, the ball of flame slowly starts to roll forward. It reflects brightly in the gleaming, glistening floor as it heads towards you!
