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Dor
Four miles east of Saltmarsh, just inland of the old coast road, stands a haunted house. Until twenty years ago, it had been the residence of an aged alchemist of sinister reputation. Even then, locals avoided the house because of its owner's mysterious activities. Now, two decades after the unexplained disappearance of its occupant, the house has taken on an even greater air of evil and mystery.
Dilapidated and long abandoned, the house presents an unwholesome appearance. Those hardy souls who have infrequently sought entry (pursuing rumors of a secret hoard of alchemical gold) all returned with naught save grim tales of decaying chambers presided over by monstrous perils. Indeed, such is the reputation of the house that the fields around it, though prime agricultural land, remain untended and rank with weeds.
Last week, Manistrad Copperlocks who is the leader of the newly established mining operation in Saltmarsh reached the end of her patience with the stories of the haunted house which sat overlooking her supply line from the mine to Saltmarsh. She called a town council meeting to determine ownership and salvage rights. Then, she started to assemble a team around her kin, Tarn Copperlocks who she assigned to lead.
Eda Oweland, the current senior member of the town council, nominated Drusilla Orizorwyn. Eliander Fireborn, the burly captain of the Saltmarsh town guard, nominated Badger the Rover, an officer of the town guard. Gallen Primewater sponsored Blacklock, a local tough. Anders Solmor, the youngest person ever to be elected to the council, nominated Argyri Katrakis. Mithrandir Sylvenel just showed when they were leaving and joined them; Ferrin Kastilar suggested him to join.
The road to the house winds through the rocky coastal terrain, often offering a view of the sea below. Low clouds press upon you; occasional patches of sunlight appear out over the water. A stiff wind blows in off the waves, carrying the briny stink of churning salt water. Curious townsfolk follow you for part of their journey. These escorts engage you in conversation, ask about your intentions, and repeat the same rumors and stories that you've heard in town. After an hour or so of an easy dwarven pace, the house comes into view, the townsfolk grow grim-faced and retreat toward Saltmarsh.
The decrepit house sits on the highest ground in the area. Around it, a stone wall which is 6 feet tall and more or less encloses a garden has crumbled in many places, exposing the interior grounds. The house is 35 feet tall from ground level to roof peak; the roof is gabled and has several holes where the slate shingles are missing. An ornate metal gate lies open at the end of the road, swaying slightly in the wind. Wild flora grows throughout the inner yard, but all the years cannot hide the evidence of a well-tended garden that once sat here. Near the house, the rotted wooden roof of a water well rises out of the tall grass.
Tarn looked at the house and wondered what all the of the fear was about. As far as he could tell the land around it was good, and the house was just that. A house. And if people were afraid about it, why not burn it down? Replace it with something sturdy, like a stone tower. Something that would last and actually be useful. Leave it to humans to have slate shingles for a roof, and a metal gate which was ornate, but probably wouldn't withstand a battering ram. He put a hand on his hammer and smiled. It was as his father always said, there was nothing a determined dwarf with a hammer couldn't do.
Tarn looked like most of his kind. Thick copper hair with an even thicker copper beard. Broad shoulders, a barrel chest, and arms hardened by many decades of hard physical labor. He wore scale mail armor, standard fare for any guard, though he kept his miner's pick with him. No matter where he went or what he did, he did not want to forget where he came from, nor his kith and kin. The mining pick almost comforted him as much as his ring.
"So, we ready for this?"
Armor of Agathys going up right before we go in, lasts 1 hour
The short platinum haired elf woman walked awkwardly in her travelling clothes with her broad brimmed hat of blue. She hadn't had this on in 10 years and now she was wearing it again. What's more is that Drusilla had to freshen up her spells.
As they walked she muttered the words to her incantations as well as the lessons that Ivsana taught her. Though still vague, the lessons and traditions of her people were embedded deep in her mind. Ivana made it there duty to do just that. SDru even knew the hymns of battle!
Though she couldn't draw on those powers however she also knew to dance the blade, and oddly fingers her blades then her book. After that she gripped her component bag and breathed. She was leery with her magic. It was magic that caused her to become scarred and lose alot of her memories. She didn't mind her cantrips and less aggressive spells,but to go out and do something like this, will mean she has to pull out those spells that could cause damage.
Drusilla stood at the fabled 'haunted house' it wasn't as bad as the villagers made it out to be. She had seen it from the shore when she came around here to catch some fish. Still it seemed it could of been a comfortable place to live. Drusilla looked to the dwarf and sheepishly smiled. " Yeah! I mean yes, maybe...Um I'm a bit rusty, but I'll do my best!"
Drusilla will pull out a piece of cured leather and begin to chant in soft but strange Elvish language as her hands began to move. In a strange cadence and choreography arcan power began to swell and as she reached a zinth the words and actions stopped as she breathed and sighed "Okay that is out of the way. I have my protective armor for 8 hours as of now!" Dru says with a relieved smile. She still had it.
It's really happening! Just like in the books!!
Argyri walks along the road to the haunted house with a skip in her step. She's a halfelf with dark red hair, a nose ring, and intricate henna on her cheeks and brow. She's wearing leather armor, with a rapier at her hip and a shortbow on her back.
When Tarn asks about their readiness, Argyri nods enthusiastically. "Oh am I ever! I'll go for a quiet little walk around the perimeter, and see what if I can see.
"Blacklock, you seem like you can be pretty quiet when you want to be. Want to come along?"
Last week, Manistrad Copperlocks who is the leader of the newly established mining operation in Saltmarsh reached the end of her patience with the stories of the haunted house which sat overlooking her supply line from the mine to Saltmarsh. She called a town council meeting to determine ownership and salvage rights. Then, she started to assemble a team around her kin, Tarn Copperlocks who she assigned to lead.
Eliander Fireborn, the burly captain of the Saltmarsh town guard, nominated Badger the Rover,
After the meeting was over Badger thanked Eliander, "Tryna git rid of me again Cap'n" The gnome chuckled. "Anything bout all this I need to keep me eyes on?"
As they made their way out of town Badger made point to keep a few paces ahead and shifted from one side of the group to the other watching the horizon to either side, sniffing the air.
A gruff sort some of the stories about the house brought a chuckle from the gnome. "Well I garuntee a black dragon would have a bigger door." . . . later he laughs again, "Don't vampire lords have more style. Might have been a fine house once but looks more like an old widow can't keep it up."
"So, we ready for this?"
Badger looks at the others a bit skeptically. He was about to ask what Drusilla was rusty at when Argyri pipes in with the idea of the scouting run.
When Tarn asks about their readiness, Argyri nods enthusiastically. "Oh am I ever! I'll go for a quiet little walk around the perimeter, and see what if I can see.
"Blacklock, you seem like you can be pretty quiet when you want to be. Want to come along?"
Badger nods, he speaks in the guttural scratch whine of the Ho-ool gnomes, "Nows running a scouts a good plan. I've run me share. You've got the lighter gear. I'll go through the wall with ya, hang along the corners, you can run close. If things get twisted, I can cover you with me bow." As the gnome talks he draws a square around a rock with judging by the pointing is the house. He pokes a couple spots where Argyri can go to get close. He traces the inside edge of the wall where he is hanging back with his bow.
"That said we should know a little of the skillsets we are bringing in on this. If yer gonna jump in the mixing bowl. I know the kid here." He points to Blacklock, "Can punch and he's brave." He looks to Argyri, "Light gear, light weapons, and a bit of stealth anything else we should know? He looks to Tarn, "Well most dwarves are good for mining and splitting skulls one way er the other. But you've some magic to you too, eh" He shrugs inviting any other wild cards the dwarf might be willing to share. Lastly he looks to Drusillia, "Well missy I seen ya in town a'fore the chanting and finger waving says yer more than fishmonger."
Drusilla listened as she took in the others. They were so well prepared and seemed capable. The Elven woman was at one time a burgeoning and capable wizard studying to be a Bladesinger under the Tutelage of Ivsana the Illustrious a semi-famous Bladesinger and general chaotic figure of her homeland. That was until the incident at the Standing stones, and subsequent years learning to fully function. NOw she was a capable fisherman, using her magical talents in her day to day and not to weld it against others.
"Oh, Well I was training to be a Bladesinger. My Master though brought us here several leagues away to investigate the Island, and well an incident happened. I survived Isvana didn't. So I became a fisherman. So my battle magic is a bit rusty. I can mend a net or two, clean a deck and haul a lot of fish and gear though with my magic, but my missiles and armor spells are a couple 20 years old for me" Drusilla admits as she takes her place behind the others ready to use her one attack cantrip, the first one she ever learned. Should they ferret out some trouble?
Badger listens to Drusilla nodding and umm-uhuhing but he watches rather amusedly Blacklock's warm up routine. "Well sorry about yer master, I mean its been awhile but you elves love pert near forever so maybe its fresh for you. Magics can be handy."
As the kid follows Argyri Badger looks about a moment, "Guess I am chaperoning." He hangs back at the gap in the wall bow drawn and arrow out.
He waits until the two move closer to the house before moving in. He goes to move through the hole in the wall but his bow catches on either side. He turns it and it catches again. Adjusting he slides it through the hole and then moves through overall pretty quiet but any swift movement in and against the wall moving to good cover was slowed. Once through he moves along the wall keeping the two insight watching from trouble from the house or coming from either side. He keeps his wider orbit as they do a proper scouting.
What's going on with Blacklock? Is he OK?
Argyri, shrugs, hops over the wall...and stubs her toe. "Ow! That never happens in the Chronicles of Darwyn the Dashing."
With a groan, she walks up toward the side of the old house, ready to take a look.
The former alchemist owner kept a vegetable garden around the house, which was used as a retreat from the stress of work and as a supply of fresh food. Now, a few broken gardening tools and a tangle of weeds are all that remain. A single rosebush near the gate has overgrown the wall and choked out most of the other plants. A cluster of small mammal remains are in the tall grass around the well (primarily mice, squirrels, and the like).
The stone house is Tee-shaped with the center and each leg of the Tee approximately a 40-foot square. Large windows five feet wide and seven feet high are spaced every five feet occasionally replaced by doors and fireplaces along the perimeter. Most of the window panes are broken.
When Argyri and Blacklock peek into the house's interior, they see that it is dilapidated and damp, with patches of harmless mold everywhere. The woodwork is generally rotten, cobwebs and dust are thick, and rubbish is scattered everywhere. Plaster fallen from the walls and ceiling lies strewn across the floor, along with the shattered remains of vandalized furniture. Ceilings appear 10 feet high. All doors are 5 feet wide and 7 feet high, of hard wood construction; all are closed.
There are three doors into the house. The 1) front door and a 2) rear door opening onto a patio have windows next to them to be able to see inside the room that the door opens into. The 3) third door on the other, rear side appears to open into a hallway that cannot be viewed from a window.
”Why’re we skulking about? It’s just an old house! Nay even worth salvage. Let’s just walk in the front door and get this done with. If we hurry we can get back in time for a drink and a hot meal.” Tarn announced.
" Well, bandits, Gaint SPiders, Undead could be inside. One must be cautious. I mean it's like baiting a fish in water you aren't that familiar with. You have to creep up slowly in your boat, investigate the area. When satisfied you cast out your line and wait. I think that's what the pair are trying to do is investigate the area for sharks...or mischievous clams!" Drusilla says to Tarn as she stopped herself from telling a huge story about catching the marlin while working on The Bucket still she got in the jab at the sentient Calm that took her pinky.
”Hope those two aren’t eaten as bait then.” The dwarf said. ”Guess it’s a good test to see how this works out. Can’t wait until we get the green to go in. Even if it’s just a few critters, we can handle that right quick!”
"I think they can handle it. Besides we are the heavy artillery! Spells! Though I only have a few, mostly Mind Sliver, still its a painful spell." Drusilla exclaims with a smile as she looks over at Tarn. The fisherman hadn't really conversed with many dwarves in her life. She was kind of excited to get to know a dwarf. As well as a gnome.
"Mind sliver? That doesn't sound very pleasant." Tarn said. "I can do a few things meself. Nay sure how, but I can make me hammer go boom!" He said, with exaggerated effect. "Eh. Kinda. I think? Can also clean it up after I'm done." He added with a smile.
After poking around a bit, Argyri shrugs. "OK, I guess we better go back and let them know what we've seen."
She walks back the way they game, swinging close to the well and the animal remains, to see if there's anything of interest there.
Badger keeps moving to keep the best view of the scouts and their flanks. As he keeps his allies covered he watches their movements, do they seem competent, trained, and so on. Who ya got me mixed up with Cap'n?
Swinging by the well, you see that the well shaft descends 20 feet and apparently still contains clean water.
Argyri looks down the well, shrugs again, and then comes back over to the break in the wall they came in through.
"Alright, there's a well over here. Water still seems clean for what it's worth. The house is falling apart, for sure, but I didn't see any ghosts or whatnot. There's a porch door, and another that seems like it maybe goes down a hall. I figure the porch may give us more visibility, but both seem like fine ways in.
"Whatcha say? Time for the Dashing Heroes to brave the Haunted House?"
Before Blacklock gets too close to the rosebush, you notice that something large has made a burrow underneath it.
"A ghost? Ha! Let's go, Argyri. Can't say we're all dashing, or heroes, but...what was the third thing ye said? Doesn't matter. Let's do this." He said with a smile, eager to get inside, as he walked towards Blacklock.
Blacklock is prone while kneeling on all fours.
A rodent of unusual size rockets out of the burrow as Blacklock puts his face into the hole. The tough fends off the gnashing teeth of furious fur.
"Oh the undead! Mind Sliver works on them! I'll follow you Tarn, I have only spells and daggers" Drusilla says before pulling a dagger as she began to go through the words in her head, just incase something comes for her or her companions.
Badger rushes forward toward Blacklock dropping his longbow as he starts. He pulls a bit of jerky from his belt snack pouch. "Ras-a-fracking-horny-kid-pickin' flowers. Aghhh. Git behind me boy." He sighs and calls over his shoulder, "Kid found some trouble. I'm a-hopin' I can calm it down."
Once between the weasels and Blacklock. He breaks the piece of jerky between both hands clicks his tongue a few times and speaks, is it speaking, making sounds and whirls in the direction of the weasels. "Hey now lookie here got some good vittles taste better than this skrawny kid. He's all grissle. Were friends, here." The gnome holds up the meat shakes it slowly a couple times holding out piece to the weasel.
Badger looks toward the weasels and calmly speaks, "No one meant ta git to close to yer hole. Nah. Here." He offers the meat to the weasels.
Three more RUS (rodent of unusual size) shoot out of their rosebush barrow. These giant weasels are the size of large dogs! Two swarm Badger and another joins its brother attacking Blacklock.
The first weasel manages to get a hold of Blacklock's neck and wrestles him into unconsciousness. The weasel hisses at its packmate to protect its kill which sends the packmate to attack Badger.
Three giant weasels swarm Badger. One set of attacking teeth sinks into Badger's leg. Blood sprays everywhere.
Badger drops to 6 HP
Already walking towards Blacklock, the dwarf broke into a charge. ”Oi! Bad weasels! Bad!” As far as battlecries went, it could have used some workshopping. Luckily his hammer was much more effective.
"Oh rodents, We should have brought a cat, but since we didn't.." Drusilla began saying before she concentrated on the nearest Weasel she could see. With a voice that went form the flowing soprano melodies to strange grumbling reptilian sounding words. It was a fast transition as the Fisher man released her stored up arcane power in four simple words.
Badger struggles with a giant weasel on his arm. "Look out kid." He glances over, "Kid?" His eyes wide. "Kid's down! Weasels got em."
With the press of weasels Badger draws his shortsword and tries to get the kritter off his leg.
Striking down hard toward the giant weasel's skull hoping to end the fight quickly.
@Mithrandir (last call) & @Argyri are up
Argyri gasps. "No! This is NOT how it happens in the stories!"
She hustles over and attempts to skewer a weasel. "Down, weasel!"
As most of the curious townsfolk drifted away, one did remain behind to watch on as the heroes approached the house. From a short distance away, he leaned on his staff, watching.
You had only seen him around town for a few days. He tried to tell his story, something about a desert island, pirates attacks and swimming for hours, but pretty much no one gave him a second look.
Now, however, he is a sight to see! He drops his staff and raises both hands, chanting as he does. One hand points at the largest weasel. While nothing seems to happen at first, a flame like radiance descended on the indicated weasel. His other hand gestured passively at the fallen Blacklock. A faint silver radiance flickered across the fallen warrior, only to disappear after an instant.