Tzoltan bobs back and forth from his right foot to his left foot, nervously looking back and forth down the street. "ooh. Crikey." He says softly to himself, when the conversation gets heated.
As the rest of the party are inside the building, duking out the deal, Tsiilmas suddenly jerks violently and grasps his fore head with both his hands. He stumbles to the wall and slides down it to sit in a small ball on the ground. As you watch he looks around himself like a frightened child and in a weak voice asks "W..w..where am I? Ho..how did I get here?"
Tzoltan goggles at the escapades going on in the street around him. Things surely do get more exciting when adventurers come into town. He looks down at the crumpled man lying on the ground and says, "You're in Greenhollow."
Tzoltan smiles a friendly greeting, then remembers his manners, holding his hand out to hoist the man back to his feet. "You all right, mister? You got kicked by a mule, or something?"
As the rest of the party are inside the building, duking out the deal, Tsiilmas suddenly jerks violently and grasps his fore head with both his hands. He stumbles to the wall and slides down it to sit in a small ball on the ground. As you watch he looks around himself like a frightened child and in a weak voice asks "W..w..where am I? Ho..how did I get here?"
Corvin whips around, charges out the door, and hauls the elf up by the neck.
"You been drinkin' my moonshine, ya rat bastard! Give it back!"
Torvus calms down slightly. "Perhaps I overreacted."
He pauses, considering for a long time before saying "Maybe we can do business. Give me a four days to see if I can find a buyer, and then come back here with your sword."
Anarath nods. "That will be fine," he says, before taking his leave.
Back at the inn he raises an eyebrow when he sees that Tsilmass seems to be back with it, but otherwise does not comment.
"What now?" he asks instead. "I could do with some time to scribe spells and try to decipher the writings we found in the tower before we head back..."
As the rest of the party are inside the building, duking out the deal, Tsiilmas suddenly jerks violently and grasps his fore head with both his hands. He stumbles to the wall and slides down it to sit in a small ball on the ground. As you watch he looks around himself like a frightened child and in a weak voice asks "W..w..where am I? Ho..how did I get here?"
Corvin whips around, charges out the door, and hauls the elf up by the neck.
"You been drinkin' my moonshine, ya rat bastard! Give it back!"
Tsiilmas temper flares slightly and he punches Corvins hand hard, "Oy, I didn't take your moonshine. Leave go of me you stupid Vith'rell!
"I'm ready to try my hand at the door you mentioned anytime. I have adventuring gear and everything." Tzoltan looks anxious and excited in equal measure. "Of course, if you need more time before we go, I could take another crack at the little chest. I just need to improvise some teeny tools." The young man takes a few picks from his tool belt and considers their functionality. As an afterthought he adds, "I have a crossbow. The action on it is really sweet."
"I'm ready to try my hand at the door you mentioned anytime. I have adventuring gear and everything." Tzoltan looks anxious and excited in equal measure. "Of course, if you need more time before we go, I could take another crack at the little chest. I just need to improvise some teeny tools." The young man takes a few picks from his tool belt and considers their functionality. As an afterthought he adds, "I have a crossbow. The action on it is really sweet."
"Good f#+%in' luck. The ruttin' door's sealed up bloody tight. Hell, I couldn't open it."
“Well, see what you can do with the box. I will be in my rooms. Shall we agree to return to the Manor in the morning?”
Anarath returns to his room and casts some Identify spells: One on the tome, one on the scroll of arcane diagrams, and one on the twisted rod.
Under Beta rules, an Appraise check is used to discover the properties and command words of magical items, the DC is 15 + the item’s caster level. Anarath has a +15 to Appraise checks for magical items. Casting Identify (which no longer has an expensive material component) adds +10 to the check.
Tome: Appraise check result: 14+15+10 = 39
Scroll: Appraise check result: 9+15+10 = 34
Rod: Appraise check result: 13+15+10 = 38
Anarath
The heavy black iron rod is the first to reveal its secrets. It is a symbol, a representation of a lords dominion; the iron fist of a ruler with the unforgiving will to rule. A symbol infused with the power to make that will reality.
After discerning the rod's purpose, its a little easier to divine that of the scroll. The script used is an archaic form of draconic, used in some arcane texts. The scroll is easy enought to decipher after that. It gives detailed instruction of how, with the aid of divine magic, one could inspire a weakening dread in foes.
The bloodstained, leatherbound tome (which you begin to suspect may not be bound in the skin of an animal) still resists your attempts to decipher it. It is written in a script that you don't recognize, though from the detailed and grisly diagrams, it seems to describe both arcane rituals and the anatomy of various races of Golarion. What you do recognize within its pages, are the arcane formulaes scribed on the pages, describing spells and rituals that you fail to recognize.
"Sealed tight, you say?" Tzoltan wanders back to his basement shop, mumbling something about a crowbar, and the leveraging of force.
Perception: 2+6=8 to find traps (He checked before, successfully, it seemed, and found none. Tzoltan is the methodical sort, however.)
Disable Device: 6+11=17 to open the lock
Drat.
Excited about going adventuring the next day, Tzoltan can't concentrate on any work for the rest of the day, and ends up turning in early. He's ready whenever he's called for.
The next morning dawns as dreary as the last. The sun is obsucured by menacingly dark clouds, and a cold mist blankets the village of Greenhollow in an eerie silence. Not even the cry of animals can be heard in the damp morning air.
The handful of people you encounter on your way to the gates pay you no mind. A few seem to be conciously avoiding your eyes, and the watchman at the gate regards you with a stare often reserved for madmen when you ask that the gates be opened for you.
After passing through the thick wooden gates, you follow the muddy and rutted road until you reach the point where the overgrown trail leading to Grimmbold Manor branches off.
Progress through the woods is slow and miserable as you fight through soaking wet foliage, grasping branches that drip chill water onto you, and a mixture of mud and fallen leaves that sucks at your boots with every step. The mist remains throughout the day, distorting sound and distance weirdly, but fortunately not concealing the path and leading you astray.
As evening approaches, you return to the spot where you encountered the mad architect just a few days earlier. All in the clearing seems to be as you left it.
Soon darkness begins to fall, transforming the forest into a confusing and menacing mass of dark limbs and slick earth.
In the afternoon, Anarath emerges from his rooms, the dark rings under his eyes looking heavier than normal. “These,” he says, indicating the twisted rod and the scroll, “might be useful to a priest, but not to I. This,” indicating the book, “I will need to study further. It is … disturbing. But we should make ready to return to the Manor. Who is coming?”
The wizard suggests that everyone purchase any equipment or rations they may need before heading out in the morning. Also, if Corvin wants Anarath to appraise the armour he found in the Manor, he can try to do that too. For his part, he buys some additional rations and prepares his spells for the journey.
---
Out on the road, the necromancer is grim and silent through most of the day. As the day draws to an end, he looks around for a sheltered spot to make camp, and suggests they set a fire against the cold. He also suggests they stand watches through the night – he will take the first watch unless there are objections.
The wizard suggests that everyone purchase any equipment or rations they may need before heading out in the morning. Also, if Corvin wants Anarath to appraise the armour he found in the Manor, he can try to do that too.
While still in town, Corvin restocks on rations, but does little else. His bizarre appearance draws frightened stares from the townsfolk.
Out on the road, the necromancer is grim and silent through most of the day. As the day draws to an end, he looks around for a sheltered spot to make camp, and suggests they set a fire against the cold. He also suggests they stand watches through the night – he will take the first watch unless there are objections.
"You can take firs' watch. I'll take the second."
Corvin, seeming more taciturn than usual, sits down with his back against a tree and attempts to sleep.
Tzoltan's excitement is impossible to dampen, even with the miserable weather. He bobs along, dressed in his brand spanking new leather armor with a ridiculous matching cap. His toolbelt is stuffed with paraphenalia of all sorts, and it's so heavy he's forced to hike it up continuously. He keeps his crossbow ready at his hip as he walks, alert for danger.
When you stop, he looks around for high ground, fussily selecting the best defensible location, and is crestfallen when Corvin selects a random tree to doze under. He opens his mouth to scold the fighter on his tactics, but then thinks better of it, looking around for a good perimeter to set up his tripwire.
Once he's done, and his bedroll is neatly established, he makes an announcement, pointing out important features of his encampment. "All right gang - I've established a perimeter here. I've also spread the dryest twigs I could find here and here, on the most likely lines of approach. Mister Anarath, here's the alarm whistle - blow it in the case of an attack, but have a care to pass it on to the next sentry."
Satisfied with his plan, he wraps himself in his bedroll and gets some shut-eye. After chatting for half an hour about how great it is to finally be on an adventure, that is.
Aside from being cold, wet, and miserable, the night passes without incident.
Tzoltan
Darkness engulfs the forest again, leaving whatever might have been standing there once more concealed. The same pale white glow emanates from the trees near where you think you saw the figure fo a moment before vanishing fo good.
The morning dawns as dreary as the last, with the same cold rain and obscuring fog. It continued raining through the night, leaving the earth even more slick and sodden than before.
The day's journey passe uneventfully, and, though your progress is slowed by the foul (and unusual) weather, you finally leave the forest and come into sight of Grimmbold Manor in the early evening.
The ancient structure appears even more dismal and menacing in the dim evening light and punishing sheets of rain. The black tower remains, looming over the Manor and jutting from the broken earth like a grasping hand. As you slog to the manor you note the lightning which strikes oddly frequently around the Manor and its tower.
Tzoltan is a nervous wreck in the morning, convinced he'd seen a will'o the wisp during the night. "I could feel it trying to draw me out into the woods, which would of course had led to my grisly demise. It was awful." He fingers the trigger of his crossbow with great agitation as the group heads off in the morning, and only settles down after a few hours of wet, boring slogging.
Arriving at the manor, Tzoltan waits for someone else to lead.
As the group travels through the trees, nothing seems amiss with Tsiilmas. But as soon as the group breaks free of the trees and Tsiilmas takes a look at the manor, he skids to a stop in his tracks. His face drains of the remaining color it had and he starts to shake slightly. If any of the party asks him what is the matter, he doesn't respond or even register they are next to him and all he can do is mumble incoherent phrases.
Corvin takes no notice of Tzoltan's or Tsiilmas' apparent fear. As the Manor looms ahead of them, he steps up his pace.
“It seems that whatever presence creates this … atmosphere at the manor is still present,” muses Anarath as he looks up at the manor, and the tower in particular, the rain washing his face. “I hoped perhaps we had defeated it.”
He looks to Corvin. “Do you think between us we can find the way back to the tower?” The journey to the tower had been confusing and disrupted, through kobold tunnels and secret ways. The way out had been something of a blur.
“It seems that whatever presence creates this … atmosphere at the manor is still present,” muses Anarath as he looks up at the manor, and the tower in particular, the rain washing his face. “I hoped perhaps we had defeated it.”
He looks to Corvin. “Do you think between us we can find the way back to the tower?” The journey to the tower had been confusing and disrupted, through kobold tunnels and secret ways. The way out had been something of a blur.
Corvin wordlessly points to a few places where the wall surrounding the Manor has fallen, then keeps walking, mumbling to himself.
"...get that f##~in' door open..."
Anarath nods, and gestures the group to head towards one such collapsed section of wall bordering the tower courtyard.
Tzoltan scurries after Corvin, following him closely in order to prevent the reckless man from falling into any traps. When they reach the first door, Tzoltan calls out, "All right, hold a sec. Let me have a look here."
Tzoltan proceeds to check each portal (door, archway, etc.) whenever they arrive at one. If the door is locked, he will then attempt to pick the lock. If that fails, he'll apply his crowbar to the task. This will be Tzoltan's standard procedure.
Rolling in advance:
Perception (for traps) = 3+6=9
Pick Lock = 3+11=14
Man, the dice are hot today.
Dohrlok looks ascance at Tsilmas, and takes several steps back, leveling his crossbow at the man's heart. He waits patiently for any sign of insanity, possession or outrageously aggressive activity. If Tsilmas recovers, he'll lower the crossbow, wait for him to pass into the manor, and take up the rear guard. If Tsilmas freaks out, Dohrlok will plug him.
Tsiilmas seems to gain control of himself, taking several deep breaths and closing his eyes momentarily. When he opens them and see's Dorlak with this crossbow trained on him, he jumps and looks rather hurt. "Um, why are you doing that? What have I done?"
"You tell me." Dohrlok grumbles, lowering the crossbow. "You were out of it." He motions with his arm toward the wall. "After you. I'll take rear guard."
"You tell me." Dohrlok grumbles, lowering the crossbow. "You were out of it." He motions with his arm toward the wall. "After you. I'll take rear guard."
Still wary of the crossbow, Tsiilmas makes his way toward the wall.
Belatedly, Anarath glances at Tsiilmas. “Best tell us if you feel … strange again,” he comments, before turning back and waiting patiently to see what the new locksmith can do with the door.
“Best tell us if you feel … strange again.”
Corvin laughs hoarsely, a sound reminiscent of dog's bark. There seems to be no mirth in it, though.
"Hah! Wouldn't want to have to put 'im down like I had to do with the other two."
You find a section of the wall that's crumbled away to a height where you can easily step over it. The courtyard is as you remember it, with dead, withered trees, moss encrusted chunks of rubble, and the bodies of your vanquished foes scattered about the muddy ground. The faint stench of rot emanates from the ground, and a patchy black mold is already covering the kobold corpses.
To the left, is the sheer, doorless tower; to the right a massive set of double doors is set into the Manor's wall. A little further down the Manor's wall is the door to the butcher's room through which you exited last time.
“Unless anyone has a different suggestion, let us head straight for the tower again,” suggests Anarath, heading towards the illusionary wall that gains access to the structure.
“Unless anyone has a different suggestion, let us head straight for the tower again,” suggests Anarath, heading towards the illusionary wall that gains access to the structure.
"Hey, we still got the damn keys?"
Dohrlok continues to cover the group's back. When they stop, he looks around behind them, crossbow at the ready. He does not reply to Corvin's question, having no idea what he's talking about.
Tzoltan sticks close to Corvin, just behind him, trying to be prepared for anything. He will follow Corvin's lead. He realizes that the question of keys can't be addressing him, so he just waits.
"What keys?" Anarath asks, before attempting to push through the wall as before.
"What keys?" Anarath asks, before attempting to push through the wall as before.
The wall, although faintly slimy and spongey, doesn't give when Anarath pushes on it.
Suddenly recalling how they got through last time, Anarath pulls the twist of dried skin from his beltpouch, redistributes them to those that don’t have any, and tries again to step through the wall.
Clutching the dried scrap of skin, Anarath pushes through the membranous tower wall, emerging into the dim first floor of the tower. The air is cold and smells strongly of rotten flesh. An oily liquid ocassionally drips down the long shaft at the center of the tower, it's dripping the only thing to break the silence of the tower.
Suddenly recalling how they got through last time, Anarath pulls the twist of dried skin from his beltpouch, redistributes them to those that don’t have any, and tries again to step through the wall.
Corvin follows, already in possession of one of the skin "keys."
Tsiilmas takes his strip of skin and, very hesitantly and with many pained expressions, pushes his way through the wall. Once inside he makes a large fuss of wiping the residual muck off himself.
Tzoltan gingerly takes a skin key, covers the workings of his crossbow, and steps through the wall. He tries to look unfazed, but he's clearly disgusted. An "ick" involuntarily escapes his lips before he looks around and says, "I didn't expect adventuring to be this gross."
He takes up his position behind Corvin, looking for his chance to pick his first lock.
Dohrlok takes a last look around, then grips his skin key and pushes stoicly through the slimy wall.
Tzoltan gingerly takes a skin key, covers the workings of his crossbow, and steps through the wall. He tries to look unfazed, but he's clearly disgusted. An "ick" involuntarily escapes his lips before he looks around and says, "I didn't expect adventuring to be this gross."
Corvin flexes his muscles, his skin splitting open in a few places, revealing creaking bits of metal woven throughout.
"Get used to it."
Anarath looks about with mild distaste, then nods. “Indeed. Ready to climb again Corvin?”