Known in the kingdom of Ustalav as the Boil or the Wart, the city of Carrion Hill rises over the southern banks of the Kingfisher River. It is the largest area of contiguous solid ground in the swampland known as the Wrythe within a forty mile radius. When the river fog rolls in every evening, those who live atop the hill’s elite Crown district can look out on a world of enchanted white vastness, while those who dwell in the lower warrens may be grateful that the fearsome beasts of the Wrythe are kept out by the city's sturdy defenses. Most of the time.
You are a lone adventurer just recently arrived (or returned) to Carrion Hill. It has been raining all day and you have been trying to stay dry, which is no easy task in the flooded streets of the Tangle district. The shrill voice of the town crier carries above the drumming of the rain:
“Carrion Hill needs heroes! Men of stout heart and bravery are asked to come to Crown Manor with all haste, there to receive a task worthy of their skill and talents and a reward of suitable magnifcence. Make haste to Crown Manor! Make haste!”
Heeding the call, you make your way up the Hill to Crown Manor, where the mayor of Carrion Hill holds court within it's fortress-like walls. The city guard, known affectionately as Crows, usher you in. For some reason the Crows are quiet, almost somber, unlike their usual swaggering selves.
You are led to the great hall which is darkened and almost deserted but for several guards and three other adventurer-looking types. You are asked to wait for the Honorable Mayor Heggry. You are not offered a chair. The long-faced guards do not seem chatty but these other volunteers appear to be friendly enough ...
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Some of the blacked out squares hide encounter location names. Other squares hide nothing at all.
Other than the guards, a solitary figure wanders the great hall, examining anything there is to see. Sometimes he looks to be examining just blank batches of wall. He is small, even for a halfling, carrying a small mace and a couple of sheathed daggers. A small satchel is slung over one shoulder. His loose-fitting clothes show wear and dirt of the road. When anyone enters the room he tenses a little. When he meets a newcomers gaze, he relaxes and gives a friendly wave, then resumes his examinations.
Forewarned of his arrival by the loud clanking, stomping noisily into the chamber comes the squat heavily armored form of a dwarf, his carefully braided auburn beard erupting forth from beneath his steel helm. The dwarf stands just over four feet tall. On closer examination symbols of clan, family, and Torag are weaved into the ends of the braids on his beard. His body and muscles have been hardened by many hours in front of the forge and his skin is darkened by the heat and ash. He wears fullplate that shines and gleams as if it had never seen battle or even been worn previously for that matter. A great hammer symbol is embossed in white on his equally shiny shield. A crossbow is slung over the top of his backpack and an elaborate warhammer hangs from his belt. The light glitters from a silver hammer holy symbol hanging and clinking against his armored chest. Covering his back is a brilliant white cloak with the same hammer holy symbol embroidered in silver thread.
Stomping the rain from his boots and pulling his helm off and tucking it underneath his arm, "By Torag's beard 'at was a bit o' a 'ike. Greetin's lads. Looks like ya may be 'ere fer simil'r reasonin'. I'm Mijanor o' 'he Firehammer, servant o' Torag, may 'is 'ammer alwys strike true."
Turning to regard the dwarf, a lean, dark-haired man with a close-cropped goatee, in the breastplate of a warrior, pulled back the dripping hood of his cloak and gave Mijanor a charming grin. "Well met, my friend. More of a swim than a hike, neh?" He had the accent of a local, dulled by time but not altogether missing. As he moved closer to Mijanor, the soft clink of metal revealed the throwing axes at his belt, and he also bore a slim, curved sword in a black scabbard. He left his knapsack where it lay, apparently unconcerned with it.
He glanced over at the halfling, waving him to join them. In a lower voice, he said, "I do not know if you have heard more than I about this task we are meant to do...? But forgive me, I have not introduced myself. I am Andrei Chernoslav." He offered his gloved hand, the leather of the glove still wet.
"The Crows, they do not look happy today," he observed quietly. "Maybe they are sad that the job, it is not for them, neh? Or maybe it is not so good a job... for anyone," he concluded, unease in his dark eyes.
Well met, gentleman, gentle dwarf. I'm Jawn Swiftrun. I haven't heard anything more about this task yet, and I know little enough about this town to even have a guess.
Jawn sticks close to the other prospective heroes, but seems a bit distracted as he regularly scans the room, a little impatient and a little concerned.
"HA! Ye c'n say 'at agin lad. Trust me it's 'ven wetter down 'ere. Not sure o' 'he task at 'and but 'elpin out 'ems in need and walkin away wi' a 'efty bag o' coin in Torag's mighty name is what I do best." The dwarf seems to be carefully inspecting and drying off his armor while he says this mumbling something about "Ya canna be t' careful abo't rust."
A dark-haired man strides into the hall, followed by several others. When he sees the assembled adventurers he says angrily, "only four answered our call? The Filth teems with sell-swords, yet only four would come in our time of need?"
The man seats himself in the high-backed chair of the mayor. He must be Vanton Heggry, the ruler of Carrion Hill. He looks at each of you appraisingly, with no sign of approval. He sighs deeply, then says:
“Early this morning a monster attacked the Slipper Market. It destroyed a building and killed six citizens. My Crows responded swiftly, but alas, the beast slaughtered them to the last. Since then the thing has struck thrice again, collapsing buildings from below and murdering everyone inside.
"There are rumors of invasion, that this is a part of a fell plot by the enemies of the City. I can say with absolute certainty that there is no truth to these rumors. What we face is one single monster. We need to ascertain what kind of monster it is so that we may better prepare against it.
"This is how you people can help. No, do not worry, I am not sending you to confront the horror. What I need is for you to investigate the ruined house in the Slipper Market, to find clues about what it is and why it is attacking. We feel sure that the monster will not return there.
"I cannot spare any of my Crows to aid you for they are needed in the streets. We cannot allow troublemakers to take advantage of the situation. I will pay generously for solid information; one thousand five hundred gold coins split between the four of you. And I will pay another three thousand if somehow you destroy the monster by your own hands.
The dwarf puffs out his chest, "Ye be 'irin 'he right dwarf fer 'he job. How ya come abo't knowin' only one o' 'he critters exist? I am agreein' wi' ya abo't findin' out what we are facin' first. If we cross paths wi' it, in Torag's name, ye c'n rest assured it willna be botherin' ye good folk anym're."
The dwarf puffs out his chest, "Ye be 'irin 'he right dwarf fer 'he job. How ya come abo't knowin' only one o' 'he critters exist? I am agreein' wi' ya abo't findin' out what we are facin' first. If we cross paths wi' it, in Torag's name, ye c'n rest assured it willna be botherin' ye good folk anym're."
No one has reported seeing more than one monster," responds the mayor testily, "and I can only believe in the facts presented to me."
A tall, slender elf emerges from the gloom between the town hall's stout pillars. "Perhaps four are all that Fate requires."
Without introductions or preamble, he questions the mayor. "What reports have the witnesses given? What form does this creature take, and what trail did it leave?"
"The few who claim to have seen it say it was strangely hard to see, as if it was cloaked by magic. What we are sure of is it's cyclopean size, for this thing has dragged entire houses into sinkholes. And I've been told the rubble is covered in a slime so foul smelling that not even the dung-sweepers would get near it."
Chilled at the thought of his family being a potential target of this mystery beast, Andrei nearly asked what buildings had been torn down... but then decided that the haughty mayor probably wouldn't have cared about such details. After all, it hadn't happened in the Crown.
"This monster, there is anything else you think we should know about it?"
"We know that the monster travels the sewers and lost hallways beneath the city, for nobody has witnessed it on our streets. My mages tell me that even if it were invisible, people would have seen it's silhouette in the heavy rain."
Sensing that the mayor is getting irritated, Jawn asks "Is there a member of your staff that can provide directions to all of the attack sites? We will start with the most recent, but we may need to check the others for clues. We mourn the loss of your Crows that were protecting your citizens; finding honest, competent folk willing to take the ultimate risks is not as easy as everyone would hope it would be. I don't want to speak for the others here, but I would be honored to take on the mission of helping bring an end to this menace. I have family living in a town close to this size, and I would hope that if they were under assault like this someone would step forward to help them."
"I'll have one of my staff take you to the sites. Humboldt!"
The mayor snaps his fingers twice. Then a small, worn-looking man emerges from a side door.
"Show these men where the beast has struck. You'll not be going home tonight, but you may have tomorrow morning to yourself."
Humboldt bows. "Thank you, your worship."
Vanton Heggy continues, "now you people know as much as I do. There are other matters I must attend to, but if you find anything important return here immediately, no matter how late in the night it is."
Andrei bowed to the mayor, then scooped up his knapsack from the floor, ready to follow where Humboldt led. As he followed the little man, he asked the elf, "So, you have a name, yes? Best if we all know it, so we do not just call you 'elf', neh?"
Clanking along with the group leaving the mayor he makes his way up to Humboldt, "'umboldt is it? 'ave ye 'eard anythin' m're abo't 'ese attacks?"
Lord Mayor, we will let you know right away if we discover anything of value. If we fear that time is of the essence and we need to follow a clue immediately, we will send your man Humboldt back with details while we pursue. If we actually come face to face with the monster, we will also send Humboldt to alert you and the Crows, so they can keep your citizens out of danger. Thank you for your time, and your trust in us. May we invoke your name if necessary to further our pursuit of the monster? We won't abuse the privelege and we won't use it if its not necessary, but it is possible that we may need it to follow up on some leads.
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Cerinwë falls in alongside the three others as they leave the mayor's presence. His gaze brushes over each of them, and he nods once to himself.
"Cerinwë of the Woods," he says. "Despite the mayor's protestations to the contrary, I believe we should consider the possibility of an attack and conflict with the creature and proceed on that assumption."
"Cerinwë of the Woods," he says. "Despite the mayor's protestations to the contrary, I believe we should consider the possibility of an attack and conflict with the creature and proceed on that assumption."
"I am thinking you have the right of it, my friend," Andrei rumbled with a sour look back at the hall. "And for less than 500 gold, if we do not manage to kill it. But at least we will have done something to save the people living down the hill."
Despite my stature, I've been known to hold my own in a fight, and I would like to see an end to whatever is doing this.
JZ, I have a few questions for Humboldt once we are out of the hall and heading to the site of the most recent attack.
"Cerinwë of the Woods," he says. "Despite the mayor's protestations to the contrary, I believe we should consider the possibility of an attack and conflict with the creature and proceed on that assumption."
At the mention of the mayor Mijanor shakes his head, "Aye, a lot o' assumin' wi' not much t' back it up if'n ya ask me. 'ere could be m're en one o' 'he critters. Not bein able t' see 'he critter is makin me wunder if'n it be a critter a' all. Could be some magic or a 'ole lotta critters. Guess we'll be 'avin t' see first 'and." The dwarf does seem ready to look into the attack site despite the constant downpour.
Clanking along with the group leaving the mayor he makes his way up to Humboldt, "'umboldt is it? 'ave ye 'eard anythin' m're abo't 'ese attacks?"
Still within earshot of the mayor, Humbolt says, "His Eminence has told you all that you need to know."
May we invoke your name if necessary to further our pursuit of the monster? We won't abuse the privelege and we won't use it if its not necessary, but it is possible that we may need it to follow up on some leads.
"No, you may not invoke my name," snaps the mayor. "That is, if you need my authority in the matter," he says with more patience, "then you must ask me first."
Humboldt leads the party down the western slope of the Hill to a market area (now deserted.) There are many Crows here, standing in the rain in their oiled hooded cloaks. They direct you to a partially ruined buidling. The frightened faces of residents watch silently from upper floor windows. The only sound is the constant, ceaseless rain.
The Crows have erected an open tent near the ruined house. Inside lie the horrifically mangled remains of three individuals. The guards explain that two of them were homeless men who lived in the adjacent alley. The third was once a Crow, twisted twice around at the waist like a knotted rag. They say there are other bodies, but these are the only ones they have retrieved so far.
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Cerinwë kneels to examine the bodies. If he feels disgust for the tragic fate of the victims, his impassive face reveals little trace of it.
"The creature displays great strength. Yet it did not consume these men. Curious. Hunger is the dominant reason for the attacks of most animals. Even those which attack to protect their territory will typically eat their victims. This beast has some other goal, if indeed it has a goal at all. This points to the possibility that we are dealing with an aberration, a non-natural creature."
He looks over the ruined building with a practiced eye. [Perception +9]
The side of this single-story wooden house has collapsed outward into the alley. The roof is still holding up. There is a hideous smell wafting out, unidentifiable and revolting. On the wall opposite the house is a large spiral-shaped smear of blood.
Mijanor seems impressed with the sheer power of something able to twist a man in half like that, "Agree'd 't be a powerful beastie fer shur. Not shur what t' make o' that symbol. Mighten be somethin used t' 'elp magic call 'he beastie."
The sinister symbol evokes the vaguest of memories in Mijanor, but not even he can ascertain it's meaning.
OOC: Mijanor had a shot at rolling a DC 20 for Knowledge religion. Nobody else seems to have that skill, unfortunately.
The Crows bring in an old man named Tarrig. Already jittery, the sight of the corpses unnerves him even more. The guards order Tarrig to tell the party what he had witnessed.
“I live across the street, you see. We here in the Slipper Market have to wake early before the sun rises to set up our stalls, and that was when something came crashing out of Marshan’s house. There were screams ... and the everything shook. I ran for the watch, but by the time we’d come back, it was all quiet. They entered the house and the screaming started again. Some of them ran back out but a ghost lifted them up and crushed them! Like cockroaches, it tell you, nothing but rags and skin left over! I saw it with my own eyes!"
By the time Tarrig is finished he is practically hysterical.
Tarrig, what was Marshan's business? Did he have any other family here in Carrion Hill?
Tarrig, what was Marshan's business? Did he have any other family here in Carrion Hill?
One of the younger guards replies for the deeply upset Tarrig.
"I grew up around here. Old Marshan moved in a few years ago and kept to himself ever since. He's never invited any of his neighbors inside."
"I've seen visitors go in and out," interjects Tarrig, "but only late at night or early in the morning."
"This was an impressive display of physical force for a ghost. Did you actually observe a spirit? Or could it have been some other force at work? Magic, for instance?"
"I .. I don't know," stammers the old man. "Do you know if it's going to come for the rest of us? How can we protect ourselves? By the gods, the Crows can't even protect themselves! We're doomed! We're all doomed!"
Jawn is going to go around the house and down the nearby streets. He's looking for any signs of damage that might show where the monster had passed. Something that powerful may have absent-mindedly scrapped a building or the street. I'm also looking for the nearest sewer openings; if I find any, I'm looking to see if anything looks recently disturbed. If I don't find anything there, I'll join our enigmatic elf in the home itself.
If it is applicable,
Perception
Cerinwe leads his companions through the collapsed wall and into what was once the living room. Eveything here has been ruined. The furniture is now merely kindling. The rain is pouring in through the torn roof. A thick layer of smelly black slime coats every surface and sticks to the soles of everyone's shoes. Scattered everywhere are body parts from many different victims; it is little wonder why the Crows have not been able to retrieve any more bodies. A careful search here reveals nothing of interest.
Beyond the ruined living room is a ruined parlor. The floor is strewn with torn and smashed things that once made this place a cozy refuge. Again, nothing of special interest can be found here.
In the back of the house is a bedroom, destroyed and fouled in just the same way as the living room and parlor. A door frame lies burst open in the corner, beyond which a flight of slime-smeared stone steps leads down into pitch black darkness ...
Jawn is going to go around the house and down the nearby streets. He's looking for any signs of damage that might show where the monster had passed.
Jawn finds no sign of recent damage to the surrounding structures, no tracks on the cobbled streets. The sewer grates are intact.
Jawn joins the rest of the team inside. He reports I didn't see any sign of the beast outside, and none of the sewer grates around looked disturbed, so I'm not sure how it got - Jawn, noticing the stairs going down, stops his comment. I see. Well, shall we take a few minutes looking around the ruined home before we plunge below? Jawn is looking for any documents that might have survived. He's looking for things the victims might have in common, so anything he can learn here he can compare at the other sites.
I should also note that while Jawn is not necessarily looking for traps left behind, he does have the Trapspotter class feature that let's him have a Perception roll for traps if he is within ten feet. His Perception is +10 if you need it.
"Pharasma be merciful!" Andrei covered his mouth and nose with his cloak, looking around at the carnage in horrified disbelief. Stepping carefully to avoid treading on a bit of someone, he drew his sword, seeming to take comfort from the curved length of cold steel. Picking his way around the ruined house, he poked about with the tip of his sword, joining Jawn in his search for clues.
In case:
Dungeoneering:
Perception to look for clues:
Jawn checking for clues:
Perception:
If there are no Crows within earshot, he'll ask the others:
Does anyone else get the sense that Humboldt may know more than he is letting on? I'm thinking that perhaps here, if we have him away from the Lord Mayor and the Crows, he might be tricked into sharing what he knows or suspects.
Jawn is looking for any documents that might have survived. He's looking for things the victims might have in common, so anything he can learn here he can compare at the other sites.
An examination of the books in the parlor (those which have not been ruined by slime) reveals that Marshan was an avid student of the history of Carrion Hill and this region of Ustalav, as well as astronomy and astrology. None of the books seem especially noteworthy or unusual.
I should also note that while Jawn is not necessarily looking for traps left behind, he does have the Trapspotter class feature that let's him have a Perception roll for traps if he is within ten feet. His Perception is +10 if you need it.
Duly noted.
"
The slime, lack of tracks or burrow marks would suggest an unimaginably strong gelatinous cube. You have never heard of any such specimen, of course.
An interrogation of Humboldt reveals nothing relevant. He is fearful for his wife and young children and would like to send them away from Carrion Hill as soon as possible. There is no telling whose house the monster will strike next.
Does our search of the personal effects reveal anything about the victim(s)?
The victims were once the city watch, so there are pieces of ruined armor and weapons. A thorough search would take hours because of the coating of slime over nearly everything.
"So, do we go down, or do we go to the other attack sites. With the slime that the monster has left behind, I doubt we would find much in the way of clues at the other sites. If we ended up in the sewers for days for any reason, is everyone ready for that? I happen to have some torches, unless someone has a better light source."