Pathfinder -- The Unraveling Group One

The skies spat rain, reeking defecation leaking from the darkness above—rather than cleaning the streets, the running putridity congealed, bunching muck in gutters and potholes. The streets all but barren, the few that remain without shelter beggars from the downpour scramble in screaming rushes from alleys, escaping gruesome suffocation in the liquidized mess of their own offal. Their skinny bodies, caked in thick filth, flop about in the newly formed rivers of overspilling sewer grates, waked from soggy sleep.

You have been tracking the man for hours now, following along as a hounds does, all your sense invested in each minute detail imbedded in the cobblestones. A spattering of dried blood, a clump of hair (a patch of skin still clinging on), the still leaking painted finger of whore whose death-throes you managed to hear, but where at that too far back to save. You found the rest of the body, but the killer had long since left the scene. Disappointment, and wretched tiredness frays your nerves to the breaking point. And yet, you can feel a rushing in the air—tonight all this will change. Never before have you been this close to the man, such a short lead does he still have.

Two weeks ago the man opened the throats of orphans siblings huddled on the doorstep of a local church. Three day before that he left the mangled body of a chimney sweep, and the youth's cat too. A green grocer was mangled in the doorway of his own shop, opening for an early morning on market day. Again and again he has ended lives, without ever investigation, without justice. He has been ignored, with such clear determination, that you can still feel the pit in your stomach. The hard knot of truth, that the Watch simply doesn't care. You have refused to fail again.

A block ahead you hear the whispers of the demon's laugh, a throaty rasp more than a chuckle, caught in the storm and carried upon bitter winds to your ears. The laugh had ever sense of fateful purpose: it could be only a sign. An acknowledgement of the end; of approaching inevitability. Tonight would be the finale, the laugh promised. You have answered the challenge with stalwart resolve.

Footsteps sunken in mud, the rubble of broken bricks—by now this trail has become deliberate—leading you to this point. Turning a final corner, now deep into the twisting debris of Lowtown, you see ahead the gutted remains of a disheveled warehouse, empty of squatters, flooded with ruin. Through the beating rain, you can just make out a gangly shape disappearing through a shattered window, followed swiftly by that same damnably chocked laugh.

The street are clear, save for the stuffed remains of drowned rats in the side alley to your left. An open courtyard perhaps thirty feet wide precedes the warehouse, which might be at most four stories high, ancient and imposing under the misshapen shadows of crooked gargoyles. The stone is moss-covered, the wood rotten. To the left and the right the tenements collide against one another, building aerial passageways linked by broken walls, or unused chimneys. The few who live among the silent block do not make their presence known, preferring to crouch back away from the glooms of oil lamps, of which only a few ever remain lit. Even without the spiteful intercession of the heavens, the lack of illumination would be practically tangible all the same.

In the sudden pause of the quiet space, the initiative is yours…

Spoiler: Additional Info

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The street is thirty feet wide, and after forty feet directly forward the warehouse ruins begins. The building itself is a large corporate building sixty feet wide with a forty foot face, and four stories. You can see from the outside that the building is partially collapsed, and vandalized, throughout the interior. On the street itself there are street-lamps every ten feet, though the few that are actually lit are still dim, not offering much light.

You all are in various places about the area, though not together. Where, exactly, you have been following the murderer from is up to you: someone might have been following him on foot, while another is atop the adjacent buildings, and so on.

Rivers of rain pour down through the twisting pathways below, as the hunter stalks his prey from the vantage of the crowded rooftops above. Rivers of rain pour down through the twisting pathways above. Along the hairs it runs down and into the neckline the man's cloak and breastplate, coating his chest in a slick coldness. It is not unfamiliar and he pays it no mind. A scream rings out and his body shudders. The scream was so close this time, reaching up through the night, piercing the rain like a stone in a waterfall. Not again, the villain would not escape this time. The chase is on and the man on the ill-kept tenement rooftops follows the movement and the sound of laughter. The trail leads to a collapsing warehouse, obviously long since abandoned. Grim guardians stand on watch - stone gargoyles. There is nobody there until a sign of movement catches the man's eyes; a shape entering through one of the windows. Could it be the one he sought, or perhaps another victim seeking refuge? Whatever the case he has his destination.

The Beard runs to the edge of the roof and leaps off, cloak flapping behind him as he falls. Shortly after his fall stalls - the cloak settles into a mild swirling as his ring carries him safely. His feet touch down on the soaked ground, ankle deep in water. The sewer drains are clogged with filth and dead rodents and the water has nowhere left to go. The squalor these people are forced to live in, with no one to protect them as killers walk the streets unhindered. The city limits lay frayed and unkempt - the time has come for someone to begin maintaining them, to lather them in the restorative shampoo of love and justice. Wrapping his cloak around himself, The Beard marches quietly through the soggy courtyard towards the window the shape had entered. A hand reaches to his belt and rests ready on the hilt of the razor with which he will trim this split end.

Spoiler: OOC

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The Beard approaches from the tenements on the right (east?) side of the warehouse. He is in stealth and at half speed: [roll0]

The lightning flashed. The wind howled. The rain ran rank with the stench of death and waste.

It was a dark and stormy night, but not one like any other. Winding through the dilapidated ruins of Lowtown, the almost imperceptible sounds of muffled footsteps could be made out, their owner sloshing through the puddles and pools of human refuse.

The owner of the footsteps, Bram Lachlan, was an investigator - a hunter of those who sought to prey on the weak, the helpless, and the needy. And right now, he was closing in on his current prey. The chase had begun not long after dark, weeks of scouring Pseudepas for clues finally paying off. All the while, his dull grey eyes had peeked out through his long, dark, messy brown hair, streaked with grey from old age and caked with water and filth from the tempest currently wracking the city. Those eyes had quickly, methodically, and efficiently scoured his surroundings, looking for the slightest bit of movement, the most insignificant thing out of place. On their own, to the untrained eye? Useless. But, if you knew what to look for, and where to look for them, little bits and points of data emerged. Put them together, and you had a pattern. If you had a pattern, you had a trail. And follow that trail Bram did.

Regretfully, he had not followed it fast enough - just minutes after he heard the scream, he had come across the lifeless body a woman - a poor unfortunate lady of the night, guilty of no more than plying her trade in the wrong place at the wrong time. Delicately, the eyes had been closed, the body quickly examined for clues, the stench of blood and that damned laugh heard. And now, in the dead of night, it had finally led him here.

Gripping the edge of the building whose side he'd been steathily crawling along with his black-gloved hands, Bram slowly peeked around the corner. Looking up at the top of the four-story warehouse, he spotted the dark figure vanishing through a window, the erie cackle reaching his ears.

The trail's gotten bolder. Easier to follow. And now, if he's all but let himself be seen, that can only mean one thing. It's a trap, for sure.

Unluckily for you, my dear fellow, you've made a terrible mistake: You've let me know the trap is coming. And disarming traps happens to be a specialty of mine.

Ducking back behind the corner of the building, Bram searched through his clothing. Given the weather, he had chosen to dress himself in one of his heavier, dark grey trenchcoats, the dark grey hood of his magical cloak peeking up through the neck. Beneath the layers, a dark green shirt was warn, with an enchanted vest of mithril below that, just barely peeking through the collar. Around his waist was a seemingly ordinary brown leather belt, but with a silver buckler decorated with wings as its clasp. At the small of his back, his old officer's rapier from his days in the army was strapped, pale white runes etched into the handle. And, of course, dark brown pants. All muted colors, deliberately chosen to help him blend into his surroundings. But, tonight, that would not be enough.

If I am to pursue this man into the belly of the beast... Then it's time for a little pick-me-up.

Reaching beneath his gray coat, Bram produced four phials. Taking the little tubes into his hand, he then proceed to down each one in a deliberate and careful manner.

With the first, his skin toughened, the feel of it changing to something not unlike bark. With the second, his sight, smell, and hearing heightened, his mind speeding up until the world seemed almost as if it were going by in slow motion. The dull greys and browns of Lowtown almost seemed to spring to life as Bram's newly enhanced senses kicked into overdrive, the investigator licking the remainder of the extract from his lips. With the third, a silver grey mist puffed out from his mouth. With the fourth, he swallowed it all down for a second... before immediately spitting it back into the tube again, replacing the mixture in his pocket.

Seconds later, Bram vanished from sight. Crouching low to the ground, the now-invisible private detective worked his way through the gates of the courtyard and toward the door, a lone thought reverberating through his analytical mind.

This ends tonight.

Spoiler: Actions

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In order, Bram will consume the following extracts.

• Barkskin - 1 of 1 Consumed. Bram gains a +3 bonus to Natural Armor for 70 minutes.
• Heightened Awareness - 1 of 1 Consumed. Bram gains a +2 bonus to Perception and all trained Knowledge skills for 70 minutes; in addition, he can dismiss the effects of this extract at any time to gain a +4 bonus on Inititative checks.
• Alchemical Allocation - 1 of 2 Consumed. Allows him to re-use any potion or liquid he drinks immediately afterward.
• Invisibility - 0 of 1 Consumed (AA). Bram becomes invisible for 7 minutes, giving him a +20/+40 bonus on Stealth checks while moving/stationary. This effect ends if Bram attacks.

Bram will then move at a speed of 25, thus taking a -5 penalty on his Stealth check, and move toward the door of the tenement. He will keep an eye out all the while, of course, to try and detect anything of interest.

Perception: [roll0]
Stealth: [roll1]

The night was dark. The rain was cold. And the mood, somber. However, none of these stopped the four-armed creature prowling the night. On his body, he had a shining carapace of mithral. On his waist, a belt so as to increase his strength. And, in his hands, a huge sword, razor-sharp edge sparkling as he ran through the night.

I must find him tonight. Tonight. He can't be allowed to lurk about this city any longer. I'll kill him with my bare hands if I ha-

A shrill shriek rang through the air. Suddenly, all was silent. The only sound was that of the rain pattering on the cobblestone bricks below.

Damn!

And, with that thought, he ran in the direction of the sound. He found the mangled, eviscerated body of a woman, about 30 years old from the looks of it. Her eyes were closed, seemingly peacefully, almost as if someone had come by and closed them before now.

A laugh. A raspy, dry chuckle. Somewhere close. The creature ran, full speed, out of the alley in which the body lay, and out into the street. It rushed down the street, looking for any sign of the killer. Suddenly, he saw it: An old warehouse, ruined, abandoned. And, in the window, a shadow. It almost seemed to look back its pursuer. Then, almost with a smile, it dropped into the building.

The four-armed creature stopped. He now knew. He knew that tonight, he would finish it.

He muttered a few words, made a movement with his hands. Suddenly, the air around him almost shivered, like an unseen barrier.
Then, uttering another set of words, and again moving his fingers about, something strange, to say the least, happened. His face started almost melting off his head, skin falling off of bone. Then, a type of black ooze stared crawling its way out of his eye sockets, and tentacles came from his mouth. It was a horrific sight.

With that, Krasa'kis Drrin almost fell into the ground, vanishing.

Spoiler: OOC

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Hope that was fairly fun to read. I'm not the best at thematic stuff like this.

Anyways, spells cast:
Sheild, and Face of the Devourer.

Basically, +4 AC from sheild and +4 to Intimidate, as well as a bite attack for 1d6.
Then, using my burrow speed (20ft) to move, underground, into the warehouse.

Spoiler: OOC

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*cough cough* Errm, is the remaining person going to go?

Spoiler: OOC

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I've PMed him, but he hasn't replied. Come to think of it, I haven't really seen hide or hair of our DM, either... *goes off to PM*

The Beard
The ruinous outline before you shudders in the unwholesome wind, wistfully desiring to collapse once more into the dirt and rubble. The building was once a tenement, now long forgotten, lacking any evidence of life besides creeping vermin. The rain spatters on the decrepit walls and lashes against you, blocking out any other noises from within the ruins.

~~~~~~~~~~

Bram Lachlan
Rapidly downing the meticulously prepared vials your body is flooded with sudden magical potency—the street in all its revolting glory becomes wholly known to your eyes, each mucous raindrop a thunderclap, the strike of lightning an electrical implosion within your skull. Minutiae unperceivable to the naked eye, undetectable to the trained ear wash your mind with sudden sensory overload. Each second is an eternity of wailing claxons, triggering every instinct you possess that danger is here, there, everywhere; immediately you recognize the sound of feral cats rutting a street over, the exact moment when the drowning rat’s heart ceases to beat. So much life and death wage endless war in even this pit of a block. Neighbors die and give birth in the same moment as eternity screeches forward destructively with the rush of so much information—

Then focus resumes control, and once more your mind is your own, diligent. Much has become known to you, even in the blink of an eye. You are not alone in seeking your mark, two others are also upon the streets before the madman’s last stand.

The first leapt from a rooftop and rushed the window, following closely after the murderer (who has now reached the second floor, you’re sure). The second stepped into the square as well, uttered muffled words in a tongue unknown to you. After that his presence simply disappeared from your cognizance.

~~~~~~~~~~

Krasa’kis Drrin
Raindrops, leaking from black skies, strike your Aetheric barrier before dripping down to the sordid cobblestones at your feet. You feel the eldritch power twist your very flesh, misshaping its natural form to that of your heritage. The Horror of your ancestry makes itself visible, and the earth opens to your will. You hover ethereal beneath the ground, acutely conscious of the magical pulse of the ancient soil, made of the same substance as your kind. It does not resist your touch, flowing through you as though you were smoke, or fire made insubstantial.

I'm not alone.

As the draught of heightened senses settled in the pit of Bram's stomach, he knew, even as he approached the tenement, that others were creeping toward the run-down building tonight. One of them rushed toward the window, another vanished altogether.

Teleportation? Or some other means? And are they friends - others seeking justice against this madman?

Very likely. I doubt someone like our little friend would have any substantive allies. Still, caution pays. Observe - for now.

Having reached the courtyard and nearing the front entrance, Bram next set about seeking a way in. Noting that every single window on the bottom floor was vacant of glass, he headed to the one right of the main entrance, trying to pull himself through as quietly as possible...

Spoiler: Actions

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In light of the post by R-Group in the OOC thread, I have excised the irrelevant parts of the actions post. Bram will enter through the first empty window to the right of the door, being as quiet as possible.

Perception (to spot a viable means of entry): [roll0]
Stealth (applies to all actions this turn): [roll1]

Spoiler: Bram's Actual Actions

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This perception check is to look around once he's inside.

Perception: [roll2]

Spoiler: The Content in this Spoiler Box is now Invalid.

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Bram will approach the doorway and take 10 on Perception to look for traps. With his existing modifier, with a +2 from Trap Sense, this gives a total of 28​. He will then either disarm the traps (if he finds any) or proceed through the door (if he does not).

Disable Device (if needed): [roll3]

Creeping up slowly to the abandoned building, The Beard presses himself against the outer wall. The hand on his blade draws it from its place at his side and he peeks inside one of the windows, his goggles enhancing the dim light to make it a little easier to see. Where did you go?

Spoiler: OOC

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The Beard will continue at half speed in stealth until he reaches the wall, then look inside. Roll stealth checks as necessary, not sure on the exact distance. Once there he will draw his kukri and look through the window.

Award-Winning Perception to detect movement inside: [roll0]

Kras moves through the ground, approaching the building. He'll stop about where he'd estimate the far right corner of the building is, being careful not to come out too early (he'd rather come up outside the building and come back than come up out in the middle of the building)

When he comes to his destination, he'll peer out of the ground, letting only his eyes show.

[roll0] to see anything interesting, particularly the enemy.

If he sees nothing of interest, he'll look around for a group of crates or the like that he could hide behind (specifically, blocking view from the center of the room.)