Return to the Temple of Elemental Evil IC

[Sallera]

The door does indeed squeal mightily as it swings open; the hole probably isn't helping its balance, and it clearly hasn't seen any maintenance worth mentioning. The various accoutrements of the herb shop are mostly still scattered around inside, although anything fragile is broken and the pieces roughly swept aside. The passable trail leads to the back room, apparently once blocked by a door but now open. It is too dark to see anything much inside, save for a single line of faint, flickering light filtering from under a door in the far corner.

[TheFallenOne]

If someone is here the time to call for backup was already past, so Tironius stands still in the dark room, listening for any movement while his eyes adjusted to the darkness. If there is no reaction to his presence, he steps back out and waves with his staff for the others to come over, staying as close to the door as possible.

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doh, why didn't I notice I lack a sunrod before opening the door

[Anderkent]

Farin

"Let's go."
Seeing Tironious's signal, Farin moves closer. He takes the bridge first, then keeps watch while the rest of the party crosses. When everyone is in the village, he follows the group to join the monk.

[TheFallenOne]

"The place is deserted, only that building seem's to have seen recent use, which warrants a closer look." He points at the open door. "I might have heard something from inside the tavern as well. Perhaps the wind, perhaps not."

[Miraqariftsky]

Kholzug's gaze narrows
At his comrade's unsaid harrows
He gives her one more comforting pat
Then takes off after the others,
"Be ready. Hope it's not worse"
He growls and makes for
The creaking
Flickering
Door...

[Sallera]

You cautiously make your way into the former herb shop once more, this time entering the back room, which Kholzug can see is more or less empty, with only small bits of refuse tossed into the corners. You get little further, however, before the far door opens, spilling flickering candlelight out into the room. The figure that comes with it could perhaps best be described as grotesque. The man's clothes are fine but dirty, a recent winestain on his shirt, and only the beautiful spiderweb-patterned cloak on his back is free of small tears. He might once have been just as beautiful himself, and a shadow of that remains in his long blond hair and pale, smooth skin, but his face is a ruin. His chin is indented and lopsided, and his upper lip torn at one corner, the skin missing halfway up his cheek; his nose is a flattened and crumpled mess, barely functional. One eye is a blank white orb, although the other remains functional, and both are sunken under misshapen brows. By rights, the wound that gave him such scars ought to have killed him, but he is just as clearly alive.

"Learn to knock, you uncultured boors," he says as he strides out of the room, looking about in all directions. "Do you need another lesson, or should I ensure you never come..." He cuts himself off in midsentence, his remaining eye seeming to focus on your presence, and he clears his throat and turns to face you properly. "Ah, it seems I was mistaken. You are new, and can still be educated. Give me your hand." Inclining his head ever so slightly in your direction, he extends a hand as though to shake.

[TheFallenOne]

The man is obviously surprised to see them, but has no air of hostility about him, so Tironius decides to show a token of trust and extends his hand. "Well met. I am Brother Tironius. Could you perhaps tell us what place we came across? We didn't hear of a settlement in this direction, and the inhabitants seem to have abandoned it long ago. And my faith is always eager to learn, though I'd like to know what exactly you wish to educate us about." His eyes flicker to the cloak, at odds with the quality of the rest of his belongings. He might have recently acquired it, or perhaps magic inherent in the garment preserves it.

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unless of course my +5 Sense Motive suspects foul play

[Sallera]

"I am Lerath, and it was your manners I wished to correct," he snaps as he takes the offered hand. There is no hostility in his bearing, although he clearly isn't especially pleased with your presence, and he lets go after a token grip. "This is Nulb. Of course you have not heard of it; it is a nothing-place, an ugly ruin of no note and no worth, and now it suits me. You do not. I have no desire for company. State your business or begone."

Tironius:

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Make a Will save, DC19.

On success:

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It is so subtle you barely notice it, but a faint trace of compulsion brushes across your mind as you touch Lerath's hand, swiftly dismissed by your passive mental discipline. It was a curious feeling, though; indirect and almost benign, as though it sought not to compel any immediate action, but rather make a minor... adjustment.

On failure:

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You notice nothing. As will later become apparent, however, you are now compelled to knock before passing through any door, window, or other portal, regardless of whether it is closed at the time.

[Anderkent]

Farin

With the light provided by Lerath, Farin tries to spot any details that may hint on what the man is doing here, without being too obvious about it.

"Apologies, we're just passing by. Farin, by the way.

It's rare to find anyone in places like this, and we were just trying to find out what happened here, and when.

I take it you were expecting someone, so I'll keep it short. Have you per chance seen a group of riders passing by, a couple days ago, possibly showing signs of battle?"

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not sure if that warrants a spot check, but it doesn't hurt to roll. Farin is mostly looking for any weapons or traces of other people.

Spot: (1d20+8)[6](14)

[Sallera]

Lerath makes a wheezing sound that might have been an attempt at a disdainful snort. "Riders, here? Even Eisn and his soldiers don't bring horses into Nulb. They would only attract the vermin. Is that all?"

Farin:

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You can see little from where you are standing; no weapons, and certainly no other people. A look inside Lerath's room might be more informative, but the angle prevents it at the moment.

[TheFallenOne]

"My apologies for intruding, we honestly didn't know what to expect when entering this place." He tries to keep his voice level when the revelation of this settlement's name triggered something he heard before. Still, the man had to get his wine from somewhere, it was worth a shot. "Before we leave, would you be kind enough to spare a cup of wine for a weary traveller in exchange for some coin?"

[Miraqariftsky]

"Aye, dassright. Sorreh, an' all. Ser." the halforc grates.

From the doorway, Kholzug grunts and nods in assent at his comrades' words. Pretending to scratch an itch on his nose, grateful for his meaty hand, his helm and the shadows, he tries to hide his uneasiness and distrust of the old man. On the other side of his profile-turned body, he keeps one hand ready on his axe. What in Hextor's arse is with this old man? How could he still be ALIVE with such wounds as those?

[Sallera]

"Kind. Coin," Lerath sneers, planting his boot on a piece of rubble and spitting a few incomprehensible words. Light blossoms to showcase the dirty emptiness of the back room, and he kicks the glowing stone into a corner, wavering shadows playing unpleasantly across his face.

"What kindness do you see here?" he snaps, his voice rising as he sweeps an arm out to one side. "What use have I for coin?" His outburst ends as suddenly as it began, and his tone softens, although his expression seems no less bitter - if indeed it ever does, with such a face. "But you learn quickly. Wine you shall have, and by the time you finish, you will have thought of something more appropriate to offer."

With a small beckoning motion, Lerath turns and leads the way to the open door. His room is nearly as dilapidated as the rest of the shop, but its furnishings are of far more varied quality. The bed is old and ragged, and may well have come with the shop; most of the bedclothes are little newer, save a single navy quilt with finely detailed embroidery. A functional chair and writing desk take up the other corner of the small space, the one of carved cedar and the other barely-intact oak; little writing takes place on this desk, however, which holds only a set of crystal goblets, an empty plate, and a single small book with no title, bound in black leather. A basket holding half a loaf of bread and some cheese sits against the wall, alongside two crates with the by-now-familiar mark of the monastery in Verbobonc.

Lerath takes another bottle from the open one and pours a glass for each of you, although Cecily refuses the drink as usual, and he takes the spare for himself. The room is rather too small to hold five people, and he frowns, gesturing you outside again. He offers no toast, merely taking a large mouthful; the wine is a fiery amber of high quality, stronger than most and tasting of citrus and oak.

[TheFallenOne]

The ruse worked better than expected, though the announcement of alternate payment did sound ominous. Tironius subtly shifts his feet a few inches, switching into a more stable stance. "I am afraid you have tipped your hand Lerath. This wine was stolen, and the owner murdered. Who brought it here?" His staff, held only with the left, is firmly planted on the ground. He makes no aggressive move yet, but readies himself should the bedraggled man try to run or fight.

[Sallera]

Lerath takes another drink, slowly, then glares at you. "'Tipped my hand?' You forget your manners again." Flicking a hand as though to brush away the matter, he makes another odd wheezing sound.

"What care I where Eisn's men get their wine?" His gaze begins to drift away from you, shifting in random directions as he speaks. "They bring me gifts when they wish my services. Last time they brought wine. A very pleasant thing to have, when it is fine enough. Perhaps they thought me in need of it? Pity the hermit, or fear him..."

He seems to snap back into focus suddenly, his tone low and sardonic. "Both would be wise. What gifts have you brought, to ask such questions of me?"

[Miraqariftsky]

Kholzug shoots Cecily a questioning glance
As if asking whether this were earnest
Or danger close, a madman's dance
Still, he brings out his shield so blest
Unnerved by strangeness
A creeping gut feeling of horror dawning

"Brother Fist. Sar Lerath. May'ap this be summat? Ain't got nothin' else. Sorreh."

[Sallera]

Lerath studies the shield intently, not yet touching it. "This is an ancient piece. Worn, forgotten, and still strong; a fitting decoration. Place it against the wall, there, then drink, and be silent a while."

His expression shifts into something that might once have been more pleasant, but now has little to distinguish it from a sneer. "This wine came from Eisn's men. One of them was near death from a dozen wounds, and they wanted him saved. They were sufficiently polite, and their gifts appropriate, so I obliged them. If you wish to visit them, then take the southeast road to the temple tomorrow - but my hospitality does not extend to letting you stay here. Find another ruin for shelter."

[Anderkent]

Farin

"Thank you. We shall not bother you again."

Once outside, Farin turns to Kholzug:
"Quick thinking there, and a good job. It's only fair that we help you fund a replacement, though I do not know if darkwood is easy to come by around here. If you find something you fancy, do tell us."

He takes a look around the ruined village, and continues
"Lerath is right in that we're unlikely to find a better place to rest than one of these buildings. Tironius, you mentioned sounds from the tavern? Perhaps some rooms there are still usable."

[TheFallenOne]

"I would not recommend it, for as he mentioned the name of this place I remembered something I had read of its history. Nulb was settled in the days of the old Temple, and made its living from providing services to the inhabitants of this evil place. It is said this village is haunted now, and we might do better making camp well outside its confines."
He looks back at the tavern a short ways up the road. "Still, a short investigation of what I might have heard would be worthwhile. Trust our own eyes, not rumors."

[Miraqariftsky]

"Sar. Orr tenks." Kholzug grunts as he sets the trophy up on the hermit's mantle.

Back outside, the halforc snorts at Farin and shrugs, then says, "Fund, schmund, me good feller. Loot's loot... hell, I e'en thought 'twould be you'd be upset at that. Wuzzennit at that old elf-built forsaken fane that you, me an' Cez found that thing?"

The burly brute suppresses a shudder--- and not at the night's cold. "Y'all know I ain't no craven, but I ain't no liar neither. Any of y'all get a strange feelin' o' 'holy-friggen-hell' earlier?"

"Haunted?" Thick brows rise and the jutting jaw scowls. "Kord's blood, yer jestin'... Haunted, sez ye? Ye ain't jess usin' a metameffiphor? Cez, Brother Bow, y'all got yer mysticks ready, 'opefully?"

Nevertheless, he readies his ancestral axe, praying that its old power will see them through...

[Sallera]

There is no response to Tironius's knock on the door, nor as you creep inside the old tavern, the faint light from the windows only just illuminating the interior. Broken glass and wooden splinters crack under your boots, the ancient sawdust and straw covering the floor providing little in the way of cushioning. The howling sound from upstairs is clearer here, somehow, although still incoherent; the intermittent shrieks are wordless and pained, the cries of the lost.

Cecily calls a set of invisible armour forth, plates of force briefly glimmering in the dark as they are summoned, but she still moves toward the stairs determinedly, one hand raised. "We need to see who's up there. Even if it's not... someone alive, we might still be able to help them." As she passes the dilapidated bar, however, her head jerks to the side, and she holds up a hand. "What was... wait, it shouldn't be so cold over here. Careful - I think there's another ghost here."

The figure fades into view behind her - pale and transparent, no taller than Cecily herself, and perfectly positioned in her blind spot, a blade more solid than its body in hand. Its surprise almost avails it naught - Cecily is already whirling, a shield half-formed in her hands - but this is a man who knows his mark, and a hundred more before her, if his smooth reaction is anything to judge by. The blade changes hands almost faster than the eye can follow, angling upward past the unseen armour and slipping between her ribs with a flawless strike, the momentum of her turn carrying it through her heart.

"Eeh, we have a wise one here!" The ghost is a short and plain-looking man with patchy hair and a bulbous nose, his ethereal garments dusty and the sleeves stained; taking another look at the girl in front of him, he chuckles. "Soz, that were 'had,' weren't it? Nyeheh!" Extracting the sword and letting her slump to the ground, he holds the bloody point out toward you, a malicious grin on his face. "Care for a drink?"

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Much obliged.

Combat joined, if you so wish, and the party's turn.

[Miraqariftsky]

Kholzug, cowering near the rear, stubbornly suppressing his fear of the unnatural, sees blood spurt and his friend fall. A thousand thoughts and memories and concerns and hopes and smiles coalesce...

...into a thudding, cold corpse.

His fear burns away in a blaze of wrath. He hefts the axe and bulls forward, slashing madly, roaring, "WE! WERE! READING!!!"

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Ohhhhhh FRAK, no he dedent.

Raging Charging Flanking Power Attack, gaddemmet! [Feel free to subtract, chief, if I am mistaken.]
(1d20+12)[18]
(1d12+18)[20]

[TheFallenOne]

Kholzug's furious assault confirms he likely couldn't be convinced to retreat, so Tironius moves in to support himin the hope this is a foe they are able to overcome. He knows his staff would be useless against the spirit, so he goes at it with a kick and punch, again bringing a brief aura of fire forth to enhance his strikes.

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Unarmed - (1d20+8)[26] (1d8+4)[7] Fire - (1d6+3)[6] Miss chance - (1d100)[98]
Unarmed - (1d20+8)[22] (1d8+4)[10] Fire - (1d6+3)[9] Miss chance - (1d100)[60]

will go invisible if attacked

well that looks promising

[Anderkent]

Farin

No time for regrets now, help her!
The cleric quickly moves beside the fallen mage, checking her vitals. If she's not dead, he casts a minor healing spell to stabilize her.

Otherwise, he turns to the ghost, unstringing his bow. Stepping around Cecily, he takes his place beside Tironius and Kholzug, swinging the shaft as a quarterstaff.

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Spontaneously cast Cure Minor Wounds to stabilize Cecily if she's not dead.

Otherwise, attack the ghost in melee (quarterstaff +1)
Hit: (1d20+6)[2](8)
Ethereal: (1d100)[89]
Damage: (1d8+4)[8]

[Sallera]

Kholzug's axe tears the ghost's chest apart, a fountain of ethereal blood spilling forth; Farin's staff splits open its face, another torrent gushing from its mouth. Each of Tironius's burning strikes drives it backward a step, and unlike the others, he can feel them connect with its manifested flesh. But the flow of blood does not stop, soon forming a pool around your feet. The spirit shudders, more liquid flowing forth than any mortal body could have held, and behind you, beside you, the fluid begins to shift and bubble, humanoid figures rising from the murk. They are of every age, race, and gender, and no onlooker could count their number. Not one is unmarred, the mark of blade, fist, or strangler's cord on every body. It seems you can feel the moment the sun touches the horizon outside; Cecily's killer jerks once and is still, frozen in a macabre mockery of death's embrace, and every shade's eye turns to look at you. In a chorus of whispers, the roar of the quiet multitude, each one offers the same words: "Do not drink from the ashen cup."

And then they are gone. The ghost is whole again. And he simply smiles, for he knows.

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Each of you must make a DC14 Fort save. On failure, you take:
Kholzug: (1d4)[3] Str damage, (1d4)[3] Dex damage, and (1d4)[1] Con damage
Tironius: (1d4)[3] Str damage, (1d4)[2] Dex damage, and (1d4)[1] Con damage
Farin: (1d4)[4] Str damage, (1d4)[1] Dex damage, and (1d4)[4] Con damage

And it's the party's turn again.

[Anderkent]

Farin

The elf shakes off ghost's hallucination, steps back, and twirls the bow-staff in front of him, vocalizing a prayer.

Beside him, a longbow made of pure force materializes, draws itself, and shoots an arrow shaped projectile into the ghost.

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5ft step away from the ghost, casts Spiritual Weapon.

SW: (1d20+7)[12](19) / (1d8+1)[4](5)
EDIT: to hit is actually 1d20 + 6 , for a total of 18. Sorry!

[TheFallenOne]

Tironius focuses inward, steeling his mind and body against the malign power trying to drain him. Pierce the cloak of perception. See the truth, dispel the falsehoods. If these shapes are lies, they can not touch me when I deny them. If they are true, they will not scare me for reality is sacred. His resolve renewed, he presses the assault, flickering from view the same moment the shades do to drive his fist and knee into the ghostly killer.

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Unarmed - (1d20+10)[27] (1d8+4)[10] Miss chance - (1d100)[62]
Unarmed - (1d20+10)[29] (1d8+4)[6] Miss chance - (1d100)[65]

[Miraqariftsky]

No time for fright, a friend is dead
No time for grief, a fiend is at hand
No time to hesitate, vengeance is meted
No time to rest, the axe shall send the fiend to the nameless land

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No respite! Fire everything!

(1d20+10)[13]
(1d12+18)[23]
(1d100)[89]

Arrrrrgh! How the friggering hell useless are you?!

[Sallera]

The ghost recoils, obviously not expecting such determined opposition, and although Kholzug's axe fails to reach its drifting, spectral body, Tironius and Farin strike it soundly, and its form begins to waver.

"Not bad, hardhearts... but I'm already dead. And she isn't coming back." Grinning ear to ear, the spirit starts twitching, its voice becoming steadily fainter. "Which one of you will I kill next time? Think on it for a spell... and watch... your... backs!" With its final word, the ghost discorporates violently, a tide of (thankfully, once more illusory) blood washing over you and sinking into the ground.

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Nice dice; enjoy the fruits of your vengeance. Namely, 1200xp each.

Tironius/Farin:

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The ghost's words match what you've heard about such spirits; each generally has an anchor of some sort in the material world (although such anchors are not always tangible) that allows it to return after a time even when destroyed.

[Anderkent]

Farin

"It's true that a ghost is likely to return unless we find out what anchors it to this world and dispose of it. We should keep an eye out - but if we fail, just preventing travellers from entering the inn could suffice. Perhaps barricade the doors from outside?

In any way we have a couple days until it returns.

Firstly though, we need to decide what to do now. I can preserve her body, but raising her is probably beyond what we can afford. Do you know of anyone who might help?"