Earthday, Harvester 20th, 469 CY Front of Zalo’s residence Early morning
It’s daybreak, but there’s no sign of the sun. The Saltmarsh fog is thicker than normal today, rendering the street outside Zalo’s room all but dark. The dampness feels like a death shroud.
All six adventurers are there, at the doorstep, waiting in pensive silence. There’s a muted clattering to the north, and moments later a man arrives, emerging from the depths of white mist. He’s wearing an eyepatch, and is unshaven. He pulls behind him a handcart.
The man sets the handles of the cart down. “You must be Zalo,” he says flatly. “Ain’t many gnomes in Saltmarsh.”
He reaches into his pocket and draws out a cigarette, already rolled and ready to smoke. It takes him three times to light it on account of the moist air. Then he reaches into the front of the cart, draws out a worn leather portfolio, and opens it.
His eyes dart up from the page to the group. “Y’know, that list of yours that y’gave Solmer totaled over a thousand gold worth of equipment.”
He champs down on his cigarette, and returns his gaze to the papers. “Quartermaster Trag was for sure we was outfittin’ the Keoish Navy for their next sortie against the Sea Princes.”
Drawing a paper out of the binder and waving it in the air, he continues. “Just where’n the Nine Hells you goin’? The Empire of Iuz? For a year?”
He peers down at the paper and points his finger to a line. “I been on a ship for six and ten months at a time, and we only used but two healer’s kits. You guys wanted nearly a dozen.”
He grins widely. “Anyways, if you ain’t figured it out yet, there weren’t no captain that’d quarter this leviathan of a list. Not all of it anyways. And a few of ‘em even laughed at me, thought it was some new-guy runaround. Sent me on, to the next ship."
"‘Go ask Captain Sampson for the aged groo-yay,’ one says to me after I give him the list. ‘He gots the company cheese this week.’”
“Anyways.” The man clears his throat and adjusts his eyepatch, then begins piling the goods on the walkway as he checks off his list.
“One flask of lantern oil. A pouch of nails. A hammer, slightly rusty.”
He looks up. “Course they ain’t gonna part with the good stuff.”
“Ten sticks of chalk and a candle. Fifty foot of hempen rope. A crowbar. One potion of healing and two healer’s kits.”
He moves around to the other side of the cart. “A wooden round shield and two daggers. Non-silver.”
Again he pauses. “Weapons’re scarce on the seas. An’ ya can’t use a shield and tow a line at the same time. Takes one too many hands. So they’d of probably thrown it out, anyways.”
He returns to hefting items out of the cart. “One two-pound sack of flour. A small sack of garlic. To go with the rope, it says.”
He draws out a large block wrapped in brown paper. It looks wet. “I was told I had to verify this one word-for-word—‘one hunk of premium-aged cheese.’”
The deliveryman slaps the block down onto the pile. It’s clear from the grease seeping through the butcher paper that this cheese might be aged, but it’s most definitely not premium.
“So old Kilroy from the Lamplight provided the cheese. But only on the condition I found out who’n their right mind asks for cheese.”
Zalo grins widely, taking a step forward and already fumbling at his belt for the knife. "That's me. Want a slice?" He unwraps the wet hunk and carves off a piece.
"To hells with it,” the man says. ”It'll make a good story back on the deck. Gimme a piece."
His mouth full of cheese, the courier looks down at the pile of gear on the ground. "So that's that, then. Anything else? Any messages you need sent back to the boss-man?"
Alton’s pack is stuffed with all his worldly possessions. He’s in his normal brown pants, white shirt, and green cloak. He approaches and looks up at the man and says excitedly, “Oh! Oh! The hammer and nails were for me! And the flour!”
He then turns to the group and holds the flour with both of his hands, “Just a few more and I’ll have a bouquet of flours!” He giggles excitedly at his own joke.
He continues, “I was hoping for the axe, but I suppose one of my stronger friends here can fill that role in case a door needs opening.”
Alton holds up the hammer and nails. “And these in case one needs to stay shut. The flour can be sprinkled on the ground to look for footprints, and if there’s any left I can make some fishcake!”
“Hmm...I should have asked for sugar...” He looks at the cheese and wonders aloud, “I suppose I can improvise...”
The courier finishes his piece of cheese. "Huh. Ain't half bad, when you look at how much it's weepin' in that wrapper."
"Right, then." The man puts his portfolio back into the cart. "I'm off.”
"Mind yourself the day, wherever yer goin'. A fog this thick can only be an ill token for somebody. For better or for worse, Procan's got his eye on Saltmarsh this mornin.'"
He eyes the party one more time, then grabs his handcart and clatters away into the fog.
Tydir turns to the party. Clad in his customary salt-stained boots and cloak, he's added a vicious-looking, curved blade and buckler to his right hip, the ingenious rig clearly one of his own creation.
“Procan's eyes are on us, indeed. I know not what lies ahead of us, but I do know he has set this task in front of each of you - and tasked me with assisting your efforts.”
With that, he draws the small, intricately carved knife from his belt and uses it to prick his thumb. Shaking his fist as he speaks, Tydir sprays a few drops of blood into the air in front of the party, his voice shifting down an octave and taking on a sing-song quality:
“Wind, waves and tides stand before you. Water, salt and iron gird you. Procan provides, Procan protects.”
With that, he lowers his hand and a smile breaks out across his face.
“Well then, the formalities are covered right and proper, aren't they. Anyone else need to do anything before we set off?”
Munching on a slice of cheese and rearranging items on his belt, Zalo mumbles, "A bit disappointing about the vials. But I'm ready when you all are!"
Nicolas slides the dagger behind his back, and fits the chalk and other odds and ends into various pockets and holders on his belt. He wipes off the dust from his black gloves, and pulls his slightly wetted hair back from his head as he straightened his back.
"I am prepared" he adds simply.
Crumbs of the greasy, pungent cheese fall to the ground from Zalo’s mouth, languishing slowly in a puddle of saltwater spray. "I don't know how Procan feels about cheese, but my word, this is delicious."
Alton stuffs his new items into his pack, rearranging things to fit everything in. He straps in and says, “I’m ready! Lets get going."
After the last of Solmers’s delivery is divided and packed, the party disembarks. They follow the road south from Zalo’s doorstep, around the corner, past the docks and fishmonger’s plant, to the east. Even in the fog the stench of the fishmonger’s plants are unbearable.
“OOO! OOO! OOO!,” says Alton. “I can play a marching song! I’ve always wanted to play a marching song!”
Left right left right
Going off to fight!
Left right left right
Succeed? Yes we might!
At the edge of town the path begins ascending along a bluff and past The Leap, where it’s said that locals throw themselves into the sea after a loved one perishes at sea.
Thankfully, despite the poor visibility, the journey’s pace is solid. The road is easy to follow, and Alton’s song (combined by the wet, chilly air) encourages a brisk step.
Before long, the front ranks stumble to a halt at a post. It marks a fork in the road. The rest of the party gathers around.
To the post are nailed two hand-written signs.
The sign on the left is older, with faded and chipped paint, and simply reads:
Seaton
The one on the right looks new, with solid, fresh paint:
Copperlocks Mine Seaton
and carved at the bottom with a knife, a helpful traveler scrawled:
Danger! Ghost House
Torestorlim perks up when he sees the sign. "Ey wait a minute, dwarf! Stoneheart...Stoneheart... Now I 'member I do! You were them folk biddin' fer the mine 'gainst the Copperlocks! HEH! Best hope yer misfortune 'as run it's course. Losin' again at a time like this... well.. it ain't the time!"
Tydir looks up sharply at Tore's mention of the Copperlocks’s contract, but then smiles as he realizes his fellow dwarf is looking to score points of some sort at his expense.
“That was a lifetime ago my friend, and a story best left for another time and place.”
And while he dismissed Tore's comments out loud, he can't stop thinking about them, and finds himself wondering just how much the slovenly dwarf knows.
Zalo scoffs incredulously as he sees the sign. "Ghost House, indeed. That's just the sort of thing I'd write if I were an eccentric alchemist and didn't want to be bothered by the town riffraff asking me for free potions all day."
Nicolas steps to the sign, running his gloves along the painted and carved letters.
Alton ponders to the group, "You know, if someone was able to carve the letters ‘Ghost House’ on the sign, then that means someone was able to both learn it was haunted and still escape alive to carve the warning. So maybe it's not so bad!"
His optimistic smile then drops and he says, "Unless...unless the ghosts carved the letters...oh...oh hmm..."
"Rest easy Alton,” replies Nicolas, “I doubt a specter carved a sign so far away from what would be their abode. The sign was carved much before the rest of the painted signage was added so any recent paranormal activity would be ruled out."
He flakes off some wood scrapes from his gloves. "I suspect Zalo might be on the correct mindset, the 'ghost house' moniker was one assigned before the recent troubles, and could possibly be linked to the previous owner's desire for privacy."
Before the group leaves, the gnome summons his owl onto the post, and the two lock eyes. It then turns, flaps away briefly, beginning to rise, but immediately swoops back down onto the road ahead, just as it's fading from sight in the white shroud. It retreats back to the group in short bounds, half-hopping and half-flying. When it reaches Zalo, it looks at him and cocks its head.
Zalo nods and kneels down to one knee so it can hop up. He smiles and taps his shoulder. The owl flutters onto Zalo's shoulder, settles in, and begins to preen the gnome's neat beard.
The party proceeds to the right, along the old coast road. It’s still on an ascent, but the climb is much less severe, almost level. At times a rocky precipice looms dangerously out of the fog, near to the path, to the right. In the distance below, the sound of crashing waves can be heard.
The fog begins to grow brighter, glowing with light. Suddenly, as if by some unoerthly magic, the party breaks free of it, stepping through the nebulous threshold, blinking into the sun on the horizon directly before them.
The owl on Zalo’s shoulder ruffles its feathers a moment, pivots its head around, and leaps off of him, taking flight up the road ahead, ascending steadily into the sky.
As everyone’s eyes begin to acclimate to the blinding light, a bucolic scene surrounds them. A large hill rises to the left, to the northeast, covered by rolling fields of wheat. Dew glistens prismatically from the ends of leaves and wheat-spikes, creating a shimmering rainbow upon the hillside. To the right a sheer bluff drops away to a breathtaking view of the Azure Sea. Fog and scud clouds zoom over the tops of the waves.
The party continues along the well-established road, and the fields on the left begin to grow disheveled, untended, and rank with weeds. The fog creeps back in patches, blasting faces with a clammy breeze from time to time. Soon the sun disappears altogether, and only occasional patches of cold light can be seen out over the water. The wind picks up, and a briny stink of churning salt water fills everyone’s nostrils.
The road begins a sharp turn to the left, around a steep bluff on the right, when there it looms over the crest: the haunted house.
Dilapidated, unwholesome, and decaying, it stands like a forgotten tomb upon the highest point of the cliff. All around the property, which butts up directly against the road, a stone wall has crumbled in many places, exposing the interior grounds. An ornate metal gate lies open close by, where the road meets the foot path. It sways slightly in the wind.
The party slinks through the gate, and up the hill for a closer look. The path is faded and overgrown with weeds, winding its way up the seaward side of the hill towards the front door. Wild flora grows throughout the inner yard all around, and a rotted wooden roof of a water well rises out of the tall grass next to the footpath, on the west side of the building. All the years of wild growth cannot hide the evidence of a well-tended garden that once sat on the east side.
The steep path completes its ascent up the south side of the house, past the well, and dangerously close to the cliff. A stumble could mean certain death by what looks to be a two-hundred-foot plummet, to the beach. But everyone carefully makes their way up without issue, and gathers at the front door.
The house is over two stories tall, with a gabled roof that has several holes from missing slate shingles. It's easy to see why people are reluctant to approach the place. Whatever color it was painted, it’s now brown and gray with salt and time. All of the windows on both floors are busted out, and only a single shutter remains on a second-floor window frame, hanging on by a single hinge. The sea breeze blows it to and fro, and it clatters harshly against the aged wood.
The front door sits in its frame at a rakish angle.
Tydir carefully walks towards the path leading to the front door, looking for any signs of that someone, or something, that has been here recently. He leans forward, carefully inspecting the hinges and doorknob assembly of the off-kilter door
Nicolas seems to notice something toward the dilapidated remains of a well. He breaks away from the group as his attention fixes on the grass.
"Pardon me for a moment please, I need to examine something."
Perhaps it was a foolish endeavor to already break off from the group in uncertain territory, but Nicolas had a lead that he needed to follow. He approached closer and began examining the bones, trying to figure out their origin and the recentness of their departure from muscle and flesh.
Alton tags along to examine the bones. He readies his rapier as he whispers, "I saw those animal bones as well! Be careful. Whatever killed it may still linger."
As Alton walks, he looks carefully at the grasses leading to the grounds, for any dangerous creatures or animal traps.
Zalo's eyes narrow. "I'd be careful around that well and those bones! In my research around this place, I heard that giant weasels had been spotted here recently. The last thing I want is a nasty bite from one of those creatures."
The grim atmosphere means that even Zalo is beginning to wonder if his first assessment about this place might have been too hasty. Maybe there was something supernatural inhabiting this place. A nervous energy flits through him as he bustles about.
White-knuckling the grip of his paddle held at his side, rope of garlic around his neck, Tore tries his best to appear collected and calm, but it's easy to see he's rattled, by the potential vampires, ghosts, the 200-foot cliff a simple misstep away, or a combination of the three; it's hard to tell, but he's visibly anxious and sweating profusely. The armpits of the wine-polka-dotted robes are tinged a pale yellow, and his odor is worse than normal.
"Ey, gnome, can ya send yer bird up ta the windows there and get a look?"
The gnome nods at Tore's suggestion. "Certainly." He glances up at his owl, who begins circling the house.
"I suppose now is as good a time as any to make another introduction. That is Cahoots, my dear friend and sometimes research assistant. It's complicated, but we share a special bond and can communicate with... well, not words, exactly. More like pictures I can send him."
"And while our erstwhile owl is examining everything, could someone help me look for tracks? Or I'll help you! Either way, I'd like to see if something considerably more substantive than a spirit has been here recently."
Everyone seems too intent on their own explorations to help.
After carefully examining the path alone, the gnome stands on his tiptoes, trying to peer over the edge of the cliff from afar to see the beach at the bottom of the cliff.
Ilseh stands silently behind him, examining the house from afar.
Torestorlim wanders over to the well. Picking up a bone from one of the deceased animals, he flips it into the well and listens for the splash.
There’s a satisfying plunk of water that echoes from the depths of the well.
Curiously, there is another plunk.
Then the sound of crunching and grating rock, and a hailstorm of splashes at the bottom of the well. A raspy, scraping sound can be heard as something big is climbing—make that slithering—up the inside of the well.
Nicolas, crouched down at the bones, throws a critical eyes toward Torestorlim. "That was not wise, friend."
He begins backing away from the well and readies the dagger on his belt, kicking his pack off toward the house.
Alton looks up at the well. His eyes go wide as the realization of what’s happening dawns upon him. He runs back towards the house entrance as much as he can and drops his pack. With his rapier in one hand and flute in the other, he keeps his eyes locked on the well.
“Everyone move back! Whatever’s coming up that well is about to feel really tired!”
Combat Round 1
Suddenly, a square, serpentine head rears up over the edge, and strikes at Torestorlim. The dwarf lurches to avoid the bite, but he's too slow; quick as lightning, the serpent strikes him on the right shoulder.
The force knocks him back a few steps, and his hand moves to the wound. White fluid is seeping out from between his fingers, down his shoulder.
Torestorlim turns pale, stumbles, and collapses to the ground.
The snake finishes its ascent from the well, flopping with a thud onto the ground amongst the bones and rotted fur. It's enormous, as long as a man is tall, and it's covered in muted brown stripes.
Just behind it, another snake slithers out from the broken-down well, similarly patterned, though with a large chunk of its tail missing.
As soon as the second snake drops into the dirt from the well's edge, it coils back and strikes at Nicolas. But he was ready. He leaps back, avoiding the bite altogether.
Nicolas evaluates the situation and finds the odds incredibly unfavorable. He completes his roll away from the serpent and shouts out to the rest of the group, "We're under attack! Two serpents!" before disengaging from the melee combat that seemed to him to be something of a death wish. He goes at a full clip towards the front door of the house where the rest of the party was gathered.
Tore's chest is heaving, and foam begins to seep out of his mouth. His whole body goes rigid.
Zalo gasps in horror. "Tore!" His fingers are already moving through the practiced motions of a spell as he raises one hand. With his other hand he snaps twice and points at the snake that's attacking Nicolas.
Cahoots, who had been watching from a window of the house, spreads their wings and leaps, diving straight towards the snake. They extend their claws as if to grab at the thing, but veer away at the last second, then heads back up to his window sill again.
The gnome then levels his index finger at the serpent. A crackling jet of scarlet fire coils around his arm, then leaps through the air and sails toward the melee at the well. As it flies, the heat hisses against the morning moisture and salt spray from the beach below, sounding not unlike a snake itself. It slams into the tail of the creature.
Alton winces. He mentally shelves his previous plan and goes for a new approach: insults.
“Foul snake from beneath the ground, you’re so ugly you should be drowned!”
The snake recoils back in pain, hissing vehemently.
Then, in quick succession, Alton plays a series of magical tunes on his flute and directs their healing magic at the unconscious dwarf Tore. Alton hopes it is enough to prevent death, and with any luck, any permanent injury.
Torestorlim, lying on his back, coughs violently, spewing a volcano of blood and white spittle into the air. Glancing around, he instinctively reaches in pain for his right shoulder as he regains his bearings.
Tydir spins to assess the scene. Knowing no one is going to be able to take care of Tore until the snakes are either killed or drawn away, Tydir drops one hand to his ceremonial knife, holds his other hand palm out and calls out:
“Procan Protects! I smite thee in his name!”
As he finishes, a flash of blinding light erupts from his hand and shoots out towards both the serpents. The light sears into the scaly skin of one snake, and the creature curls up into itself like an ant under a magnifying glass, dead and crisped.
The other snake hisses in agitation, unaffected by the light.
Tydir then moves forward towards Tore, looking to close the gap as best he can while staying out of striking range.
The ocean magic, the owl, the insult—it all seems too much for the final snake. It doubles back, rearing its body up to climb the stones of the well to retreat back into the darkness.
Ilseh had been distracted by the house's dead nature. It was dismal, abandoned, grey and ashen.. it reminded her of a great man, now gone. Memories of her giant father flooded her view and only the shout of their hired hand, Nicolas, brought the pale woman to her senses.
Fluttering her wet eyes, she surveyed the current scene for the first time. The drunkard dwarf had fallen, gravely injured by the looks of it, and the rest of the party was in various modes of action.
It was snakes that had assaulted the party: one coiled, singed and burned. The other slithering away.
Drawing her shortsword, Ilseh placed herself in front of the prone dwarf, knees bent, body slightly hunched forward with the blade pointed before her.
"Someone pull him back!" She shouts, pointing at the gasping Tore without taking her eyes of the serpent. "Get him out of here!"
The snake raises its head over the lip of the well and pulls its body over the brink. Then it disappears over the edge. There's a scratchy, slithering sound, a few splashes, and then only the wind and the waves can be heard.
Seeing the situation begin to de-escalate, Nicolas moves to assist Torestorlim. He rushes over and puts his ear to the dwarfs mouth, listening for air, then recoils at the smell of the dwarf a bit.
He gets up to his feet as the dwarf appears to be conscious. "Good to see you are still with us, master dwarf."
Almost as quickly as it had begun, it was over — but Zalo is still panting from the rush of combat nonetheless. He trots over to Tore and wipes the sweat from his brow. "Well, thanks to Alton's quick reflexes and Tydir's exemplary spellcasting, the threat has been repulsed. I am certainly grateful for such adept companions."
He fidgets for a moment before continuing and clears his throat. "That said, may I suggest that, in the future, we be just a tad more cautious in our explorations of conspicuous bone piles? I could have been swallowed alive and dragged into a watery grave by those things!" The gnome shudders, a full-body wriggle that could be mistaken for a very brief and ungraceful dance. "I'm glad they're gone."
Tydir moves to Tore, and reaches down to check on his fellow dwarf. Looking him over carefully, Tydir is amazed that the fool is still alive.
“I have no idea what’s in that claw you drink so much of, but either you’ve developed an immunity to poison or you’re the luckiest dwarf I’ve ever met. Either way glad you’re ok - no idea how you’re on your feet - but glad you are.”
He then turns his attention to the crisped snake husk and nudges it gently with his toe, still marveling at the power that poured out of his own hands.
Nicolas goes over to the well and cautiously peers over the edge to see if the snake is truly gone, keeping a tight grip to his dagger. Another attack like that would certainly not be appreciated and covering an exterior threat such as this would at the very least allow for them to rest easy and plan their next moves unmolested.
“I believe we are safe for the moment, though I'd caution against any further exploration," he says as he begins moving away from the well and kicks away one last animal bone from his feet.
Ilseh slings her blade by its hilt to her side, seeming satisfied with Nicolas' investigation.
Alton approaches the well and tries to peer over the side. He looks down into the darkness and says, “Those snakes must have come from somewhere. I wonder what else is down there?”
Coming to consciousness, still flat on his back, Tore sees Ilseh by his feet between him and the well. "I told 'anna not ta let anyone in me room! What's yer problem girl!" Feeling the wetness of his insides now dripping down and off his neck he grumbles "Did ya spill a drink on me?! I 'ate pranks girl! Don't cha be messin with me ever again while I'm sleepin, I warn ya!"
She rolls her eyes as she turns around to face the braggard dwarf. "It's a curious thing when you can't tell the difference between being drunk and being nearly poisoned to death, dwarf."
She starts walking towards the steps of the house, purposely walking by and past Tore. "Now let's disturb this one," she grumbles beneath her breath.
A mischievous smiles goes across Alton’s face, and he starts speaking excitedly. “Hey. Hey! HEY!! I just! I just had the best idea ever! What if I, I mean, what if we tied a rope around my waist and lowered me inside?! I’m small enough and can fit into any tiny area. If something goes wrong, I’ll tell or tug on the rope or use my message spell or something! But nothing could go wrong, right?! Who has the lantern? Let’s do it!”
Nicolas turns to Alton, expressionless. He looks the halfling over from head to toe and back again to discern if he might actually be serious, but says nothing. Determining that Alton might very well indeed be serious, or at the very least was making a poorly timed joke, he only sighs and shakes his head before heading off after Ilseh toward the steps of the house.
Alton says, “Hey! We already killed the snakes! At worst there’s something else down there, and you can pull me out. At best, who knows?! Maybe a diamond wedding ring! Or a magic dagger! Or, Oh! Oh! Maybe a secret entrance!”
Zalo draws himself up and then blows a stream of arcane bubbles into Alton's face, where they pop with a soft noise that sounds faintly like a duck quacking. "Absolutely not! And if either you or Tore try something similarly dunderheaded again I won't hesitate to push you down this well myself!" He huffs.
Cahoots lands on Tore's shoulder and nuzzles him briefly, before flapping away in an arc over the cliff and continuing their examination. "I saw that!" grumbles Zalo. "He doesn't deserve that sympathy!" calls the gnome after the owl, but they're already high aloft.
Alton looks at Zalo and asks, “Will you at least tie a rope to me first?”
"Around your neck, if I need to!" He jabs a finger in the air. "Foolishness and fiddlesticks! Poppycock and perfuffle!"
”Hey, if he wants to be a serpent's lunch,” Ilseh chimes as she turns her body to face the quarreling short people, hands on her hips, "by all means. He should also sing on his way down- give the snake a show along with its dinner."
Alton laughs. Thinking twice about doing something rash, he looks over the edge and into the well again.
His face crinkles a bit, and he slowly backs up from the well a few steps.
“So, uh, as much as I was insistent about going into the well, I’m having second thoughts. I think I see another snake down there. Perhaps we should kill it? You know, so it doesn’t sneak through the grass and kill us?”
"Leave the snake- and the well- be,” Ilseh fires back. “It's just defending it's home. I think most of us could share that instinct."
Zalo turns around immediately and casts a very worried glance at the well over Ilseh's shoulder. "It's still alive?" He looks apprehensive about her suggestion of leaving it be, but he doesn't say anything else for the moment.
“I agree with the big one here, says Tydir, nodding towards Ilesh. “We should leave the snake and the well alone, and concentrate on the house.” He gives one last glance at the snake corpse at his feet, then squares up and starts for the front door of the house.
"I accept ‘tall one.’” Ilseh replies.
Tydir snorts up at Ilesh. “Tall one it is then.”
Fighting a small grin, he motions her forward. “Shall we try the front door, oh tall one?”
The air goes out of Zalo as he sighs, resignedly, digging through his pack for something. "I suppose standing around out here arguing isn't going to do us any good. I'm sorry for my outburst, and I'm glad everyone is — more or less, anyway — still standing. But let's please try to be cautious. We don't know what's in there. Or out here, for that matter. " He finds what he was looking for: his leatherbound notebook, which he flips open and records a few notes.
"And only a methodical and careful approach is likely to yield results!" Zalo taps the quill on the page for emphasis. "At least, if we want to be alive at the end of today. I'm grateful that I'm at least with competent colleagues."
As the party has been discussing the next plan of attack, Cahoots had circled their way once around the entire house, and systematically began landing on the sill of each broken-out window to peer inside.
At one south-facing, upper-floor window, they suddenly ruffles their feathers and hoot. Rotating in place to face outwards, they spin their head back for another look into the room, then look down at Zalo.
When the gnome meets the owl’s gaze, Cahoots immediately stretches their wings, gives three practice flaps, and dives out of the window, taking to the air. They fly a tight circle over everyone’s heads, then light back upon the window ledge. Again he hoots.
Zalo nods at the barn owl as it preens its feathers, admiring the way the iridescent dew reflects off of it in the foggy gray morning. "Hm. Looks like there's something either moving or alive up there. I suppose that's as good as a place as any to look once we're inside." He points to the southeast window, high up and facing the sea, and waves to the owl to continue peering about.
"Any guesses about what kind of vile, poisonous animal it is this time?" He smiles wanly at his companions.
Again the owl hoots and looks back into the room. After one final, emphatic hoot at Zalo, they take flight, stopping again at the various windows around the house.
“They're still checking the other windows for anything else interesting, though. I'm sure it won't be much longer before they're finished. Cahoots is nothing if not observant and thorough."
He smiles. "And soft! Feathers like the finest pillow and they love head scratches."
As Tydir reaches the front porch, he pauses and swings his head methodically from side to side as he does, carefully checking for any signs of traps or tracks before stepping up onto the structure itself.
A few moments later, Cahoots comes gliding around the corner of the house, and swoops low over everybody's heads, tousling hair and hats with a silent breeze.
The owl crests slightly over the south cliff in a graceful arc, then dives straight down, out of sight.
Ilseh shakes her head derisively as she whips her short hair away from her face, turning back to the house. ‘As if that was specific and helpful,’ she thinks. Annoyed, Ilseh pushes her bangs back beside her face.
Cautiously, the pale woman approaches the building's entryway. She steps on the stair's first step with her hands holding her weapon's hilts, and looks up at the body of wood and mortar.
Zalo scrutinizes the garden around the corner of the house. When he spots the overgrown rose bush, he freezes for a moment and then backs away. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I think those weasels I heard about are probably making their burrow underneath the garden."
He looks around at everyone. "Unless there's some compelling reasons we need a tomato, I'd like to suggest that we adopt Ilseh's well-considered advice and leave it alone."
Alton walks back to the house, joining the rest of the group. He puts his pack back on, and stands against the wall next to the door, his rapier at the ready for whatever may be beyond the front doorway.
Tore looks around in confusions as he slowly gets back to his feet, rubbing the bump on back of his head he took when he collapsed. "This ain't me room...the hell are we an why does me mouth taste like a handful 'a copper and why am I so dizzy...."
Wiping the spit up off his neck, he glances down to see his hand coated in blood. Losing his balance slightly, his eyes go cross and he falls to one knee, hands extended out gripping in the grass to keep him from falling off the world.
The pain comes on suddenly, the partially open wound still sizzling from the poisonous bite. He rolls onto his back and rustles around under the front of his robes, hand finding purchase on the one of the red potions. Pulling the cork with shaking hand, he dumps the contents in his mouth, gargles and swishes for a moment, and swallows with a gulp.
"Nothin like a good cocktail before work, there isn't! Back ta work, kids! Now where were we?" He, too, joins the rest of the party at the front door.
Suddenly, Cahoots flaps in from behind and lands on Zalo's shoulder. With a deep-throated coo, they begin nuzzling the gnome's ear, preening his beard.
"If it's alright with the two of you,” Nicolas pipes up from a surprisingly close distance behind Tydir and Ilseh, “I'd like to take an attempt in the matter of the door." He steps between them and to the front step of the porch, his gaze fixed solely on the front porch, content from here to make a full investigation of the scene lest anyone else end up in an unfortunate situation, serpentine or otherwise.
His eyes scan the entry for every detail, every crack and crevice. He knows someone is in there, so they had some means by which to enter, but it didn't necessarily have to be the front door.
If there's snakes in the well, there must be something to keep any other hostile creatures out of the house, he thinks to himself. But then why hasn't the door been forced before?
Something had to be there.
Nicolas grasps the doorknob. Then, carefully and slowly, he turns it.
The door grinds open with a loud and unpleasant creak, into a musty, dirty entrance hall. The entire scene is dilapidated and damp beyond measure. The walls are bare, the wood rotten in spots. There are patches of black mold everywhere. On the floor are strewn heaps of plaster, fallen from the walls and ceiling. Broken and smashed furniture lie scattered throughout the room.
Ahead, to the north, a corridor leads to the rear of the house. A staircase on the eastern wall—to the right—climbs to the next story, reaching it at a balcony that overlooks the entrance hall along its entire north and west sides. The stairs look safe to climb, though the balcony rail is broken in several places.
Beneath the stairs and balcony, at the northeast corner of the entrance hall, a corridor leads right, to the east. To the left, centered in the wall, another corridor leads into the west wing of the house.
Zalo gulps as the door opens, peering past Nicolas's legs into the gloom and disrepair. "Well, this certainly doesn't look like anyone's lived here for a while. Not anyone who understands the precepts of structural integrity and building maintenance, anyway," he whispers.
Tydir pitches his voice low but loud enough that those nearby can hear him. “Master Gnome is right. The most recent occupants of this home have no sense of maintenance.”
He points to the balcony on the other side of the room. It’s sagging miserably under its own weight. “The middle of the north balcony there is ready to collapse - use caution if you walk over or under it.”
Zalo’s owl returns, and the gnome gives him a nuzzle back and looks glumly at the dilapidated building. "I don't think this is going to be any place for you, my friend. You've earned a nap." He drums the fingers of his left hand on his right palm, and the owl disappears.
"Cahoots doesn't seem to have found anything besides the movement in the upstairs floor on the southeast, nor did he see anything on the cliffs.
"Do you think I should make a few preparations to bring out my magical sight, just in case there's something more than a snake or two in here? It would take a few minutes, but I could do it outside so as not to disturb anything in here. The eerie lights people are seeing have to be coming from somewhere, and I wonder if magic is responsible."
“Aye, Master Gnome,” replies Tydir, “I think that would be a useful exercise. We can hold here in the entry-room while you prepare your ritual.”
As he says this, he draws his blade and lifts his buckler off its mount, smooth movements that look out-of-place on a cleric.
Zalo nods and steps outside. He kneels down on the ground and clears a space around him a few paces away from the door.
"Just interrupt me if you need me." He then pulls out three small candles and lights them, setting them on three small stones and arranging them into a triangle around himself.
Inside, Tydir rolls through the door to the right, staying close to the wall, but spreading the group out a bit. He carefully scans the room, looking for any signs of tracks, traps or clues as to who may be lurking upstairs. But he seems to have no luck.
He looks over towards Ilseh. “What can you see from up there, Tall One? Any sign of ghouls or ghosts?” He keeps his head on a swivel, looking for any developments as the rest of the party complete their preparations and move into the entry way.
"I'm in the same room as you are," Ilseh retorts. "I see what you see."
Either way, Ilseh takes a moment to take in their new dilapidated surroundings, and one thing stands out.
"There's a worn pathway amidst the detritus. There- and there." Ilseh points and makes two lines with her long arms, indicating a path leading from the stairs down into their current space and to the left corridor; the other traces a path leading from the door behind them to the corridor dead ahead. "I wouldn't think it to be an animal, much less some ghost, lest some bears were testing the beds."
"Indeed,” Nicolas adds as he kneels at the staircase, “it seems we can rule out any paranormal or animalistic foes at this stage." He works a white substance between his fingers.
"Unless it is common for spirits or beasts to wear boots." He points at the smudged white remnant of a boot print he’s standing over.
Tydir shoots Ilseh a respectful nod. “Hrumph, your height does you well. I missed those tracks entirely from down here. So, we have two sets of tracks and one person upstairs somewhere - does that sound about right?”
Outside, Zalo traces a circle on the grass with his finger, joining all three candles, then holds both hands up and begins moving them in careful, practiced motions as he chants quietly. As the gnome does so, the barest arc of a luminous circle appears on the ground, and slowly begins to grow, creeping over the salt-sprayed grass minute by minute and inching towards the first of the three candles.
As the minutes pass, the arc grows and grows, becoming a faint ring that pulses with lucent power, until at last the circle is closed. The candles instantly snuff out and Zalo puts his hands down at his sides, wiping the sweat from his brow and quickly putting away his gear. The gnome joins the others.
Aside from the shuffling of feet, and the occasional sniffle, or gust of ocean breeze through the two busted-out windows near the door, the room is deathly still.
Alton leans over to Zalo and asks quietly, “That was a neat spell. What did you find?”
Zalo’s eyes fall upon Ilseh for a moment, then he nods and whispers to the group. "I don't sense anything yet beyond the things we're carrying. But I should be able to feel if something magical gets within a few dozen paces." He peers once again into the gloom as his eyes adjust.
"Given the tracks Ilseh found,” he continues, “any thoughts on which way to go? Perhaps we cover this floor and then see what avenues are open to us upstairs? Or would we prefer to check upstairs first?"
“I believe you suggested a methodical approach Master Gnome, and I would tend to agree with you. It would seem to me we should clear the first floor but keep quiet while we do it.
“Master Nicolas, if you'll continue to lead us, I may be able to lend you some aid if you'll permit.”
As Tydir says this he slides up and lays a hand on Nicolas's back. A faint glow of divine energy can be seen peeking out from between his palm and the mercenary's back.
Nicolas considers Zalo’s proposal as he receives Tydir's blessing. "Methodical is good, but following the process, should we not first check the upper rooms? We have confirmed already that there is a person upstairs, and the tracks to confirm that they have not moved to the lower levels as of yet. Disposing of them would allow us to proceed un-agitated from a rear attack, should we descend lower or alert the entire household."
"I agree with Nicolas,” says Ilseh. “We should take a look upstairs."
Zalo looks about, staring into the distance. “My ritual won't last too long, so I'm going to take a peek downstairs without disturbing anything while I can still sense magical energies around us. If there's trails of — er, well, something — passing by, it must be comparatively safe. At least for them."
He glances up at the rickety balcony that Tydir mentioned. "Unlike that balcony."
"I'll be back before you can say arcanological orreries!" whispers the gnome.
Alton nods quietly to Zalo in agreement. As Zalo goes down the hallway, Alton keeps his eyes upwards, towards the staircase, in case the house's occupant decides to show itself.
Zalo treads carefully into the western corridor on tiptoe, taking one step at a time but stopping short of entering any rooms. He holds one hand out in front of himself, and his eyes glaze over slightly, as if feeling for something that's not quite there. But his expression is one of focus and concentration.
His tiptoeing turns out to be more like a series of squeaks and groans as he steps on the time-ravaged floorboards, but he makes it to the end of each corridor without apparent issue, systematically probing for the tell-tale vibrations of an arcane spell as he gives each room a cursory look. His hands sweep about as if pushing aside cobwebs, feeling for anything.
He freezes when he gets to the end of the western corridor, carefully scrutinizing it for a moment. He stops again at the northern corridor. For the eastern corridor he doesn't seem to stop at all.
When he's done, he returns to his stalwart companions. "Well, that was intriguing. There is definitely a magical aura on the northwest floor of the room at the end of the western hall." He points down the hallway. "An illusion, to be precise. However, the way it's placed is suggestive of a trigger or trap of some kind — I can't tell if it's actually dangerous, but I'm fairly sure that if we get within a few paces it will activate."
He points down the northern hallway. "There's a kitchen at the end of the hall. Another room, maybe a pantry, also seems to have a magical aura behind it. But the door was closed so I couldn't see the emanations properly, and didn't want to unduly disturb anything."
"Never mind all that, though. The most important discovery: there's a library next door, right in the next room down the hall! Can you believe our sheer luck?" He says this in tones one might reserve for discovering a mountain of diamonds.
“A library Master Gnome?” says Tydir with a grin. “Well then, seems like we have hit the motherlode indeed.”
“Magical traps?” he adds. “Upstairs does seem more promising…”
"Wholeheartedly agreed, friend Tydir,” replies Zalo. “And if there were something upstairs, I think I would have felt it, but I didn't feel anything besides those two tingles.
“However, we simply must come back to the library before we leave this place altogether. I'm taking every book I can carry." Zalo’s eyes get a wistful, dreamy look as he contemplates the possibilities.
Alton quietly whistles at the thought of so many books. He whispers, "That sounds good friend, but first we need to contend with those traps and whoever or whatever is upstairs. Does anyone know how to disable magical traps? I'm good with mechanical traps, tripwires and the like, but I wouldn't know what do do with magic! Can we just throw a rock at it or something?"
"We could certainly try,” says Zalo. “If it is a trap, however, I don't see any reason to set it off at the moment. Why risk a dangerous explosion or something similar?"
He strokes his beard for a moment. "Hmm. On the other hand, the magic in the western room is illusion magic, and this is not a school known for being directly harmful. I don't think it will explode, but it might perhaps play a trick or deceive us in some way, I would say."
After Zalo describes his arcane finds on the ground floor, Tydir leads the way up to the next floor. At the top of the stairs he points out the weak spot of the balcony, to the left. The rest of the party are able to file in behind him without issue, though the stairs creak and groan ominously. Some of the planks bend in the middle with the taller folks’ weight, seemingly on the verge of snapping. Once everyone is safely at the top, Nicolas resumes his position in the front rank.
Upstairs, the east-west balcony turns into hallway in either direction, both of which terminate at an outside window. There appear to be a total of five rooms accessed by this long, single passage that runs the length of the house.
Just to the west, across the sagging portion of balcony, another hallway disappears to the right, a continuation of the north-south balcony on the west side of the entrance hall.
Alton works his way between the legs of the group members, trying to get a good view of each hallway. He stops while looking down the east hall, then points to the last room on the right.
"Zalo,” he whispers, “I believe that's the room where your bird saw the movement. We should explore that room first. Should we...should we knock?"
Zalo peers down the hallway, then looks at Alton. "I can't imagine that knocks are something this house sees very frequently." The gnome frowns, concerned about what may lie beyond.
"But you've just given me an idea,” he whispers. “I suppose we could know the answer very quickly. A moment; I won't be able to see or hear you while this happens.” He puts a hand on Alton to steady himself.
Zalo's eyes get a faraway look as he stares at the doorway to the house. A soft rustling sound is heard, like a leaf tumbling through a windy day, as Cahoots appears above the lintel and swoops outside.
Zalo keeps himself steadied on Alton's shoulder as he stares off into nothingness.
Tydir, seeing the gnome enter his trance-like bond with the owl, steps out to cover the group’s rear, and protect Zalo from any unseen threats. Curved blade held out, buckler at the ready, he carefully scans the stairs, the hallway, and the entrance looking for any signs of things that go bump in the night.
Nicolas turns back to the group for a moment and points a finger to the northern hallway, across the weakened balcony. "I'm going to ensure that there's no further surprises in that hallway first. I'd recommend caution on the weak floor, and please do not immediately follow me as I'm unsure how much weight this can manage. I'll give an all clear when my search has been completed."
With that he approaches the weak balcony and, removing a piton from his pack, carefully begins charting a small course across the rickety floor.
Step by treacherous step, Nicolas makes his way across the sagging portion of the balcony. It groans slightly with his weight. With one particular step, the entire balcony begins to shift and settle slightly. Nicolas freezes, withdraws his foot, and finds another foothold.
Eventually he makes it across the section, and disappears around the corner, to the north.
"Good call on the weight,” says Torestorlim. “I'll...erm.. I'll hang back a moment while ya make sure the floor is safe 'n all. Don't want me legs turnin inta a chandelier I don’t,” he whispers.
Tydir pats his fellow dwarf on the shoulder. Again, a faint glow seems to emanate from his palm, infusing the monk with the blessings of Procan.
'Don't worry my friend, we'll get you across the gap here, The Sailor has his eye on you'
As he finishes blessing Tore, Tydir slides to the rear of the group to keep watch over the balcony for anything approaching them from behind.
Nicolas makes his way up and down the north hallway, doing his best to check for areas where traps would most likely be set. Half the rooms are closed, the other half devoid of occupants aside from old furniture and garbage. He checks for tripwires in the hallway, tests a few choice sections of the floor, and even runs a hand along the decrepit walls for hidden hinges and panels.
Seemingly satisfied with his search, he returns to the end of the hallway, at the intersection, and gives a thumbs up to the group. "All clear,” he adds very quietly.
Zalo shudders as his senses flick back to the present moment, gasping. "There's someone tied up in that room! A man, on the floor, mostly naked," he whispers.
"I suppose we'd better make sure the rest of this place is safe before we get them out of here..." The gnome casts a worried glance at the shifting, rickety balcony.
Alton nods and agrees, “Good idea, Zalo. This place is rickety and we wouldn’t want the house collapsing on us while we move him out.”
Alton suddenly has a look of excitement wash over his face, and he starts digging around in his pack. A second later he pops up with the hammer in one hand and the pouch of nails in the other.
“Ha!”, he declares, “I knew these might come in handy! Maybe we can reinforce the weaker parts of the balcony and staircase!”
Alton then gets a look of dread, “But...but that man. If he was moving earlier, and now isn’t then...then maybe he needs out help right away! He might be hurt or sick or...” Alton gasps dramatically, ”infected!”
Alton continues, “I know it’s gettin’ redundant at this point, but let’s be careful!”
"Oh, he's very much still alive!” says Zalo. “Probably not in the best circumstances, granted. But not in any apparent immediate danger."
He casts a glance down at Alton's hammer and nails. "Well, not any more than whatever level of danger exists from staying in this place."
Alton puts the hammer and nails away back into his pack and heaves it back on his shoulders. He thinks for a moment then says, “If the man in that room is tied up, would there be any harm in communicating with him? I can send him a short message like I did with Hanna the other night. Not for drinks, of course, but asking about his situation. He might be able to tell us something important.”
Torestorlim grows impatient with the discussion around him. ”Alright fellas, gimme a bit a space. I know the best way round this rot, I do."
He backs up from the weakened portion of balcony, and takes off towards it. With a running leap, the dwarf aims towards the parallel hallway wall to avoid the sagging, rotted boards on the floor. In midair he plants his lead foot against the wall, and pushes off with a grunt, aiming for the solid section of balcony next to Nicolas.
But when he tries to push off, instead of propelling him forward, the effort kills his momentum altogether. Wide-eyed and horizontal, Torestorlim the drunken dwarf falls straight down like a bearded boulder, pack-first, disappearing with a crash through the rotten, wooden floor, leaving a sizable hole behind.
For a moment there’s only silence, followed by the sound of shuffling from below as the dwarf attempts to scramble back to his feet. Then, slowly and forebodingly, the entire upstairs structure creaks, lets loose a mighty groan, and a large section of the balcony folds and collapses, burying the hapless dwarf in planks, beams, and dirt.
Nicolas takes a big step back from the rotting floorboards as the last few bits tumble out and down. Instinctively he reaches for a dagger while the sound rings through the house, ready for any for to emerge into the hallway. He waits poised to begin combat and listens for movement
Zalo gasps in alarm. "Tore!" he cries out with horror, for the second time in the span of just a few minutes.
Nearby, Alton watches in horror and gasps in surprise.
"MMMMMMMMMM!!! HHHHHHH MMMMMMMMMMMMM MMMM!" Tore exclaims from below, under the heap of debris.
Tydir gimaces. "I've got him" he calls to the group. He points down the upper east hall. “There's someone down that hallway moaning for help. You lot keep an eye out up here, I'll see if I can get Tore back on his feet"
Alton points towards the room where the man had been tied up and whispers something to himself.
A moment later Alton sighs and says, "No luck. It won't work if I don't know him."
Tydir begins cautiously making his way back downstairs, being careful to step close to the sides and avoid the weakest treads.
Zalo’s alarm quickly turns to pint-sized, gnomish fury once he realizes he can hear breathing under the collapses balcony. "Tore? Tore? TORE?! Your chicanery could have gotten us all killed in this deathtrap of a house! I've half a mind to come down there and finish the job this balcony started!" He shakes his fist in the air.
He's about to patter down the stairs, but Tydir's faster and gets there first, so instead he grumbles out loud. "You'd better be alive under there so I can give you a piece of my mind!"
"Seems like our cover is blown,” Alton quips in frustration
Tydir gets to the rubble pile and begins digging through the broken pieces of balcony to find the stout monk underneath.
Alton tiptoes to the edge of the fresh hole in the floor and braces against the wall Tore tried to wall-run against so he can see downward. He says to those down below, “Is Tore injured? I can use another healing word on him but then I’ll be tapped out for the day.”
He settles back on the stable part of the balcony and says to himself, “Sheesh this adventuring stuff is a lot harder than I thought. How in the seven heavens am I supposed to write a song about a monk...who sunk...and was covered with junk? No, no, that’s terrible.”
Looking up through the hole in the balcony above him, Tore rubs the now bigger bump on the back of his head. "This place wasn’t built by dwarfs, it wasn’t…” He grumbles incoherently as he dusts himself off and examines his wounds.
A large, sharp piece of debris has pierced into his abdomen, and he's bleeding pretty profusely. Cuts and scrapes cover most of his exposed skin, both eyes are bruised and blackened, and blood drips from one ear.
Tydir grabs him by the shoulders. “Hang on a minute friend, let me check you over.”
He pulls out his small ceremonial knife and slices open his open palm. Working to remove the debris, he chants softly under his breath. "Procan protect this man that he may continue to serve your needs. Procan heal this man that he may continue to stand in the path of the storm. Procan bind these wounds as we are bound to your will.”
The blood flowing from Tydir's palm glows with a pale blue light and seeps into Tore's open wounds, knitting them closed even as the jagged debris is pulled clear.
“There you are my friend, ready for the fight again."
Tore stumbles back up the staircase, leaning heavily on the railing, and looks around.
Nicolas relaxes and takes note of a few errant sounds. He moves back toward the end of the platform and places the dagger back into his belt.
"I apologise if this is seen as too late of a revelation, but there is an alternative method to reach this floor." He looks to the state of Torestorlim, then points behind him. “There appears to be a stairway up at the end here, though I do not know what lies at he bottom. I'd suggest any further investigations on this floor begin from there."
Zalo buries his head in his hands. "All of this could have been avoided? Yes, let's please use the other stairs instead. Unless, of course, they're even more rickety than this contraption." He taps the floor with his boot, uncertainly.
If Tore could shoot daggers out of his eyes, that's the expression he'd be sending in Nicholas’s direction. Forgetting why they're here in the first place, not that it really matters after the cacophony moments prior, he says, “WHAT CHA MEAN... 'ANOTHER STAIRCASE?’” - in his best Nicholas impression. "OPEN YER FECKIN EYES!”
Tore turns around and stomps loudly back down to the ground floor.
Alton says, “Wait! Wasn’t there a magical aura detected in that room downstairs? Let’s hold off on that.”
Alton taps the wall to the north of the balcony with the bottom of his rapier. After several soft thunks, he suggests, "Hey Ilseh! I just had an idea! Do you think you could knock a hole through this wall? If the floor can collapse from a falling dwarf, I'm sure a little muscle can break through this wall here and let us pass to the other side of the house."
Alton gets a nervous look on his face. "But not too much! Don't want the whole thing to collapse! Just a small hole for us to crawl through."
Alton then turns to the eastern hallway where the man had been seen by Cahoots. “I really am worried about that tied-up man. He might be hurt or need our help! Surely he can tell us something about what’s going on here!”
Nicolas looks up from the recovering dwarf to the halfling, "He was also calling for help, which likely means he is not in direct harm's way for doing so."
Just then, there is a thumping sound from down the upper east hall, coming from one of the rooms, like someone stomping on the floor. It continues for a good spell, stops, then repeats.
Alton opens his eyes wide and stares to the east at the last door on the right. He points and says to the group, “See?! He hears us and is trying it get our attention! We need to help him!”
Zalo lets out an exasperated sigh and rolls up his sleeves. "Very well. The sooner we get out of this dilapidated deathtrap of a demesne, the better we'll all be. But not before we get those books, of course!"
"In any case, if we see another sagging floorboard I'd like to suggest we adopt the novel strategy of simply not stepping on it. I know that might seem radical, but perhaps we can try it out for a bit and see how it goes."
Alton motions at Ilseh and Zalo, “Come on! Follow me!”
Alton takes one quick step forward, then stops in his tracks. “Right. Traps. Uh, I guess I’ll go first.” He moves slowly eastward, carefully tapping each foot on the ground in front of him to avoid a Tore-cannonball. He scans the walls and ceiling as he moves.
Zalo follows Alton carefully, keeping an eye out in each room for anything that looks out of place. He looks with alarm as he sees more decaying floorboards in the room adjacent the man’s.
"The balcony wasn't the only unsafe spot in this place. We'd do well to avoid those unstable patches too." He points them out. "As Tore so aptly said, this house was not made by dwarven hands."
A few steps later, in front of the final door, Alton bends down and picks up something shiny off the floor. He holds it out to reveal a metal key and says, while trying to hold back a smile, "This may be a key development!"
Alton continues to the door where the man was located. He peeks through the keyhole, then knocks on the door. "Hello in there!” he says loudly. “My friends and I are here to help you! If I can come inside safely to help you, bang on the ground once. If there's any reason I shouldn't come inside, bang on the ground twice."
There is a sturdy thump from inside the closed room, and an excited, unintelligible, gag-muffled voice.
Alton nods and puts his hand on the doorknob, realizing it’s locked. The key fits, and the lock turns easily. The halfling distractedly examines his fingertips, rubbing them together. Then he again grabs the nob, closes his eyes, and breaths out, hoping it won't be his last.
Flinging the door open reveals a decayed bedroom. A bed with a mold-covered mattress is in one corner, and piles of rags in another, presumably the bedding and curtains. Most of the floorboards are warped and bent. Piles of dirt and dusty cobwebs are scattered everywhere.
In the southeast corner lies a human man bound and gagged, clad only in undergarments. His eyes open wide in joy as Alton peeks inside.
Alton simply walks across the room, towards the man. Halfway across the room, however, there’s a sharp cracking sound, followed by a sickening groan. The halfling, a panicked look on his face, dives backwards, back towards the door, and just in time—there’s a terrific crashing of rotten timber as the middle and west side of the room collapse to the ground floor, nearly taking Alton with it.
Zalo screams from behind. "Not again!"
As the room fills with dust, the bound man, eyes wide in terror, scoots himself back against the corner, away from the gaping hole in the floor.
Alton is sprawled out, face-down on the floor near the doorway, scrabbling for a handhold, legs dangling over the edge of the hole.
Zalo hustles over to Alton and grips him by the shoulders, hauling him out of the yawning pit. He glances at the bound man. "Don't move; wait for us to come to you. It might not be safe."
“Thanks Zalo, I owe you one,” Alton says with an exasperated voice.
Alton then slowly works his way around the room to the man, keeping as much distance between himself and the new hole he made. He puts his weapons away and pulls the gag off the man.
"****in' Hells!" the man blurts out when the gag comes off, before Alton can even speak.
Alton gives a friendly smile and says, “Hi. My friends and I are here to help you. Who are you? What happened here?”
The man, wide-eyed, shoots a look of disbelief between Alton and the chasm of jagged wood and nails. "The place is coming down!” he says with agitation. “That's what's happened here! I was wondering what the bloody Inferno that noise was out there! It was the house! Falling apart at the seams!"
The floor nearby creaks ominously in response, and another piece of wood falls from the floor into the rubble heap below.
"****!" the man says, scrunching his body back into the corner even further, away from the hole. "Let me free! I need to get out of here! We all do!"
Zalo squints at him and offers his waterskin. "Calm down and take a drink. Yes, this place is extremely unsound, but it's not about to immediately collapse. My colleagues have just been a little... enthusiastic in their wanderings and the house hasn't taken that very kindly." He smiles reassuringly.
The man awkwardly twists his torso around to show his present state. His wrists are bound behind him with rope, his elbows hooked over a wooden dowel behind his back.
He wiggles his fingers at Zalo. "I can't rightly take you up on your offer. Can't you give me a little help?"
Zalo looks at Alton. "I don't have much that would cut through ropes like that. Do you?" He scrutinizes the wooden dowel. "Well, in the meantime, bottoms up?" He holds the waterskin up near the man's face questioningly, to see if he'll take up the offer. He drinks a sip and swallows. "Perfectly safe and fresh. Gnome's honor."
“I have a…” the man starts. He looks around the room.
“I had a sword," he says bitterly. "It’s probably gone, now.”
The man looks at Alton, then to Zalo. He takes a deep breath, and resignedly leans forward to drink.
After an exceedingly long and greedy draught, with much of the water going down his chin and onto his undershirt, the man twists his head to wipe his mouth on his shoulder.
"Now," says Zalo, "how did you come to be tied up here? This is certainly no place for a nap."
“Where was your advice last night?” the man says. “Cos you’re dead-right. It wasn't the place for a nap. That’s exactly what I aimed to do. Come up and get some sleep for the night.”
He purses his lip for another pull of water, and Zalo obliges. After wiping his mouth again, he continues. “It was dark, and I was coming in from Seaton. I thought I could rent some lodging here, but…”
He looks around the dust-choked bedroom. “Well, you probably figured it out when you saw it, too.
“So I thought I’d just come in the back door, toss my bedroll in a corner, and get some shuteye before I went the rest of the way into Saltmarsh in the morn. But I didn’t make it past the kitchen. I got jumped.
"It were two, maybe three lads. Big, burly ones. They must’ve followed me up from the road. Knocked me cold at some point, and, well, I woke up a few hours ago, with the sunrise. No clothes, no pack. They just left me here for dead.”
He looks over at Alton. “So how about that blade? These binds are cutting into my wrists something hellish.”
Alton looks at the man’s eyes, trying to discern truth from exaggeration from lies. He didn’t see the ‘Haunted House’ sign? Alton thinks to himself. He keeps his weapons stowed.
He says to the man, “I will, but let my cleric friend check you out first to make sure nothing’s broken.
Alton yells out to the rest of the party, “Hey everyone! I found a live one! Upstairs, east wing, last room on the right. Oh! And watch your step!”
The man looks up at Alton. "Nothing's broken. I just got a good thump on the head. Can't you just cut me loose? I think my hands are gonna fall off. And my feet!"
Zalo pats him on the back as he slakes his thirst, considering this story. "That sounds like an awful time. Just so I understand, you're saying these bandits jumped you when you were inside this house, in the kitchen?"
"Yeah. I was just comin' inside, from the back door. I barely got a look around, and they were on me. My wager is they were following me. Waiting for me to get off the road to make camp before they jumped me."
"I had a big pack," he sighs, looking around the room. “It’s probably halfway to the Northland by now.
Zalo sits him up so he's more comfortable. "And how about a name, friend? I'm Zalo."
"I'm Ned," the man says to Zalo. He looks greedily at the canteen. "Can I have another drink? I'm parched!"
The gnome provides the canteen, and Ned takes another messy pull, dribbling water everywhere.
Just then, Nicolas takes a cautious step into the room, sure to test that the floor can handle his weight before committing to walk across to Ned.
Ned looks surprised. "Procan's bollocks, how many of you are there?
"If you've been here,” states Nicolas, ignoring the question, “then perhaps you're aware of the strange sounds that have sparked our own inspection of the property?"
Ned shakes his head. “I ain't heard nothin'. I been out like a lamp all night. I only came-to when the sun woke me up. That was just before that gods-awful noise you guys made out in the hallway.
"The only thing I seen or heard this morning was some barn owl that kept coming to stare at me. I figured he might've been thinking to eat me, like a vulture'd do."
"I just wanna get outta here," Ned says with resignation. "Go somewhere safe. Where the floors don't fall in.
“You all should, too.” He leans his head towards Alton. "It's a wonder the little man didn't get killed just then."
Alton introduces himself in a cheery tone, "Oh yeah, hi! My name is Alton! Great to meet ya! I sorta wish it were better circumstances but I'm sure we're all gonna be friends when we get out of here, but, um, we need to be careful right now. Give us a minute to secure the house and make sure no more of these floors and ceilings fall through. Stay here and give us a shout if you need anything."
Alton starts to dig through his pack but realizes his hands are dirty. He tries to wipe them on his pants, then digs through his pack and finds a ration: smoked salmon. He unwraps it and offers it to Ned, "Here, eat this. I'm sure you're hungry. I caught it and smoked it myself! Real strong one to reel in, it was. Almost pulled me into the water! I had to brace myself against a tree and..."
Ned stares helplessly at Alton, dumbfounded, as the halfling holds the food out in offering. "You going to feed me, too? Because it's the only way I'm going to be able to eat in this state."
Zalo nods at Alton, taking the salmon. "I'll help him."
Alton suddenly realizes he's talking too much, and stands up, looking at the door, "I'll let you finish that. Now where are those dwarves..."
Back in the entrance hall, Ilseh had maintained her position at the rear of the party, on the balcony, focusing her attention down the stairs, throughout all of the ruckus. The rest of the party were now in conversation with a man found bound in the far room behind her. She could hear their voices bounding off the black walls of the hallway.
With a hand phoning her mouth, Ilseh shouts a whisper, calling down to the dwarves through the hole in the balcony. "Ey! Have you found anything?"
“I’ve got him, Tall One,” whispers Tydir in response. “He's back on his feet, and we're headed upstairs.”
He looks at Tore. “Let's try taking this slowly, quietly and carefully my enthusiastic friend, how does that sound? It seems that our colleagues have found someone upstairs, let's go check in on them.”
With that Tydir sets off quietly back up the stairs, passing Iiesh and hoping that his fellow dwarf is following close behind.
Tore staggers his way to the foot of the stairs.
Up in the collapsed bedroom, Zalo carefully breaks off a piece of the salmon and offers it apologetically to Ned. "I'm sorry about this. I'm sure my companions will be here soon."
Ned hesitates, but leans forward and takes a bite of the salmon.
Zalo continues. "These men who jumped you and tied you up; did you get a look at any of them?”
“I didn’t see them,” Ned says between bites. “It was dark, and they came up from behind. Left a knot on my head for it.”
“Do you know why they might have been following you specifically?” asks Zalo. “This is a well-traveled road, and I wonder if you might have been singled out for some reason. Any notable enemies who'd want to hurt you, things like that?”
“None that I know of. Not yet anyways. I think they must’ve been stalking me. I had a rather large pack.”
“And what was your business in Seaton?" Zalo smiles in what he hopes is a disarming way. "Sorry for the barrage of questions."
Ned swallows his mouthful of food. “As I told you, I’m from Seaton. My business was in Saltmarsh. At least I hoped it would be. I heard they were hiring adventurers there, and I decided to come try my hand. I’m pretty crafty with a sword.”
He suddenly looks around the room in a panic.
“Blast! My sword is probably gone, too!”
"Well,” says Zalo, “I'm sure we can help you get to Saltmarsh once we're finished here, and get you situated there. It's only an hour or two down the road."
He breaks off another piece of Alton's smoked salmon. Alton certainly knew his fish; the gnome's mouth was starting to water. "I'm sorry again about your predicament. I'm sure it won't be too much longer; we're just doing a little investigating, and my colleagues are nothing if not thorough."
Ned cranes his neck forward for another bite of fish. "I'm famished. I feel like I drank too much ale. My head's got a mule team runnin' through it!
"So what're you investigating?” he blurts, bits of fish falling from his lips. “Why're you diggin' around in here?
“I ain't complainin', mind. I'd probably be dead if you weren't."
He takes another bite, aided by Zalo, and with a full mouth he garbles out, "You the militia or something? How come you ain't letting me free? I ain't done nothin' wrong."
Zalo contemplates this for a moment. "We've heard there's some strange lights and sounds coming from here. Supposed to be haunted, folks say. Though so far you're the only thing we've found inside, alive or not. So it remains a mystery as to what, if anything, is causing these lights and sounds.”
Strange sounds, for sure," Ned says. He twists his head around to wipe his mouth on the shoulder of his undershirt.
"Probably the sound of the old heap coming down around us. I say it is indeed haunted, and trying to kill us all.
"You shoulda seen that owl," he adds, nodding his head towards the window. "The way it was gawkin' over there. It weren't natural."
“This house isn't that big,” says Zalo. “I'm sure we'll get to the bottom of it soon enough, and then we can be on our way and help you back to Saltmarsh."
The gnome smiles apologetically again. "Nothing personal, and I'm not the militia. I'm simply not the strongest fellow and I'm not very well-suited for a task like that."
Joining Zalo in the room with Ned, Tydir pauses a moment, mumbling under his breath and rubbing his hand together.
As soft blue light infuses his hands, he immediately begins checking Ned over, examining his injuries and trying to ascertain anything he can about his condition.
“Seems you've taken quite a lump on your head here friend, how are you feeling?”
"I got a horrible headache," says Ned. "And my wrists hurt. I feel beat up, and tied up."
"You know," Ned says, looking around the room, "the longer you stay, the more likely we're gonna die. All of us. You already had two floors fall in. Many more like that, and the whole place will collapse. We'll be buried alive."
He wriggles around, revealing his bound hands. "Let me outta these. They're just knots. Anyone can undo 'em. If one of the bigger folk lend me a spare set of clothes, and maybe a blade, I can help. We'll all be back in Saltmarsh by lunchtime."
Returned from the entrance hall, Alton listens, from the doorway, to the back and forth between Zalo and Ned. He seems inclined to believe the man as he nods along to his story.
The halfling says with a reassuring smile, "Well, I'd offer you some of my spare cloths but I don't think you'd fit. Not that you'd want to look like a pirate anyhow!"
His smile fades and turns more serious, "Listen, Ned, I like you. I feel real sorry for everything that's happened so far. We will help you, I assure you, but first we need to take stock of the situation. You saw me nearly fall down that hole behind me! Let me go talk to my friends and we'll figure out the best way out of this."
Zalo offers another hunk of salmon. "Will you be alright if I leave you here for a moment? I'd like to check on my companions. As you said, the sooner we wrap up, the sooner we can be gone from this place."
Ned shakes his head, and shrugs helplessly. “I ain’t got no say in it, apparently.”
Alton, Tydir, and Zalo return to the hallway, and Alton motions everyone else to come together.
He whispers just loud enough for everyone except Ned to hear, "Listen, I think we should let him go. He's naked and afraid. How can you blame him? Haunted house, attacked by bandits, left tied up and naked, scared by an owl."
Alton looks to Zalo and has a sudden realization, "OH! That was probably Cahoots! Ha!
“Anyways I don't think he can cause any harm. Let's show him some kindness and maybe he'll help us out. I say cut him loose, give him some spare clothes, and tell him to stay behind us while we explore the house.
“No sword though, I don't trust him that much. What do you all think?"
Zalo shrugs. "It's certainly strange that he's here, and the bandits he says he was accosted by concern me a bit — they could be waiting for us on the road when we leave."
The gnome nods at the sensible suggestion. "Yes, that seems advisable. But this place is pretty rickety. I say we ask him to stay outside so nothing else inadvertently collapses. So, untie him, spare clothes, no weapons, and stay outside?"
"He is unlikely to remain outside, given the troubles he has encountered here,” Nicolas offers. He gives another cursory look down the hall, towards Ned’s room, no longer as a threat but now more as an assessment of an asset.
"I have no issues with releasing him,” continues Nicolas. “He appears a harmless third party to all of these events. My only concern would be another person traipsing around here without a guide, and I believe we can hardly spare the resources to keep him safe as well as trust he will remain nearby."
Tydir pitches his voice even lower. “He appears to be exactly as he claims - he was hit rather hard on the head and these bindings aren't for show - they are cutting into his skin. At the very least we need to cut him loose to stop the ropes from cutting any deeper into his wrists and ankles.”
Zalo nods. "He doesn't seem untrustworthy to me, I just think there's more to this story. He is the only living soul we've seen in this place and we still don't know what's making those lights and noises. And he wasn't doing it while tied up.
"So something else is going on here. I just don't want him interfering with our investigation while it happens. If his story is to be believed, he is just a traveler on the road."
Tore, breathing heavily and covered in blood, wine, and splinters, finishes his ascent up the stairs, and joins the circle of adventurers.
"Ah jus' untie the fool will ya,” he barks impatiently. "He'll stay in 'ere with us. I'll stand behind him, I will, and if he tries any funny business I'll clobber 'im over the head with me paddle and leave 'im here ta rot with the wood. Les' finish up with this forsaken place and get the hell home, it's bout drinkin' hour and we're jus standin' 'ere gettin' dusty!"
"YA 'EAR THAT FELLA?” he yells down the hallway. “NO FUNNY BUSINESS!”
Zalo taps his palm. "I'll submit my previous proposal again: we untie him and give him spare clothes and no weapons, and tell him to remain outside and sit on the steps for his own safety."
Tydir nods his head as Zalo speaks and joins in a low voice. “I agree, we should untie him but not arm him. I'm not sure he's telling us the entire truth - his story just doesn't make sense.”
As the group in the hallway continues discussing their discovery, there comes from the bedroom a grinding sound, the crunch and crack of rending wood, and a loud, cascading crash of timbers.
Rushing back into the room, the party sees another small section of floor has collapsed, taking the moldy bed with it. The air is now so full of dust it's becoming hard to see.
Ned has squirmed farther away from the hole, into the corner, the ends of his elbow-hobble dowel digging into the plaster of the adjoining walls.
He looks over to the doorway. His face is pale-white, and his voice wavers with terror. "Gods alive, get me out of here!"
Tydir makes his way into the room and cuts the man's legs free, and helps him to his feet, guiding him out of the room and into the hallway. Ned quickly stands and hurries towards the door, his arms still tied behind his back, hooked over the wooden dowel.
The man is tiny, and lithe. He has long, greasy black hair and a lean, stubbled face. His legs, poking out from his loose, striped undershorts, are unusually thin.
"Thank you! Please, my arms too! They're going to fall off!"
Tydir looks skeptically at the rest of the party, looking for anyone with a serious objection to releasing Ned from his bindings. Seeing none, he cuts the poor man's wrists loose from the wooden dowel.
'Alright then traveller, you're free now, but I hope you heed the warning of my exuberant friend here and stay out of trouble.'
The dowel clatters to the floor, and Ned rubs his wrists, wincing in pain. There are deep red welts where the ropes once were. Tydir kindly helps massage life back into his wrists and hands.
Alton looks up and tries to reassure Ned. "Wow! This place really is falling apart! Ha! I would offer you some of my spare clothes but I, uh, don't think they'll fit. Perhaps one of my taller friends here has a spare set. Why don't you wait outside while we investigate the rest of this house. Don't stray too far though, we encountered a few angry snakes by the well outside. Probably best just to sit on the porch until we're done, and then you can join us on our way back to Saltmarsh. Oh! There's a great tavern there, the Snapping Line. It's great! Well, maybe not the local drink. They call it 'claw', and it tastes as good as it sounds."
He stops for a second in thought, "Anyway, be careful on that staircase on the way down. It looked sorta weak. If fact you might be better just climbing down a rope." Alton unties the rope from the side of his pack and offers it to Ned.
"I ain't waiting out there alone!" objects Ned. "What if those thugs come back? Let me help you! It'll hasten your task. The longer we stay here, the more danger we're in."
He pauses, then looks around the room at everyone. "What exactly is your task?"
Ignoring Ned’s question, Alton turns to everyone else and suggests, "I suspect there is more to this house than meets the eye. People don't set up magical traps just for fun.” Alton starts giggling, "Although, imagine if someone did! Ha! The ultimate deception! Let's finish up this floor and then go back downstairs. Those traps are probably covering up something valuable, or at least worth investigating. So, who's up for a little sneaking around?"
Zalo gestures to Ned and points down the hallway to the stairs. "This way, if you please. You don't have to wait outside if you'd prefer not to, but as you just saw this place is not exactly stable, so the fewer of us there are moving around, the better. Please stay at the front door."
"I'm not sure there's any reason for the thugs to come back. If they wanted to dispatch you they would have done so, not simply left you tied up. So I think you can rest easy on that front. And if there were only three of them, as you mentioned, then they'll be outnumbered, now, won't they?" Zalo smiles.
Ned shakes his head. "I bet I ain't gonna do near half the damage to this place that you lot already done, but I'll wait for now. I need to sit down proper, let the blood get back into my hands and feet."
Ned's shoulders sag as he makes his way down to the foot of the entryway stairs. He sits on the last step, at the bottom, then gingerly touches the back of his head, then inspects his fingers, rubbing them together.
He turns his gaze back up the stairs. "Keep an eye out for my pack, would you?" he says loudly. "And my clothes. I can't fathom they stolen my clothes. Probably tossed 'em somewhere."
With Ned safely at the foot of the stairs, the party proceeds to resume investigating the house. During their conversation, the wind whipped up from the sea, bringing in an unusually large fog cloud. Now the air tastes of salt and must, and there's a light, disturbing haze everywhere inside the house. Dew begins to collect on the smoother surfaces. The outside landscape is shrouded from view of the windows.
Tydir takes position at the top of the stairs. Head on a swivel, blade out, he's carefully covering the party's rear while keeping an eye on the newcomer.
"Oy there, Ned is it? What exactly is your trade? You seem to be a mite tall to be a miner.”
Behind him, down the hall, Zalo glances out the window at the fog. "Perfect. Just what we need in this ramshackle deathtrap," he sighs wearily, scratching his beard, nonplussed. He peers out the window of the north hallway, where the familiar form of a barn owl materializes into view for a moment before flapping into the air.
The gnome calls down the stairs. "We'll keep an eye out for your clothes and pack, Ned. In the meantime, we must insist that you stay put to avoid any issues. We'll come get you when we're done and help you get safely on the road to Saltmarsh. In the meantime, I'm going to finish poking about up here."
He moseys over to the room adjacent to Ned's former abode, where he first spotted the weak flooring. Alton quietly falls in behind him. Zalo scrutinizes the room closely, since he didn't get a chance to before, and wonders what became of the smudgy bootprints that Nicolas found.
The room appears to be another dirty, decaying bedroom without furniture. Even viewed from the doorway, it’s evident that the floor in here does not look safe; some of the floorboards are missing, and others are partially dislodged.
The two spread out, eyes sweeping the area at their feet. Both avoid the left side of the room, where the floor is most damaged. From time to time Alton crouches and prods or pries at a floorboard, leading the way. He points out where the tracks resume, ending at the window. Zalo moves to the window and crouches down to have a closer look at something that caught his eye. Alton continues surveying the area.
After a few moments later, Zalo comes upon an unusual sight in a house that was supposed to have been abandoned decades ago: fresh scratches on the windowsill. And below that, something even more unusual: a spot that was still wet.
"Hmm. Now, what's this?" Zalo licks his finger and presses it into some of the floorboards, rubbing the spot. It's not just wet; it's greasy to the touch.
"Do you see this, Alton? These scratches, where something heavy once lay not too long ago, and used many times over? And this oil on the floor?" The gnome thinks for a moment. "Hear me out on this, yes? Let me paint you a picture."
Zalo's hands make some motions in the air. After a moment, a crude, vaguely humanoid figure appears hunched over the windowsill. In its shapeless hands is a lantern with an oil wick, the flame frozen in place by the illusion. "I think we may have found where our mysterious lights were coming from. Well, one of them, anyway. But why would someone go through all the trouble just to put a lantern in a window night after night, I wonder?"
The group gathers in the hall just outside the door, leaving Ned on his own at the foot of the stairs. Tydir points out everything they've found: two magic traps downstairs, a mysterious stranger (Ned) attacked, bound, and left tied up in a room--but otherwise unhurt, and a lantern in the upstairs window with tracks going in and out on a regular basis. Zalo reminds him they're not traps, simply illusions, and Nicolas wonders if the illusions are to hide the second set of stairs, forcing people to use the rickety flight in the entry hall.
Then the subject of Ned came up, and voices lowered further. Whatever the other details of the house, the party seems to arrive at one conclusion, which is that Ned's story is doubtful. The house is obviously abandoned, so leaving someone tied up would be a death sentence. It would be far easier to simply kill the man than spend the time binding him so effectively. But Ned had been attacked; Tydir verified that fact. Attacked, but left alive in an "abandoned" house. Was someone coming back for him? Was the party meant to find him? Was someone else meant to?
The discussion over, Tydir returns to stand watch at the top of the stairs.
Nicolas had largely been quietly assessing the scene as of late. He couldn't read Ned to his liking and that troubled him. The house was falling apart, which of course troubled him. Everything about this situation felt wrong, but he couldn't manage to put his various thoughts into a connected and sensical pattern. He scowled hard, clearly frustrated at his own mire of thoughts.
Zalo, too, seemed frustrated. He returned the conversation to the newly found evidence. "But again, why would someone put a lantern in the window?"
Alton looks at the window, through the bedroom door behind him. The sound of the ocean dimly cuts through the fog, from far below.
He perks up. “Lighthouse! Maybe whoever lived here was using that window as a lighthouse! The cliffs are down the other side and maybe they were using the lantern to signal ships down below. I wonder what for though...”
Nicolas's eyes shot up to the halfling. It was if all the lines became clear and the fog in his head had parted as the fog outside began to roll in. He snapped his fingers and his eyes lit up, "Smugglers. Has to be. They use the light to signal the boats when and where to bring in their goods. Must be some kind of hideout nearby...below the house maybe? Would explain why they're so protective of the location but have put no effort into maintenance."
Tore cuts Nicolas off. "Gots ta be smugglers, it does!” His voice booms down the hall.
The robed dwarf turns and begins stomping down the hallway, towards the entrance hall. “Now ya little weasel, it's bout time ya start movin them lips in a way that makes sense…” The rest of the party follows the riled-up dwarf.
On the balcony above the stairs, Tydir is watching the party's reaction to Torestorlim. At the bottom of the stairs, Ned is in mid-stretch, working the kinks out of his arms and legs. He casually gets to his feet, and stretches slowly.
Tore’s tirade continues. “I was gettin' real impatient listenin' ta ya spout that nonsense and unless ya want me ta tie ya back up, clobber yer head and throw ya down the well, it's in yer best interest ta not tell me or me companions anymore lies, so let's hear it son..."
Torestorlim reaches the tops of the steps and turns to descend when Ned, without a word, leaps to the front door, opens it, and disappears running into the fog.
Zalo is momentarily stunned and doesn't have time to get out so much as an exclamation before their erstwhile companion disappears into the roiling gloom.
"Perhaps Cahoots can get a fix on him." He steadies himself against the bannister of the stairs as his eyes take on a distant, glassy look. "Back in a flash, but don't wait for me!"
Alton watches with a mix of surprise and sadness. He points towards the door and mutters a quick spell under his breath, then waits longingly for an answer.
A moment later he sighs and says, “No luck. I sent him a message pleading for him to come back, that we were friends. I don’t think he’s coming back. I do hope he’ll be ok.”
Alton visibly shakes it off. He tries to put on a stiff upper lip but it’s easy to see he’s hurt by the sudden departure of Ned, as if it were some personal failure.
Zalo snaps back to awareness, peering around for a moment, slightly disoriented. "Well, he's heading for the road. Cahoots will keep an eye on him as best as he can, but perhaps we should watch our backs in this investigation. If he went to get help he might not have to go far." The gnome gets a worried look on his face as he contemplates more thugs.
"Ah, **** the house!” shouts Tore. “We'll come back! None of us are gonna live if that fool manages ta get help! LET'S GO!"
Tore takes off running out of the door.
Zalo watches, dumbfounded, as the dwarf takes off. "There's really no reasoning with him, is there?" An exasperated sigh escapes his lips as he hustles downstairs, heading out the back door in an attempt to save a little time.
Tydir sighs heavily and sheaves his blade, shaking his head at the monk's nonsense.
“The fool is determined to get himself killed.” he mutters under his breath
“Hrumph. Threatening to beat the truth out of someone who was attacked and left for dead might not be the best approach to get them to talk, but running doesn't exactly make him look innocent either. Especially since he's unarmed and naked - methinks it's likely he's confident he can get equipped somewhere close. We should make haste with our search here and be careful keep watch behind us.”
Blade out, buckler by his side, Tydir begins moving down the staircase to take up position at the bottom of the stairs where he has a view out the door and through the entryway. He pulls his salt-stained cloak around his form and attempts to hug the shadows as best he can.
Stopping just outside the door, Tore stops and slams his paddle into the earth. The fog is too thick to see Ned. "AH HE'S ****IN GONE... ****!" He stomps back inside.
"I knew we should never have untied that weasel! Better get yerselves ready, ya should. I'm bettin' he comes back with friends. Maybe we can tell who he belongs ta by his clothes, if we can find em."
A moment later, Zalo, too, returns to the entry hall from the back door.
“Well,” says Alton, “there’s not much we can do now except figure out what else is in this house.” He suddenly lights up in though, “Oh! I just thought of something! So, so, so if there was someone at the window with a light then there must have been somewhere for them to stay. A bed, rations, maybe even some letters with orders. Let’s keep looking.”
Without even thinking about it Alton starts singing, and Zalo can’t help but picking it up and humming along. It’s a sad tune, but catchy, and Alton sings it under his breath:
The house was rotten, barely intact We found a man, he’d been attacked He was tied up, said his name was Ned We set him free, but into the fog...he fled
With the commotion over and Ned gone, the party reconvenes in the entrance hall.
Alton sighs as he stares out the front door into the mist. “You’re right, Tore. He fooled us all. But that’s out of our control now. Let’s focus on this house now.”
He looks up at the hole in the balcony, “You know, I think Nicholas and I can probably finish the search upstairs if the rest of you want to figure out those illusions and see if there’s anything interesting in the library. Shall we?”
Zalo perks up. "The library! You don't need to tell me twice." His feet patter with tippy-taps of excitement as he immediately scurries down the west hallway and flings open the door with enthusiasm, peering into the shelves for anything that's still intact or interesting.
Alton starts heading towards the north end of the house where the kitchen and second staircase lie. He says, “I think we should take this way, it might be a bit safer.” His face gains a smile, “Assuming, of course, this house doesn’t fall on us first! Watch your step.”
Alton walks slowly, scanning the hallway floor, until he comes to the kitchen. At the doorway he stops and looks inside before stepping in.
The kitchen is dirty and damp, with patches of gray mold and cobwebs on the floor, walls, and ceiling. In the southwest corner is some iron cooking equipment with a chimney above. Next to it, under the west window, is a cracked and discolored stone sink. To the right of the sink, a small, closed wooden cupboard is fixed to the wall. Against the far north wall, a flight of wooden stairs leads upward from west to east; the woodwork of the staircase is decayed, and a few of the treads are missing.
Alton speaks up down the hallway. “I see some boot prints leading up these stairs. Not much else. Someone want to help me with this illusion? I don’t want to be bleeding out in here while you’re all looking through books!”
Wordlessly, Tydir goes to retrieve the enthusiastic diminutive collector.
Not waiting for an answer, Alton begins rummaging through the kitchen equipment until he arrives in front of the cupboard. Even standing on his tiptoes, the halfling is unable to see the bottom shelf's contents.
He looks around for a way up, and his eyes fall upon the stone sink to the left. With a grunt of determination he pulls himself to the top, and stands carefully, balancing precariously on the edge. Then, leaning forward, he peers inside the cupboard.
On the other side of the house, Tydir enters the library in search of Zalo. Already the gnome’s head is buried deep into the pages, poring over the extensive magical diagrams and runic patterns.
"Incredible!” says Zalo. “Did you know that with the right resonance factors, pentagonal emeralds can be used to focus divination energies for enhancing rune pathways?" He looks up momentarily, stunned and delighted by this esoteric revelation.
"Master Gnome,” Tydir says patiently, “I do believe you are likely best equipped to help Alton with those magical auras. Perhaps the exploration of the library can wait until we understand what's waiting for us in the kitchen.”
The gnome snaps back to reality for a moment, but his head returns to the book. "Oh, yes, what was that you were saying? The stairs weren't where the magical effect was. It was somewhere in the pantry. I didn't open it because we'd just arrived at the house and we didn't want to be too noisy.”
He hooks a hefty load of books under one arm, while holding the open book entitled "The Magical Properties of Gemstones" in the other. “But I'm happy to perform the ritual again and get a better fix on it." His eyes never leave the pages as they flit from one line to the next.
"But the stairs are safe to climb, as far as I saw, magically speaking."
In the kitchen, Alton is tottering on the edge of the stone sink, trying to reach the very top cupboard shelf. A sound catches his attention, from behind. It's cavernous and scratchy, something sliding lightly across hollow metal, and it's coming from the sink. Suddenly, there's a light and rapid clicking echoing out from the drain, like the drumming of a thousand tiny fingernails. It's ascending.
Combat Round 1
A moment later, a pair of red, hooked appendages crests the lip of the drain, from the dark recesses below. And then another pair. And another.
It's an enormous, crimson centipede, over a foot long.
Alton lunges back from the sink and runs backwards along the countertop. He jumps down and shouts, "Nice try you ugly bug! Not even your mother will give you a hug!"
The air shimmers with arcane energy, but the centipede keeps snaking out of the drain, unimpeded. Seeing his spell fell on deaf ears, Alton wonders if centipedes even have ears, and runs to the corner of the kitchen.
Nicolas had taken a slower pace to take in the finer details of the rooms in the back, and to avoid discovering any sort of basement too hastily. However, as the group spread out he had become increasingly uneasy at their exposure. His paranoia seems to be confirmed as the scuttling sounds from the kitchen send him to action.
He barely gets to the opening of the kitchen when Alton's aggressor is already apparent. He has only seconds to react, so he sends a dagger from his belt off toward the creature emerging from the sink. His aim is true, but just before the dagger is about to hit, one of the crossguards catches the edge of the sink, and the projectile falls inside the basin with a clatter.
Ilseh follows suit. She shrugs her left side and swings her beaten 'shield' from around her left shoulder, then pulls her left short blade from its sling with her good arm as she slowly approaches the open entryway of the kitchen from the hallway.
Seeing a large millipede-like insect assaulting one of her smaller comrades, she regrets her cavalier approach. Ilseh immediately closes the distance between herself and Alton, raising her wooden shield and pointing her sword at the creature.
"Get behind me!"
Torestorlim is next, sprinting through the kitchen door. He breaks off to the right as he enters the room. Seeing just the head of the centipede sticking from the sink drain, he pulls a dart from his belt and murmurs to himself "I knew all the practice I was gettin' at the tavern would pay off.."
Aiming carefully, he waits patiently…
The centipede finishes its ascent from the drain, crawls over the edge of the sink, and lands on the floor with a soft thump. As soon as it plops on the floor, Tore grunts and flings his dart with all his might. It sticks clean through one of the centipede’s tail segments, splitting the creature in two. The back portion writhes helplessly on the floor while the larger, front section continues slowly on towards Ilseh.
Another centipede, as big as the first, rears its head out of the sink and follows, slinking out of the sink onto the floor. It, too, targets the nearest intruder—Ilseh.
Both bugs arrive at her feet simultaneously. She kicks the maimed one away, and it skitters across the floor, into the corner, coiled up defensively. The other finds purchase on her foot, crawls partially up her leg, and sinks its pincers into her thigh.
"AUUGH FRIK!" Ilseh yells. The bug's piercing incisors were deceptively long, and a stinging sensation accompanied the pain. Green droplets form around the puncture wounds.
Down the west hallway, near the library, Tydir hears the commotion. He pulls his blade and buckler, and moves at full speed towards the ruckus.
Zalo, startled, sets the books down in the hallway with alarm. "What's happening now?"
He scurries back through the hall after Tydir. "I swear, if Tore has collapsed another staircase back there, I'm going to wring his neck," mutters the gnome under his breath.
Tydir responds with a chuckle, "This house seems to be trying to kill us all on its own - without the help of any ghouls or spirits!"
Combat Round 2
Tydir rounds the corner, comes barreling down the kitchen hall, and he sees the horrible bug-like creature sinking its pincers deep into Ilseh’s flesh.
Nearby, Nicolas is already on the move to help. In a quick motion the man unsheathes the rapier from his side, and runs the short distance between him and the warrior. Making moves around the overgrown myriapod, Nicolas thrusts downwards, just behind the head of the creature, piercing deep below it's chitinous exterior. There's a brief and sickening crunch as the weapon skewers the thing’s head, as well as three more segments behind it. The rest of the body writhes helplessly, coiling around the end of the rapier like a kebab.
Just then, Alton wonders if the bugs are best cooked fried, or low and slow.
With a flick of his wrist, Nicolas flings the elongated body from the rapier’s tip into the corner of the kitchen.
Another centipede slides out of the drain of the sink, onto the floor, its fangs dripping with poison. Tore runs around the other side of Ilseh, paddle coming down in a large sweeping arc, just missing the escaped crawlers. The end of the paddle slams into the floor of the kitchen, sending up a small plume of dust and mold.
Alton steps to the side, quickly points, utters another vicious insult, and the creature curls up into a tight ball, its legs twitching.
Tydir closes the remaining distance to the kitchen as quickly as little legs can carry him, and slices the palm of his hand with his blade as he runs. Clasping his bloody hand on the warrior’s shoulder, Tydir’s voice booms out, “You shall not fall brave one, for you are the storm that Procan has sent!”
The blood from his palm runs down her body and seems to seek out her wounds, seeping into them and knitting them closed, as a warm light emanates from where he grips her shoulder.
Wide-eyed with uncertainty, Ilseh watches as the pious sailor's peculiar healing magic fuses into her wound, closing the ruptures in her blanche skin. She pivots her leg side-to-side, feeling only a dull echo of the pain that was before.
"Thank you, dwarf." She simply says, readying her sword and shield once more, eyes centered on the centipede-spewing kitchen sink.
Zalo scurries into the kitchen, pausing for a moment to duck under Ilseh's legs as he examines the situation. With two horrendous insects still twitching in their death-throes near her feet, he glances with dismay at the sounds coming from the sink. The hideous clacking mandibles of another centipede are not far behind.
He levels his finger at the lip of the sink, and a tight coil of flame and smoke spirals down his arm, flickering and quivering like a taut bowstring as it yearns to be released. A bead of sweat rolls down his forehead as he holds the spell in abeyance, waiting for the right moment.
With hollow tinny scratches, another centipede cascades out of the drain, and crawls onto the edge of the sink. Zalo lets loose his attack. With a sizzle, the bolt hits the bug square in the head, and it flips backwards into the sink, dead and burning.
The group, clustered behind Ilseh on the front line, looks around the room guardedly. The four enormous bugs lie dead before them. The corpses of some are still squirming, dry chitin scraping like a whisper on the floor. In the sink one smolders, filling the room with a foul, charred stench. A soft breeze blows just outside, gently roiling the fog into misty eddies past the kitchen door.
Alton walks over to the burning centipede. He leans in and sniffs, but then quickly moves away with a crinkled nose. “Ugh, too burnt.” He looks at the others cut up by blades, “No good, no good. I guess no centi-stew for us tonight.”
“What in Procan’s holy name is going on with this place!” shouts a visibly exasperated Tydir. “nd what is with you lot blundering into bitey, stingy things that want to kill us! I can’t keep patching folks up like this!”
Alton turns to the group with a somber face, “Sorry everyone. My mistake for not being careful enough. But as my daddy used to say: ‘Every mistake is a lesson.’ Let’s not repeat my error. Let’s team up while exploring the rest of the house. Given our luck I’m sure more dangers await. But maybe, just maybe, we’ll find some more clues here.”
Zalo stretches, yawns, and rubs his eyes blearily as the tension leaves his body. "You have the right of it, Tydir. If this keeps up I'm going to need to take my afternoon nap this morning! It's frankly impressive that you're all still standing."
He gasps suddenly, his eyes wide open. "Oh no! I dropped the books!"
He scurries back down the hall and around the corner to the library, where he scoops up the books he'd left on the floor. When he returns to the kitchen, he sits down by the door, where there's a little more light, and resumes reading the thick tome.
Ilseh slings her sword and shoulders her shield. Smudging the drying blood across her now ripped pants, she inspects her newly acquired scars on her thigh. A dull pain lingers deep within, close to her bone, but the wound was closed. Two even paler half-moon shapes have taken the place of where the centipede's incisors tore through her skin and flesh. She traces them with her fingers.
Without looking away she says, "I'm sure it wears on you, but I appreciate what you did." She stands straight and looks at the dwarf that had used healing magics on her.
A heavy sigh from the dwarf and his anger seems to dissipate like a summer storm -furious but brief. “I’m sorry for my outburst Tall One - it most certainly wasn't directed at you. Your quick thinking and your selflessness undoubtedly kept the danger from the rest of us.
“And Procan sent me to you lot because he knew you would need his blessings - you all are simply proving the wisdom of his ways.” This last bit was delivered with a broad smile and a hearty chuckle, almost as if the lean dwarf was enjoying himself in this ruin of a house.
Making a hmph, Ilseh smooths her right hand to brush back her hair. "So, what exactly have we gathered from this place? Honestly, seems like an abandoned, dying home that has been filled with the talk of scared folk. So a man was tied up here? I've seen weirder, and in less weird places."
The gnome makes a "mm-hmm!" of approval at Ilseh's remarks. "Well, I mean, we're pretty certain someone's been using a lantern in that upstairs window. Now, if I were a ne'er-do-well, I'd probably stay out of sight. But the easiest way to stay out of sight is probably not to shine lanterns out your window at night.
"Now, as for what we've gathered, why, just look at this treasure trove!" He taps the tall, precariously stacked tower of books by his side. "My vote is you lot finish looking around where you feel it's appropriate. That'll give me a few minutes to examine the magical aura in the pantry to see what it can tell us."
Torestorlim speaks up. “I think our friend knew 'bout this bein a smugglers hideout, he did. Wanted us ta take care of it for 'im. Primewalter may be takin' their coin, and that's why he didn't want us to get 'im involved."
Ilseh looks over. “Suppose it was fortuitous we found the man just when we were to investigate. Ugh." She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. She detested the machinations of the political.
"If this is some sort of illicit cache,” she says, “then we've yet to clear it. Unless we plan on burning the whole thing to cinders, I'll stay with the gnome while he wafts the magic."
"I'd recommend against tossing the entirety of the property into the fire," Nicolas adds in, nonchalantly, as he stows his rapier and begins moving off in the direction of the sink. "There is potential evidence to point to whom might be financing and directing the smugglers.”
He reaches into the sink, brushes the smoldering centipede aside, and retrieves his dagger. “While losing Ned is certainly regrettable in retrospect, his situation marked him as someone who might not have been in good standing with the group that occupies this property.
"So I'd agree with Alton, we should move carefully and together to investigate the remaining illusions as they may hide more information regarding the operations here." He was certainly interested in what was occurring here, what they were smuggling, but most importantly who were they answering to, if anyone.
Zalo puts the books down again, disappointed at having to set them aside, but nods. "Very well! Your advice of sticking together is well taken. I will pack these up for viewing later and prepare the ritual."
He starts rummaging around in his pack for the supplies, setting out three small stones and evenly spacing them into a triangle. "Oh, I'd almost forgotten. I found this in one of the books."
The gnome makes a few strokes with his hands, and a moldy, tattered page appears in the air. It once held writing, but is now mostly illegible except for two words:
beyond skeletons
"What do we make of that, I wonder? It was stuffed between two pages in the library."
Zalo sets out three candles on the stones, and traces a circle in the damp, musty floor around them. "Here we go! I'll be occupied for a few minutes." He smiles and gets to work, stepping into the circle and moving his hands about as he chants.
It's much different than Alton's musical and improvisational approach to his craft. This is a language of precision and rigor, though there are still touches of creativity in a flourish here or a flick there. A luminous arc gleams faintly on the ground, growing into a circle as the minutes pass.
There’s a fluttering sound outside as Cahoots appears through the fog, mid-descent, and lands just outside the doorway, kicking up a small cloud of dust. With three short hops, they cross the threshold, and tilt their head to survey the party.
When Cahoots spots Zalo, their feathers ruffle, and they make a short, leaping flight to the top of the cupboard to perch. Patiently, they wait for the ritual to finish.
Tydir settles himself in place in a quiet corner of the kitchen. Taking long deliberate deep breaths to center himself, he slowly works his hands through a series of movements reminiscent of a sailor tying invisible knots. He mumbles in a low voice as he does, nearly at a chant. The words are indistinct but have the rhythm of a sea-chanty and are seem to have a soothing effect on the cantankerous dwarf.
Alton is nodding his head with the rhythm. His fingers move silently over his flute, and he mouths the words when he can hear them. When the song is completed, Alton asks, "Whoa, neat song! We should totally perform that sometime. You sing, I play. What do you think?"
There’s a chuckle and a shake of the head from Tydir. “No my friend, it isn’t that kind of song and I’m not much of a singer. But Procan doesn’t mind a warbley voice like mine when the song is for him.”
The glowing sliver around Zalo becomes an arc, and grows until it becomes a circle. The last segment completes, and the candles flare for a moment before they snuff out. Zalo claps his hands twice, rubbing the sweat from his brow as he packs up.
Cahoots hoots softly, attracting the gnome's attention from above. When the two lock gazes, the owl extends their left wing, then slowly and deliberately preens it. After tucking the wing back in, they leap from the cupboard and glide to the gnome’s left shoulder. There, they again ruffle their feathers, and begin preening the gnome's beard. Whatever the message they’re sending, Zalo seems to understand.
Alton steps up to the gnome excitedly and asks, "So, what did you find? Anything good? I checked most of the kitchen but you know, that was just with my eyes and hands. I don't have cool magic like that. I wish I did. I just never had the right schooling, you know? 'Oh Alton, get that net! Alton, get me the bait! Alton, scrub the deck!' was my education. Only learned to read from tavern signs! But man, if I had magic like that, I'd be casting it like all the time."
Alton takes a breath, "So? What'd you find?"
The gnome smiles. "That's funny. I was just thinking how I wished I'd learned an instrument. You have a skill with your flute that is better than anything I can muster with my magic. And learning from tavern signs is more impressive than learning from a master, for one judges impressiveness by the talent and dedication required, and I dare say your effort surpasses mine in that regard."
"Now, let's see about that aura in the pantry. I don't suppose one of the more eagle-eyed among us could check the door itself for anything untoward like, say, pantry centipedes or pantry spiders?" Zalo glances nervously at the pile of centipede corpses dead from various means in the kitchen.
Alton nods at Zalo and says, “I’ll do it! I feel bad for, you know, waking up those centipedes. It’s the least I can do.”
He tiptoes over to the pantry with his rapier outstretched, turns the knob, and carefully pulls the door open. The exuberant halfling gasps out in surprise. ”More stairs!!!”
Instead of a pantry, the room is a tiny scullery. It displays the effects of damp and decay more than most of the other rooms encountered so far. Mold grows in patches on the floor, walls, and ceiling. Stairs, on the middle of the east side, lead southward, down into what is presumably a cellar. A single window, to the north, lights the room with ethereal, fog-filtered sunlight. A large copper cask, split, discolored and empty, stands under the window, with a small heap of crockery shards on the floor beside it.
Alton walks over to the staircase and is about to step down but then stops mid-stride. He looks back over his shoulder and says, “So, uh, if there’s anything I’ve learned about this house it’s that we should be careful. I don’t think anyone has used these stairs in a while but cellars can be home to all manner of dangerous creatures. Oh! I bet more snakes. Or maybe lots of bugs.” His eyes open wide with a mix of excitement and fear, “Maybe even a zombie!!”
Zalo peers into the scullery, looking nervously at the mold. "I hope that's just, you know, mold, and not...mold."
He scans the room carefully, looking for the aura or anything else that seems out of place. "It's in here somewhere, I just need to focus a little bit. Oh, there it is, it's on the...", he mumbles quietly to himself…
Tore gently gently shoves past Alton and Zalo, and looks over his shoulder. "Come on ya bunch a babies, it's just a bit a dark it is. If the smugglers are down here we tell em the truth a the matter, turn 'round and leave and go collect our gold. Place is as good as empty it is. I'll tell 'im. Now... let's go!"
The dwarf moves to step down, onto the stairs.
"Tore!" Zalo hisses abruptly, moving into the room behind the boorish dwarf. He throws out his hand in warning, and delicately but firmly grabbing the only thing within reach: one of the dwarf's braids of amber hair. "It's coming from the first step on the stairs!"
Tore scrunches his forehead in a scowl at Zalo, but quickly relaxes back to his normal wrinkled look of disdain.
Zalo scrutinizes the stairs more closely, still holding onto the braid. "And it's another illusion, it seems. But either way, don't step on it, if you please."
He takes a deep breath to center himself and lets go of Tore's hair. "Sorry."
"Well a kind word a warnin would a done ya just fine it woulda... but... I guess I appreciates the gesture none the less. I haven't had a drink in many hour, I haven’t, and this ol man mus' be gettin a bit impatient..."
Nicolas, from the back of the group, calls out coldly to Torestorlim, "Are you certain it is wise for you to go galivanting off again? Especially given your...previous encounters?"
He gets behind Zalo and gives his own cursory glance into the scullery, "Perhaps we stick with out plan of remaining together? Would that be so radical an idea?"
Tydir speaks up from the corner of the kitchen. “I heartedly concur! This clap-rattle deathtrap of a house requires a methodical approach, Master Dwarf. I implore you, please don't go scurrying off into the darkness. Especially since I'm afraid I can't repair anymore damage to anyone today…”
He turns to Zalo. “Master Gnome, can we simply step over this illusion to avoid it? Or do you have the ability to remove it entirely?”
The gnome bends down next to Tore and Tydir to carefully look at the stairs. "I think we can just step over it. It looks like there's a large pocket of magical energy being held in reserve here. If we trigger it, it will emit some kind of sound. And if there are smugglers are down there, perhaps it's an alert that someone is snooping around up here."
He thinks for a moment more. "You know, I think I've heard of a spell like this before. It lets whoever casts it leave a short message. The message can be a warning, a scream, a helpful hint, or anything, really. It's impossible to say without triggering it. But I don't think it will be good for us if we do."
He looks pleadingly at Tore. "So, yes, stepping over it would probably be ideal."
Alton looks down at the hidden spell with a grimace, “Well whatever it speaks, I don’t think it’ll be a recipe for honey cakes. Likely a warning for anyone down below. An alarm.”
Alton lights up and gasps, “Oh! I bet the smugglers are down there! Big, nasty, smelly men with swords and clubs...” Alton looks towards the stairs, “And apparently a wizard. Gah! I wish we could contact the authorities, Anders maybe...but if we leave now then they’ll get away.” Alton nods in acceptance, “We have to do it. We have to defeat them.”
He bites his lower lip and his eyes raise up as he remembers something. “Hey! Hey! Hey! I know what do to! My daddy used to catch catfish, mmm! Delicious creatures! By putting a net down in front of their underwater mud hole then poking around the hole with a stick. As soon as the catfish came out, he’d pull up on the net and BAM! Dinner!”
“Anyway!” Alton continues, “What if we smoke them out? Start a small contained fire in that pantry and then seal it. I have a hammer and nails, remember?! Seal it up tight and see if anything down there squirms.”
Nicolas runs a finger along the dust of a shelf and inspects it before rubbing it off, "If they're snuggling things in such a way that they require signaling to the sea then they most likely have a second entrance by which to bring in their illicit goods. A fire at this level will do nothing but endanger ourselves."
He shifts his attention over to Alton with an emotionless stare, "In this case, though we are not formally the authorities, we carry a responsibility to remove these miscreants from the property. Regardless of the descriptors you choose to attach to them, they must be dealt with. We all accepted our contracts with full knowledge of the risks involved in carrying out this task. To go back now would reflect poorly on ourselves and our families." He added a bit of extra emphasis to the mention of family as he knew it was a point of exploitation for Alton, and he needed to ensure that the bard's resolve wouldn't waver at a critical point such as now.
“I agree with our acquired expert here,” says Tydir. “Blades out and shields front, that's the best way forward my friends. Quietly of course, but I'm not sure we'll gain much surprise with all the racket we've already made.”
Tydir suits his actions to his words and draws his blade and buckler, working his arms through a series of quick limbering exercises.
"Ey we never agreed ta defeatin no smugglers, we didn’t,” says Tore. “Smugglin’s a time-honored tradition in the marsh, an' the ties ta the political folk run deep, and I don' feel like makin no enemies outa them folk I don't. An approach that isn't led by a blade an' battle cry might suit us better, it might."
Zalo looks surprised at Tore. "What's that? Taking a nuanced approach to a difficult and possibly dangerous situation, layered with any number of contingencies and complexities? Perhaps I have judged you wrongly." He smiles.
“I’m inclined to agree,” he continues, “but I don't think smugglers will be likely to look favorably on us discovering their operation. The council's going to want an explanation for what's going on here, won't they? We can't rightly tell them 'nothing'."
He peers down the steps. "We don't even know if there are smugglers anyway. That's all speculation so far."
"Regardless of its heritage or connections,” says Nicolas, “it is a profession which drives economic opportunity away from well meaning people of the town, and can strengthen several detestable markets."
He moves through the small crowd and skips the first step of the stairs. "We have a job to do, and we won't be able to complete it standing up here."
Tydir steps into the stairwell, following on Nicolas’s heels. He says nothing to those still hesitating in the scullery; the time for talk has passed. Carefully avoiding the trapped step, he advances down the stairs, his buckler at the ready, blade held low and close.
Skipping the first stair, Tore sprints after Nicolas and Tydir, yelling along the way, "IF ANY TRADERS ARE HERE, I COME WITH A WARNING. PLEASE DO NOT ATTACK. I AM THE MONK FROM THE SANCTUM, SMUGGLER OF ALE. "
“Blast that fool dwarf!” exclaims Tydir.
Alton cringes, as the dwarf is clearly throwing away their surprise advantage. He stares with horrified eyes, then down to his belt. He quickly pulls out his flute and improvises a lively tune:
What's the best drink in the world? Ale! What do we say when we finish our ale? More! How do we get more ale? Sale! And who's the best ale salesmen? Tore!
Alton finishes, and yells down as well. "AND I AM HIS TRUSTY SIDEKICK! WOULD YOU LIKE TO COME UP FOR A FREE SAMPLE?"
He gains a very nervous face as he holds his rapier outstretch towards the kitchen doorway, expecting an ambush any second now.
Everyone heads down the stairs without issue, some carefully, some brazenly, and some foolishly. The room appears empty of occupants. Shoulder-height wooden wine bottle racks line the north and west walls here. There appear to be no intact bottles left in the racks and shattered bottles cover the floor. Against the east wall, at the foot of the stairs, rest two large metal storage bins that appear to be empty. In the center of the room lies a human corpse clad in plate mail; a longsword lies by the corpse’s right side, and a large shield covers its legs.
Alton peers around the dark room and sees no potential hiding spots, but he remains vigilant with his rapier at the ready. Knight? Zombie? Wine bottle elemental? Anything is possible.
Zalo hops the step, much more spry than he normally is, and traipses down the stairs carefully. He has his hands up and at the ready as he looks about.
Ilseh follows last, having the same precautionary instinct to defend against an ambush as Alton did.
"Seems a party took place before we ever arrived."
Nicolas is surveying the scene as the others shuffle in, already irritated that anyone would have a leg up on them in regards to setting an ambush thanks to his 'companions'. As he comes upon the body, though, he crouches down to examine the corpse, his mind immediately going to work looking over the body to determine every detail. He busies himself with the placement of the body, purposeful or just where he fell? It's certainly an all too natural position for a body to crumple into. He has much to consider.
Tydir joins him from the other side of the plate-clad cadaver. The two speak to each other in murmurs as they begin to unfasten the dinted plate armor to get a closer look at the corpse, itself.
Eying the longsword, Ilseh reaches down and lifts it, testing its heft. She then kneels down beside Nicolas and Tydir and watches them work. "What of the man?"
Nicolas looks up. “Well it wasn't a clean end. The armor is ruined from blunt force strikes. It suggests a less than ideally equipped force, but in greater numbers than the man was prepared for. It was a drawn out engagement by the look of it, hardly a quick hit job. And here you can see the—”
There's a sudden and sickening squishing sound, the whole body lurches, and a thick, fluid mass of tiny worms comes gushing out from between the plates like curdled milk being squeezed from a bladder.
Ilseh urks backwards at the sudden squelching, rising to her feet as the corpse's flesh bursts forth.
Oh crap. Her face is shadowed with grim recognition before she yells holding her arms wide and preparing to move away.
"EVERYONE GET THE HELL BACK! DONT LET THEM BITE YOU!"
In a panicked frenzy, Nicolas stands up from his crouch, draws his rapier, and repeatedly whips the weapon madly at the wriggling mass on the floor, the metallic clacking echoing off the bare cellar walls. Bits of fluorescent green goo spatter onto his, Tydir’s, and Ilseh's face. He then rolls away to safety, behind Ilseh.
Tydir stumbles back from the ooze coming out of the corpse, scrambling to get clear of the mass of worms boiling onto the floor.
A sensation of heat and thriving energy fills Ilseh's chest, flowing down the veins of her arm and into her hand. The enervation bursts into red sparks of flame. But before the fire can grow in intensity, the woman has already thrust her palm forward, throwing little more than embers at the writhing insects, which burns too few of them.
Affixing her shield to her arm once more, Ilseh turns her head back and shouts, "I'm not joking- GET THE HELL AWAY!"
Tydir, pointing his blade at the writhing milky mass of creatures, calls upon Procan's power: “I smite thee, foul creatures!” A wan light seeps from Tydir's hands and slides down the wickedly curved blade, bathing the creatures in a pale blue light; but it seems to have no effect whatsoever on the creatures. None.
Concentrate you fool dwarf, concentrate!
A good portion of the worms seethe towards Ilseh. In an attempt to remain on the front line, she throws her shield onto the floor and stands on it, pushing the encroaching grubs off the edges with her toe as they try to crawl up.
Alton looks horrified and excited at the same time. “Oh my gods!” he cries. “What amazing fishing bait!”
He runs up to the wormy mass with his rapier, lowers his blade to the ground, and makes a few quick back-and-forth motions, hoping to stab a bunch of them like a worm-kebab. Though most of his grubby quarry is simply smashed and smeared across the floor, the halfling manages to thread a few of the large grubs on the end of his rapier. Satisfied, he quickly retreats to the doorway of the cellar.
Tore, who had been standing near the doorway, casually walks past Ilseh and into the writhing mass of worms. He starts stepping around in slow circles. "And you take some a this, ya can, and I think you can take some a...THAT...and some a THIS..." With each step there's a sucking, smacking sound much like that of forming a hamburger patty by hand.
The wriggling beneath him doubles in intensity, and he suddenly leaps out of the swarm, shouting in pain. Lifting his robes with clenched fists, he grasps desperately at his feet. A few of the worms found purchase in his ankles, and have already bored their way beneath the skin, into his bare flesh.
Zalo looks on with dismay as the encroaching swarm masses around his companions. These wretched worms weren't familiar, and yet they adopted many familiar patterns among predatory creatures of a similar nature.
"We need to burn them off when they latch on," Zalo says with mounting alarm. "Immediately!" He hops down off the last step, rushing next to Tore, who was howling with pain, clawing at his ankles.
"Oh, I'm going to be sick!" The gnome's face goes white as he gets a close look at the worms, their squishing, mealy bodies gorged with blood as they begin to disappear under Tore's skin. "Hold still!" He holds his hand out to Tore’s feet, averting his attack slightly to lessen the damage.
But Zalo is no surgeon on short notice. Despite his efforts to limit the collateral damage, a jet of blazing fire courses down his arm and engulfs the dwarf's exposed ankles. He takes a few shaky steps back. Tore collapses to the floor, his screams of pain redoubling.
Alton feels bad for the dwarf and makes a mental note to try to convince him to wear shoes next time.
Combat Round 2
"What the hell did I just say!" Ilseh shouts at the dwarf as he steps on the rot grubs with his bare feet.
Thankfully, she wasn't the only one who knew a thing or two about these insects- she saw the gnome immediately scorch the imbecile.
Still on top of her shield to evade the encroaching masses- Ilseh hates losing its protection- she jumps back and away from the teeming insects. While midair, she builds another collection of heat in her hand and thrusts it forward at Torestorlim's assailants, burning some of the dwindling swarm.
She lands nearby the dwarf, squashing a few more beneath her boots. "These things get in- you die!" She harshly scolds.
Furrowing his brows in concentration from behind, Tydir again calls upon Procan's might to drive back these maggots. “Burn with purity of Procan's sight!” He watches in disappointment as the wan light sizzles against the writhing mass, crisping up only a handful of worms.
What are you doing, you are Procan's chosen. Focus, man!
Alton, seeing the limited effect his rapier had last time, almost pulls out his flute for a moment, but reconsiders. He makes a heavy sigh and charges back at the smaller group of worms. This time he swipes back and forth along the ground a few times, cutting the worms up with the tip of his weapon. It’s not great, he know, but it’s the best thing he can do.
Not being eager to test Ilseh's theory at the moment, Nicolas carefully plans out a course to try and attack the swarm without suffering Tore's fate. Though inefficient, he strikes a few more worms with his attack, hoping to disperse the swarm.
His ankles black and frayed with burnt skin, Tore pulls out his mash paddle and begins flogging the worms next to him and Ilseh, the wood clacking loudly with each blow. Bits of grub splatter and fling from the end of his weapon, flecking everything (and everyone) in the room with green gunk.
Zalo scurries up to the worms, kneels down, and carefully aims his outstretched hand at the mass. A coil of fire erupts from his fingertips, roiling across the floor like a carpet being unfurled, leaving a black, charred path of dead grubs behind it. He quickly retreats again behind the safety of the others.
Combat Round 3
Once again, Tydir reaches out to his connection to Procan, drawing on his faith instead of his fists. Again, there’s no effect. Unfortunately his faith seems to be lacking in the fervor needed to burn back the mass of worms.
Using the point of her longsword, Ilseh leans forward and drags her shield back from the diminishing sea of worms, gives it a good thump on the ground to knock off the straggling worms, and re-equips it. She sidesteps in front of the dwarven monk, and forcefully steps backwards, pushing him into the others, behind her. Then, hand outstretched, she unleashes another blast of fire. This time it’s enormous; a large circle of grubs hiss and sizzle on the floor before her, leaving just a few behind.
The remaining worms flood towards Ilseh, but their diminished numbers are unable to gain purchase on her boots; they're simply crushed under her feet as she retreats.
Alton and Nicolas both push to the front line. Side-by-side, they whip, scrape, and jab at the remaining grubs with their rapiers. When the scrape and clatter of metal-on-stone ceases, so too does the constant and terrifying writhing of the floor.
Nearly the entire cellar floor, as well as parts of the wall and ceiling, are smeared green with innards. Chunks of black char are mixed with white bits of grub—a few of which are still oozing and twitching. But it seems the threat has been eliminated. The air is filled with acrid smoke, a smell like that of burning flesh. The corpse in the middle room has been rent into three, ragged pieces. A vile, translucent fluid oozes from the gaping flesh, as well as from the seams of the battered plate armor.
From behind there’s the ominous sound of hooting, softly echoing down the stairs. Cahoots has seen something, or someone.
“Cahoots seems to be agitated,” says Tydir. “I think we should be prepared for company.” He turns to face the stairway, and slinks into a dim-lit corner.
Alton looks up at the staircase and scratches his chin. Wiping some sweat off his brow, he ponders, “I wonder who’s up there? Zalo, can you see through Cahoots’ eyes?”
Zalo's eyes snap toward the stairs with an alert expression. "He's spotted someone. I don't know what yet. Let's get out of sight of the bottom of the stairwell." He motions to the wall against the stair and takes up a position some distance from the stairwell, his hands at the ready.
"Be right back," he whispers, and the gnome's face goes unsettlingly blank.
Alton moves to the bins, standing on his tiptoes to peek inside. Then he walks along the perimeter, feeling the walls slowly with his hands. “Cellars are a great place to find secret rooms. Maybe this house has more than meets the eye!”
Tore steps into the pile of goo up, up to what's left of the man in plate. Rolling him over onto his stomach, the plate is cracked around the shoulders and the rivets bent. "Not much good that'll do us, it won't."
Cutting the straps off his pack and stepping out from the pile of goo, Tore empties the contents onto a less messy spot on the cellar floor, then begins throwing items over his shoulder as he digs through the pile. ”A bedroll.. junk.. a mess kit.. junk.. tinderbox.. junk..big ol' pile a' torches.. junk..
"Aye.. a bit useful this is..." Tore removes some rope from the bottom of the pile and stuffs if into his pack.
He rolls the remains of the body away from him. "Nothin ta identify the man, there ain't. Jus some poor adventurer he was... Ah well."
Alton looks up, finished with his examination of the walls. "Apparently these eyes don’t see anything special. Looks empty to me.”
Something catches Tore's eye across the room. Amidst the broken bottles under the win rack, was an intact bottle with dark green, smooth glass and a hide parchment label. Dusting off the glass and cobwebs, his eyes gleam at the hand-painted, fancifully dressed unicorn on the bottle.
"Madeira Fortified! Never thought I'd see a bottle in me whole life, I didn't! Do yas know how rare this is?! Oxidizes in half-full casks in the bottom 'a ships on long tropical voyages! They says it'll cure ya if yer poisoned, but me think it'll just settle a sailor's sea sickness it will. If we make it outta here we're gonna celebrate we will!"
Pulling a length of the rope he just procured, he wraps the bottle from bottom to top twice to protect its delicate glass, and gently sets it in the top of his pack.
Tydir is watching the stairs carefully, cupping his hand to his ear. “Pipe down you fools!” he whispers. “Now’s not the time for a shopping spree - Cahoots is clearly trying to tell us something.”
"Right then," agrees Nicolas. "If we can perhaps have any semblance of professionalism in carrying this out this time?" He casts a side eye toward a certain barefooted dwarf.
The mercenary surveys the room and, stowing his rapier, produces a bow, nocking an arrow. "Get one person to either side of the doors, at least, and then one to charge them head-on as they enter the room, and we should be able to surrounded them quickly." He makes his own way to a darker area of the distant wall and begins sizing up the distance to make his shot.
Isleh agrees and positions herself, back to the wall, her shield and sword facing the cellar's previously only entryway. She's perpendicular to the stairs, hopefully one of the last to be noticed by anyone who'd happen down them.
"Yeh, surrounding them would be the best way to go, and I've got plenty of fire left in me." She swings her newly acquired longsword in her hand.
Zalo snaps back to reality, but lets his guard down slightly. "Someone's here in the house. Cahoots has only a limited ability to communicate, but I asked if it was someone we'd seen before, and they seem to think so. Ned is back, if I had to guess. Who else would be in this horrible house?"
"That's the best I can get at the moment, but they didn't come down the stairs. I wonder if perhaps they went upstairs instead. I suppose we'd better be careful." He coughs into his fist, looking at the ground. "More careful than we have been."
Alton places his pack behind the corpse (without getting mucky, yuck!) and lays prone on the ground to hide behind it. He holds his trusty flute in one hand, and mentally prepares a few useful spells.
He whispers loud enough for everyone in the cellar to hear. “Hey! Hey! Hey! Guys! Guys! If Ned’s back then I think he pulled the wool over our eyes. I bet he’s not naked, and I bet he’s not alone. I bet this corpse on the ground was the last adventurer who ‘saved’ Ned.”
Alton looks to the corpse with some sadness in his eyes, “I don’t want to end up like him. Now if we’re going to charge back upstairs, let’s do this with some planning. These bandits aren’t some mindless beasts, they clearly have planning and experience. We need to do this right or else one of us will die.”
Alton continues, “I only have the energy to cast one more spell. I have one that can put a few of them to sleep so we can deal with the woke ones, or I can make an illusion that can mask our approach.” Alton looks around at the others, “What else do we have?”
Tydir is tucked in against the wine racks, attempting to envelope himself in their shadows. He pitches his voice low so it won't carry beyond the confines of the room. “I’m afraid I'm of limited use for some time - aside from my blade and buckler here, that is. I can bestow Procan's blessing and, if he smiles on me, burn them with Procan's light. But that's about all.”
Zalo ticks off his offerings on his fingers as he does a mental inventory. "I haven't expended much. I can offer a fog a few dozen paces across, a volley of unerring magical bolts, or I can also put one or two weaker beings to sleep for a short time."
He looks around at his companions. "If we're feeling tapped out, I don't think it's worth risking our lives to continue. If there are smugglers operating here, and we haven't found them yet, perhaps discretion is the better part of valor.
Tydir nods. “I worry that if we leave only to return, the smugglers will be better prepared for us in the future. That said, if our friend the dwarf here encounters any more difficulties, I'm afraid I won't be able to get him back on his feet.” He pointedly glares at Tore.
“And there is the small matter of our line of retreat being blocked by Ned - or whoever is upstairs. Seems whatever we decide we need to deal with that problem first. I would defer to our Professional here for his advice on how to proceed.”
Alton looks to his bedroll, then shakes his head, “I don’t think we should try to wait them out. More likely they’ll attack us while we’re not expecting it or just run off never to be found again. We should deal with them now.”
"We also haven't searched the entire house yet, either,” says Zalo. “Several rooms remain uninvestigated. The approach hasn't been very methodical."
Zalo scrunches up his face. "Come to think of it, why put a spell on the stairs at all unless there was something here the alleged smugglers didn't want people to see? I don't think a bunch of maggot worms is likely to be worth hiding." He kicks one of the mealy bodies, briefly disgusted by the wet, squelching sound it makes as it tumbles over the floor.
He looks at Tydir. "I don't suppose Procan's blessings permit you to deal with the supernatural? Just in case that "beyond skeletons" note isn't a metaphor."
“If he permits me,” says Tydir. “His holy Word should be a particularly powerful tool against such abominations, but alas, I am not a full priest of Procan like my Master and as such don't wield the full might of the majesty of the storm."
Tydir smiles a bit at the Gnome. “’In other words no, but I can smash them with blade or buckler if the burning light fails me like it did on these stupid worms.”
Alton responds to Zalo, “Exactly my thinking! I searched the room as best I could, but whatever other secrets that are here might be out of my short reach.” He dangles his fingers as high as his stubby arms can take them. “Maybe someone else can do another search?”
Zalo spends a few moments peering at the walls and flooring to see if there's anything out of place, but nothing catches his eye. "Maybe it was simply a ruse to lure people to the cellar? Or perhaps the smuggling operation ended before we got here, and only Ned has been left behind. If indeed there was smuggling at all."
The whole time, Nicolas, too, had forgotten about the upstairs threat, poking and prodding around the crates along the east wall. “I’m not so certain,” he says as he slides a box across the floor. He pushes his foot down to a spot on the floor and looks around the room for something to happen.
There's a metallic snap from the south wall, and the outline of a door appears, swinging ajar, into the room a few inches, from the tension of an unseen spring.
"Clever Smugglers, " Nicolas adds. “So now we have our way out if for some reason Ned still frightens us."
Aside from Tydir, who is still watching the cellar stairs, the whole party is surprised and delighted. Ilseh emits a small sound of bemusement. Seems he's actually worth the coin.
Zalo motions for quiet and points to the wall near the newly revealed door, indicating how his companions could position themselves to be out of view for anyone on the other side. He then makes a few passes in the air with his hand, and an inquisitive, smiling, frozen duplicate of Zalo appears near the door, as if in position to peer through once the door is opened fully. "Decoy," he whispers. "Just in case."
Alton looks towards the door, “I think me and Ilseh should stay down here and hold the cellar. She can hold the door and I can hit from behind, even heal her if needed. The rest of you can sneak up behind them and engage them upstairs. Oh! I can use my Message spell to keep in touch so we can coordinate. How does that sound?!”
The six adventurers continue to discuss their options, taking guesses at what lay beyond the hidden door. Is it a secret way into the house from outside, or does it go even deeper down, into another cellar or even a dungeon? Then, they came upon the realization that searching for the door with someone still upstairs might have been an error in judgment. Now that it’s open, they may have revealed their discovery ahead of time to anyone on the other side of the door.
Nicolas again steps on the button on the floor, but only another, quieter click comes from the vicinity of the cracked door. Quietly cursing to himself about his own intelligence, he walks over to the door and manually pushes it closed with a louder click. "Now nothing will be coming up from there."
Tydir scowls. “Or at least they'll have to open the door first before coming in to slit our throats from behind.
“Well now,” he says, “we're in a bit of a pickle aren't we? With doors in two directions, a known problem above and unknown challenges in front of us.” He looks pointedly from the stairs to the secret entrance that Nicolas has found. “Mssr Mercenary, do you have any suggestions on how to handle our predicament?”
Nicolas steps away from the door. ”We can't very well have ourselves engaged on two fronts. Especially in our collective state. No clearing the dangers above us must take priority and then we can rest before moving in further below.
"Now, at the moment we have an advantage in that we know the enemy is here but they only know we are in the house, however that advantage is depleting by the moment. They'll work their way down here eventually so let's move to deal with them now."
He throws a thumb to the door. “Anything behind that door will likely be staying behind that door for the near future."
Looking around the room, his eyes fall upon the remnants of the last adventurer to come this way. He moves decisively over to the gooey corpse and begins piling the battered plate-armored body parts against the door, balancing pieces precariously one on top of another.
"There, that won't keep them from coming through, but should make enough of a racket when or if they open the door that at least we won't be surprised."
Zalo nods at Tydir's thoughtful precautions. "That's a good idea. Better safe than sorry at least.
"You know, it just occurred to me. If the spell on the stairs is meant to conceal or dissuade us from seeing one entrance to the smuggling operation, perhaps the other spell is too. So this might not be the only way from the house into the underground portion of their operations.
"Either way, I'm in agreement. We should deal with the situation at hand before we introduce any more... situations."
Tydir immediately moves to his fellow dwarf, and grasps him firmly on the shoulder, letting the pale blue light of Procan's blessing flow into the monk. “Do try to be careful on these steps my friend. I'm afraid I can't patch you up again today if you fall."
With that, Tydir steps past Tore and makes his way up the stairs and into the kitchen.
Leaving the secret door for later, the party climbs out of the maggot-strewn cellar. Slowly, one at a time, they navigate the enchanted step at the top, file out of the scullery, and into the kitchen. Bits of centipede are still strewn out across the floor; the one in the sink has stopped burning.
Outside, the fog seems to be thinning.
Alton looks around the kitchen, then to Zalo, “Hey Zalo, your owl saw someone, right? Where are they?”
Zalo shakes his head. "Cahoots saw someone, but not when I was looking through their eyes. I suppose we could ask them which way the interloper went." He makes a flourish and the owl materializes on his shoulder; he exchanges a few silent words as he gazes into the distance.
Cahoots glides off of Zalo, into the scullery, and perches atop the cask. There they fluff their feathers, and flap a wing towards Zalo, who is standing in the scullery doorway.
Alton starts taking a look around the room but suddenly stops in his tracks. He turns his head upwards, eyes scanning the empty ceiling. Raising his hand, he points towards the second floor and whispers, "Ssshhh, I think I hear someone upstairs!"
Then he turns towards the group and stares daggers at Tore, "I don't think they know we're here, and for once let's keep it that way!"
Alton looks around the room. "I don't think they'll risk using the broken staircase in the entrance. We should wait for them here by this staircase for them to come down."
Zalo glances down the corridor to the main hall. "Our feathered friend seems to think that the interloper went through the kitchen somewhere. Unclear which direction. Did you see which direction they went through the kitchen? Towards the stairs, the door, or the main hall?" He glances back the owl.
Cahoots flaps out the scullery window, circles around through the fog, and glides back into the kitchen through the back door. They land and hop onto the first step going upstairs. There, they hoot.
Alton, who had been watching the owl with interest, suddenly stops moving and looks around. He whispers, ”Hey! Hey! Everyone! Whoever’s upstairs has stopped moving. They might know we are here.”
Nicolas seems to agree as he sighs at the loss of yet another period of strategic advantage. He nocks an arrow in his bow, and points it toward the stairs. Tore simply pulls a dart from his belt and holds it behind his back, and peers up the stairs.
Tydir also sighs, and readies his blade, moving to flank anyone coming down the stairs and trying to stay out of sight. “Mssr Mercenary, how should we approach this conundrum.”
Nicolas thinks for a moment and then responds in a whisper loud enough for the group. "We have one method of ascending, they have one method of descending. Hold here, observe their next move, and react accordingly."
The six adventurers stand stone-still, weapons drawn. Tydir is just beside the wall that encases the foot of the stairs to the upper level, scimitar in hand, ready to pounce around the corner. Nicolas has taken up a position beneath the cupboard, his bow drawn and aiming upwards, towards the top of the stairs. The rest are scattered throughout the kitchen, waiting anxiously."
Everything is still. Ears are cocked, and eyes are scanning the ceiling in an attempt to pick up some trace of activity. Only the distant ocean, and the occasional, tense ticking of Nicolas’s drawn bowstring can be heard.
Suddenly, from the scullery, there’s a loud clank and hollow clatter of steel on stone, echoing up the stairwell from the cellar. An unintelligible exclamation follows—a voice—and then a hissing sound, like someone shushing a child.
A moment later, from the ceiling, there’s the unmistakable sound of light footsteps; someone is walking at a brisk pace from the north wing of the building, into the west wing.
Zalo rushes into the scullery, looks down the stairwell for a moment and, hearing the sounds, points to the basement, mouthing "someone's there.” He draws a shape in the air with his hands, and finishes the spell with a flourish as a brick wall materializes over the stairwell.
He leans down to rap it once, but it makes no sound, and his hand is unencumbered. "Illusion,” whispers the gnome, pointing it out his companions.
Tore pleads in a whisper, "Even with the illusion it's jus' a short matter a time 'for they figure out it's fake. They set magical traps fer people like us, they know magic better than us we do. We're surrounded, injured and drained we are. We need ta pick a side and not be in the crossfire, it's er only chance a gettin' out as I sees it.
“We can plead with what we assume is Ned and his friends ta fight with us 'gainst the smugglers, or give the smugglers a warnin' the government is on ta em and they'll have ta find another place ta do business. Asks yerselves, which is our best chance a gettin' outta here alive, askin the ninny who already got conquered and stripped left ta die only ta make enemies with a smugglin' network, or warnin the smugglers they should leave. Either way we did our jobs, I jus wanna go home and have a drink."
"Then please ensure that you leave with as little noise as possible,” Nicolas says quietly to him. "I'm going to deal with Ned and work my way back down. Rest is a luxury that will be earned today." With a soft and careful step, he begins making his way up the stairs toward the sound.
Tydir nods decisively and follows carefully behind Nicolas, up the stairs. Alton creeps along behind them, not wanting to leave them to confront "Ned" alone. His rapier is at the ready, prepared to use it but hoping he doesn't have to. He holds his breath at every step, hoping his lightweight steps don't cause any creaking in the staircase.
Tore removes his pack and sets it on the floor against the wall. "Suit yerself then fellas.”
He moves to open the flap on the top of the pack, in search of the bottle of wine he had just found, when a stern voice echoes up the stairs from below, through the mock-brick wall. "What the? Oi, Jake! Come 'ere. Have a look, you ain't gonna believe it!"
There's another shushing hiss from below, and then silence. A low voice whispers, and another responds, followed by another moment of silence. Then, after another short unintelligible conversation, the sound of rapid foot-falls fade away into the distance.
A few moments later, after another series of whispers, there are light footsteps on hollow wood. They're ascending the stairs.
Zalo huddles close to Tore and Ilseh, a worried look crossing his face. Nevertheless, he steels himself and gets ready to engage anything hostile. The gnome inches back into the kitchen doorway, keeping an eye on the scullery.
After a few moments, and some more footsteps, there's another whisper. This time it's close, just past the brick-wall illusion.
"Hold on," begins the stern voice. "Hold, I say! It's some sorcery! That ain't real!"
There's another voice, this one in a heavy elven accent. "Eh? How can you...oh. Oh! Oh, yes, I see, now."
"Steady," replies the first voice. "They must be close."
Zalo turns to Cahoots. The owl, still perched at the bottom step to the second floor, takes off, flapping silently down the north hallway to the entrance hall.
The footsteps up the stairs resume. Then, suddenly, there's a hideous, hair-raising scream—as if a soul in torment—that rises from the cellar below. Ilseh and Zalo both jump, staggering back from the illusion-covered staircase.
"****in' hell!" the elvish voice screams, seemingly from right inside the illusion. Shuffling and stumbling feet are heard, moving down the steps.
"Idiot!" the other voice hisses. "Watch where you're going!"
Tore quickly wobbles over to the illusion. He extends his arm through the brick wall, and begins his accouncement speech again, but not too loudly this time. "Fellas, don't be alarmed. Ya triggered a—”
He’s cut off by a shout from the other side of the wall. "Someone's in there!"
There's the snap of a bowstring from the cellar, and the sickening sound of an arrow sinking into flesh. Tore, shouting in sheer terror and pain, jerks his outstretched hand back through the illusion, an arrow piercing clean through his wrist. Eyes wide with shock, he stumbles backwards into the scullery, and collapses to the floor, unconscious.
Zalo, just around the corner, steadies himself, points his finger towards the cellar door. His hand begins accumulating arcane energy.
"Go!" the stern voice booms from down the steps. The unmistakable sound of heavy boots come rapidly clomping up the stairs. Another arrow whistles up from below, through the illusion, and lodges in the scullery wall next to the basin window.
A dirty, shabbily dressed elven man in tattered leather armor emerges from the brick wall, into the scullery, scimitar in hand. He turns to face the room just as Zalo releases his spell. The man instinctually ducks down. The arcane flame torches over his head and slams into the wall above the stairs, leaving a smoking hole in the wood. Glancing up at the impact, the elf wheels around to face his assailant, raises his scimitar above his head, and charges.
When Ilseh sees the gnome about to get run down, she rushes to meet the attack, blindsiding the elf, driving him into the wall. He shoves her off of him with his foot, takes a step, and comes in with a sweeping attack from the side, slicing hard into her midsection. A stream of blood splatters across the floorboards.
Cursing under his breath, Zalo again raises his hand towards the enemy — but again, something is just not quite right with the incantation. The elf is unaffected.
Taking a few steps back, Ilseh clutches her wound with her sword-hand and brings it before her. The blood fills the gaps between her palm's wrinkles and the hilt of the dead man's sword. The pain in her abdomen was seething.
It was this kind of moment that demonstrated whether an individual 'flights' or 'fights'- and Ilseh didn't have wings. But she did have sword.
The severed nerves firing off on her stomach begin to dull and Ilseh's vision begins to quake. Her hand clutched her weapon's hilt and Ilseh's amber eyes alight with a ferocity since yet unseen. A fire inside her emblazes and boils her blood. With a violent shout, she jumps at the haggard elf, longsword poised to plunge into the man's body.
The pale woman's unyielding disposition towards her grievous injury flabbergasts the shambled elf. He flinches and attempts to turn away and flee, but the tip of Ilseh's downturned blade slips straight through his clavicle, cleaving the flesh down along the spine. He falls to the floor, unmoving.
Zalo watches with astonishment as Ilseh's newfound and skillfully wielded blade cuts through flesh as easily as one might part a bowl of soup with a spoon. His green eyes widen, equal parts stunned and impressed as the elf collapses.
From upstairs, Alton, Nicolas, and Tydir all hear the sounds of battle from below. Nicolas stops and utters one word. “Shit.”
Alton, who was in the rear, turns and runs back towards the staircase. He knows this is no insect they are facing. As he dashes, he gives some inspiring words to Nicholas, “Go and run! Defend our friend! Please don’t let him meet his end!”
Tydir spins on his heel and follows. He prays to Procan for help in protecting his comrades. You sent me to join this band, and it's clear they need all the help they can get, but it would be nice if you could nudge that fool dwarf a bit and stop him from doing so many stupid things.
Nicolas runs down the stairs, past the halfling and dwarf, and back into the scullery. Shouting meant combat, combat meant enemies to fight and... … he gets to the scullery just as Ilseh bisects the fellow in front of her. Well, he realizes, it used to mean enemies to fight. Certainly going to take note of that. He looks around the room.
Ilseh, hair swept by her erratic movement, eyes wild and piercing, searches her immediate surroundings after pulling her blade out of the limp body. Her breath is deep and steady as if concerted- a practiced, steady flow of fuel for the raging inferno within her. Seeing only her allies, Ilseh draws her shield and bolts towards the illusory wall.
She would have noted that walking into a staircase you can't see is a strange sensation, but right now Ilseh didn't care. Her red gaze needed to find someone- more things to cut down and burn. And as luck would have it, the elf wasn't alone.
At the bottom of the stairs was a human man with a bow at the ready. Ilseh smiles wide, teeth bared eagerly as she practically jumps down the steps to close in on the poor man.
The bowman's eyes widen with astonishment. Did she best him so quickly? He fumbles in his quiver for another arrow and attempts to nock it, but his nerves betray him; hands shaking, he weakly flings both arrow and bow at the woman as she leaves the final step, onto the grub-covered cellar floor. The weapon clatters ominously to the foot of the stairs, just as the furious woman finishes closing the distance between them.
"I think you'll need your sword, mate," sneers Ilseh.
Upstairs, with no further foes, Nicolas moves to Torestorlim, who is lying with an arrow stuck out of his hand. Would it really trouble the rest of the world so much if he just left him there? He was certain the world didn't lack for drunken dwarves, so what would truly be lost?
However, his own desire to help overcomes these terrible thoughts. He kneels down next to Torestorlim. "Come on now, dwarf. No ancestors for you yet...
"Tydir!" he shouts. "I need medical assistance, please!" He stays kneeled beside the dwarf, closely grasping the injury, and providing pressure on the cloth so as to prevent any further bleeding. Hopefully it will keep him alive. He'd follow after Ilseh soon, but dealing with a potential fatality was far more important.
From upstairs there's rapid footfalls on the west wing of the house, crossing to the east. After a momentary pause, there's an enormous thud from the entrance hall, like a man-sized weight being dropped off a balcony-height drop. Cahoots begins hooting loudly.
Combat Round 2
Hearing Nicolas's shout, Tydir turns his sprint into a slide, across the floor, towards the stricken Dwarf. He pulls a potion bottle from his belt and uncorks it with one hand. “You fool! We need you on your feet - but more importantly, we need you to keep your mouth shut!”
He pours the concoction down the monk's gullet, and gives him a quick hard slap to wake him up a bit.
Coming to, Tore tries to push himself to his feet with both arms. The pain in his right arm surges. "AH ****! IT HIT THE BONE, ****!”
Still in the scullery doorway, Zalo looks down the entrance hall with alarm at the hoots of his favorite owl, followed shortly by the slam of a landing on the floor.
"We've got company!" hisses the gnome.
Just then, Alton jumps down the second-to-last upper-floor step with a thud and keeps running, around the corner, into the kitchen. Poking his head into the scullery, he glances left to see Tore lying down, unconscious. He considers helping but sees Nicholas stabilizing him. He instead opts to help end the fight altogether.
He yells out to Ilseh downstairs, “Fight on! Sister of fury and rage! Fight on! Defeat the villain you engage!”
He then exits down the southern hallway, shaking his head. That inspiration started strong but ended a bit flat. Too wordy. Maybe if it rhymed…hey!
Zalo then backs up into the kitchen, staring down the hall and hiding behind the sink, taking careful aim at what might come down the corridor. But he casts a worried glance towards the scullery as he hears the fighting continue downstairs.
Changing his mind, he scampers lightly down the stairs, not perturbed in the least by passing through illusionary brick walls, though still very much rattled from the horrid scream of the trapped step.
Alton’s eyes go wide as he sees a familiar face. His voice shakes as he yells out, “Hey everyone! I found Ned! He’s in the entrance!”
Downstairs, the bowman before Ilseh lowers his brow in determination, draws his sword from his hip while stepping back, and makes a quick thrust. Ilseh doesn't try to evade; she simply locks eyes with him as the tip of the blade sinks into her right shoulder.
"Sanbalet!" the man yells over his shoulder, eyes locked on the maddened woman. Taking another step back, towards the now-wide-open secret door, he grunts desperately, swinging wildly at her, but this time she brings her shield up and stops the blow dead in the air. His sword clatters ringing to the floor.
His second scream is one of pure terror: "Sanballleeeeetttt!"
There's a chilling silence. Ilseh narrows her eyes, shakes the hair out of her face, and moves towards him. The bowman strides backwards, tripping over the scattered pieces of body, and stumbles to the floor, onto his haunches. Without hesitation, Ilseh leaps forward and thrusts, sinking her own sword deep into his right shoulder.
Scrambling to his feet, the man clamps a hand over the wound, and moves to the secret door. He reaches desperately for the leather handle to pull it closed behind him, but the door catches his toe, and he loses his grip on the leather. He stumbles backwards again, into the room behind him, and turns to run.
Just then, Zalo steps into the cellar. With nervous energy, his right hand flings upward immediately with practiced, automatic tones, towards the fleeing man. "Sonoros!"
The air around Ilseh's assailant quivers with barely visible vibrations that thrum faster and faster, escalating into a searing pitch that only he can hear. He claps his hands to his ears in a vain attempt to shut it out, but it is already exacting a horrible toll.
The deep wound Ilseh left bubbles over and turns black with festering putrescence, and he screams and shudders, scratching at his ears in a last-ditch effort, as if desperately trying to dig out the sound itself. Then he slumps to the ground, mercifully dead with grim agony frozen on his face.
Zalo turns three shades greener. "Oh, gods!" he moans shakily, leaning against the cellar wall to steady himself.
Ilseh's body still thrummed and her heart's pounding resounded in her ears, like a war drum calling for battle. Once again, her immediate surroundings were vacant of assailants. But he was running away. Calling a name. More coal to the flame.
Stepping over the fallen man, Ilseh chuckles in glee and enters the chamber. "San-ballet, was it? Is that right? Please do correct me."
Combat Round 3
Bow in-hand, Nicolas emerges into the north hall. There, on the floor near the balcony’s rubble-pile, is Ned. He's now wearing a shirt, though no pants and no shoes. Alton is ahead of him, blocking the front door. Under Ned’s arm is a pair of pants and a single shoe; he’s bending down to retrieve the other one when Cahoots swoops down from above, and begins closely circling the man’s head, flapping their wing violently against his face.
“Yar, ya ****in’ owl! Get lost!” Shoe in hand, he turns to Alton. "And you! Blast you! Go bother someone else!"
With a cold calculus, Nicolas raises his bow from down the hallway, and fires while the man is distracted. The arrow goes deep into the back of Ned’s bare leg.
"Aaaaaarugh!" Ned wails, collapsing and rolling back and forth on the floor while clenching his thigh with both hands. "You! You all! **** you all! What the **** is wrong with you?"
Returning to Torestorlim's side, Nicolas crouches down and snaps the shaft of the arrow in half before wrapping the insertion point with a rip from his own cloak. He'd have Torestorlim pay him back for it later. With one hard push, the rest of the arrow passes through the wound. Nicolas then goes about wrapping over the injury several times with the cloth to stop any bleeding.
Tydir helps drag Tore into an out-of-the way corner of the kitchen, pulls out his healer’s kit, and kneels down to start work on the monks' wrist.
“Luckily for you, our mercenary friend clearly has experience in field dressing wounds, otherwise you'd be in much worse shape. Let's see if we can't make you a bit more comfortable before you get into any more trouble.”
He carefully cleans and wraps the wound, using the broken shafts of the offending arrow to craft a makeshift splint for the wrist.
“It's not much, but should help a bit with the pain. I'm afraid this arm won't be of much use to you for the next day or two. You'll want to avoid carrying anything with it, and for the love of ale, man, don't hit anyone with it!”
Tore's caretakers stand and take up defensive positions in the scullery. The dwarven monk wordlessly scoots over to the wall for support.
In the basement, Ilseh runs as best as she can back out of the secret chamber, clutching her shoulder with her sword in tow. She sees Zalo still in the wine cellar, reeling over the consequence of his terrible spell.
"Urgh, Zalo," she calls moving over to him. "Zalo, there's more coming from beyond that chamber. I- I don't think they saw me. Agh!" She tucks forward, now holding her stomach. The pain had come back now that the pyre within her had stopped burning.
There was something hot in her mouth, like liquid fire. No, it tasted of iron. She spits up a mouthful of dark blood and it slops onto the floor, splattering in front of her. "Zalo, I- I think we should go- find the others."
Zalo pants, recovering from the momentary exertion, but when he sees Ilseh having difficulty he runs to her side. "Yes, I understand," he says softly. "Let's get you back upstairs. I'd say lean on me, but I don't think that would work very well. Lean on this instead." He unslings his staff and gently helps Ilseh up the stairs together.
With the gnome’s help, Ilseh drags herself up the stairs and stumbles onto the top threshold in front of Torestorlim. The monk looks up at the Tall One, globs of blood spewing from her mouth and splatting on the floor at his feet.
Zalo hurries towards the entrance hall.
Still wincing from his own injury he says, “Tall One, stop. STOP. Yer bout to faint, I see it in yer eyes." He slides his pack off his shoulders and extends a hand out. “’Elp me up and I'll ‘elp ya, I will."
Once Ilseh helps him to his feet, he digs around a bit in his pack to find his remaining healing potion. Removing the cork, he gives it a swirl and hands it to Ilseh. "Drink up, Big One. We'd have trouble seein’ onta countertops if ya croaked, we would."
Knocking back the bottled brew, Ilseh immediately begins feeling its regenerative effects. The savage slash in her torso begins to close, though not completely, but it stops bleeding grievously. The wound in her shoulder seals into a circular white scar. Wiping her mouth, she corrects the dwarf. "It'sTall One- you got it right the first time."
Out in the entrance hall, Alton approaches Ned with his rapier outstretched. He turns his head to the side a bit, but never takes his eyes off Ned. He shouts to his friends, “I got Ned, or whoever he is! Could use some help to tie him back up though!” Alton keeps his hands on his rapier but motions to the rope tied to his pack for someone else to use to restrain Ned.
Alton then places his rapier onto Ned’s neck and threatens, “Stop right there! Now, if you don’t want to bleed out today you’re going to start talking right now! Who are you, for real this time, and what were you all doing here?!”
When Zalo rounds the corner down the hall to Ned and Alton, his hands crackle with latent power. "You'd better listen to my companion here." He traces a circle in the air, and a ring of luminous, sickly gray sigils surround Ned. "And if you don't start telling us something useful, you won't be talking at all, friend."
"Are you daft?” replies Ned, grimacing. “Did you fall on yer ****in' heads?"
He hisses through his teeth in pain. "I told you already, you clumsy berks! I woke up to you bringing the house down around me. Then you held me prisoner like I wronged you somehow. And then you threaten to beat me for the second time in a day's time. You're mad! The raving lot of you!"
Zalo lowers his hands, a little uncertain about Ned's earnest zeal. "Well, there's a simple way to resolve this. If you're being truthful, would you let me read your memories?" He smiles placidly and waves his hands. Each of the runes becomes a menacing picture of a lidless, green, gnomish eye not unlike Zalo's.
Ned swats at the images in anger. "You think I gave myself this goose-egg? Go on, then! Use your little wizardry, you hard-headed dwarven runt! You'll find nothing I ain't already told you! I was ambushed!" Again he hisses, his eyes going to the arrow in his leg. He looks up at Zalo again. "Twice!"
Alton looks at Ned, then back to the kitchen, then Ned again. He shakes his head. "Guys! I don't want to leave Ned alone, even if he is wounded. Zalo, you go help downstairs and I'll guard Ned here. Shout if you need help! Go!"
Back in the scullery, Tydir moves to help Alton and Zalo, but just as he's about to head into the entryway to help restrain their interloper, he hears new voices and footsteps following Ilseh and Zalo out of the darkness.
“We've got company inbound here," he says, pointing to the cellar door. "Prepare yourselves!”
As he says this, he extends his blade to point at the door to the stairs and begins mumbling under his breath, “Procan's light burns through me, burns through my veins, burns my enemies, burns their skin, burns their eyes…”
“When I was down there,” replies Ilseh, “I heard more coming so I ran back upstairs. I couldn't say how many there are, but they’re moving towards us now."
From the cellar, the sound of a refined voice echoes up the stairs into the scullery. "Remove this body at once. It's blocking the door. You! Haley! Where's the other one? What happened to him?"
The voice gets louder. "And where's this brick wall of yours?"
There's a soft response, unintelligible.
Ilseh glances back to the north hallway. She hated this back-and-forth Ned was causing. They were losing precious seconds. The enemy could be on the staircase any moment, now. Knowing she was the most physical capable among the current group, she readies her sword and shield, and faces the stairs, standing just around the corner and out of sight.
"Shut up, you!” she shouts hoarsely down the hallway. “We're wasting time on him!" She composes her tenor before continuing, "whoever these people are, their reinforcements are certainly in the cellar by now. What are we doing? Staying here? Moving on? What?"
The cellar goes immediately quiet.
Ned, who is being dragged towards the kitchen by Alton, looks up the north hallway, startled. "Reinforcements? What the hells have you done? Who's coming!"
Alton stops and looks to Ned. “Whatever you do, don’t die!” He then dashes towards the cellar, mumbling under his breath, “Oh no oh no oh no...”
Zalo pauses a moment, staring at Ned, then follows the halfling to the scullery.
Once free, Ned moves to gather his shoes and pants again. "Gods, oh gods, get me out of here!" As he drags himself away towards the front door, the arrow in his leg bumps the floor, and he screams in pain, dropping the clothes.
The entire party is now in the scullery, waiting and listening in anticipation. Ilseh and Tydir are standing in the doorway of the cellar stairs, staring down into the dimness. Torestorlim is just behind them, still against the scullery wall but on his feet. Tydir, Alton, and Nicolas are well inside the scullery, out of sight and poised for action. Zalo, his face twisted with conflict, stands in the kitchen doorway, his gaze moving between the cellar door before him, and Ned who is some distance behind him. Cahoots wooshes over their heads, and dives down the stairs to scout the enemy.
There is a sizzling sound from downstairs. A man's deep voice echoes back up. It's smooth and flowing, refined and articulate, like a noble’s, or perhaps a scholar's.
"Hark! Wizard!" it calls out, unseen. "I dare say you must be a wizard, unless stonemasons have begun to keep company with spirit owls in recent times."
The voice chuckles softly. "Tell me, why do you disturb the great Sanbalet's studies with such violence and tomfoolery?"
Zalo moves up towards Ilseh and Tydir, and winks. He whispers something into his closed fist, then casts it down the stairs. A raspy, skeletal voice, dripping with malice and evocative of a hideous cross between cobwebs and nails on a chalkboard, echoes from below. It booms against the stone walls.
"The great Sanbalet, is it?" There is a hideous, screeching chuckle. "Well, I am the great Tarzhik, and you are trespassing in my house. And have been for some time, by the looks of it. And with not even the common decency to spruce up the place while I've been gone these many years."
"Such dissssrespect! Such disssscourtesy!" The voice tsk-tsks. "You speak of violence, yet it is you who are in my home. Do not presume to lecture me."
"And yet,” the voice croaks, “I am feeling magnanimous. If you leave at once, no harm will befall you. If not, my associates will dispose of you. You have five minutes to make your decision."
There's a pause, followed by the sound of Ilseh's voice calling from below. "Wizard, please!" she laughs. "Not even the locals of Saltmarsh have uttered that name in two decades."
The voice returns to the suave, smooth one. "Now, would you like to try your introduction again? Who are you? And why do you bother me?"
Ilseh, her eyes and mouth wide in disbelief, looks at everyone around her... absolutely dumbfounded.
"I don't sound like that do I?" She mouths, the slightest of pinks hueing her cheeks.
Nicolas puts a hand to his chin and softly says, "Yes you do though usually more gruff, but their ability to mimic it is troubling.”
Looking at the big one, Tore raises an eyebrow with a smirk and shrugs.
Zalo lays a reassuring hand on Ilseh's knee, shaking his head firmly. "The vilest lies," he whispers.
Tore leans forward towards the stairs and speaks up. “Are ya the alchemist rumored ta have lived here? We didn't mean no harm in the first place, we didn't. I was comin’ ta deliver a warnin' when these idiots blasted me with arrows. We had no choice in defendin' ourselves.”
Again, there's a pause. Nicolas turns harshly to Torestorlim and whispers angrily, "Your frivolous use of your mouth has endangered all of us enough, I suggest you cease."
Tydir scowls at the dwarf. “In other words - keep your fool mouth shut. You’ve caused enough trouble!”
The voice below resumes. "Of what dangers, kind dwarf, does Sanbalet have to fear? Pray, tell me."
Torestorlim replies, “this house causes the town unease, it does. We're adventurers sent ta investigate. The lantern in the window upstairs and the secret tunnel tells me yer smugglers, ta which I have sympathy. The Loyalists won't be turnin’ a blind eye ta yer business, and next time they'll send an army instead of a group a ragtags. That ain't a threat but a warnin’. I lost everything fer my crimes and I'd prefer ta save ya the headache."
Sanbalet laughs again, gently. "First, you invade my domicile and kill my guards. Then you try to threaten me in the name—and the presumed voice—of a sage who's all but forgotten, save by bookworms and pedants. After which you invoke petty Saltmarsh politics. All in the name of helping poor, helpless Sanbalet."
The words “poor” and “helpless” are drawn out, and seething with sarcasm.
Torestorlim’s knuckles turn white around the grip of the paddle. In a low voice he says back at the party, "as stubborn as an old dwarf he is. Guess we're doin it yer way."
Zalo turns and hurries back to the entrance hall. He approaches Ned, who is in the middle of the room, gingerly trying to work the arrow out of his leg. There's blood everywhere. When he notices Zalo, he scoots away, his face wrenching into a scowl.
The gnome simply says, "Who is Sanbalet?"
Across Ned's face is an amalgam of emotion. It starts with fear, moves to confusion, then anger.
"How the **** should I know?" With a grunt of determination, Ned yanks the arrow out of his leg, biting his shoulder to stifle the pain. The teeth marks remain in his skin.
"Just leave me be, for Procan's sake," says Ned. "For anybody's sake! Or ******* kill me! At least the buggers who got me last night had the decency to knock me cold rather than toy with me like some sort of devil dog!"
"You're the one who came back here, friend," says Zalo. "To a place you said was too dangerous to stay in a moment longer. Well, go on and get yourself out if you find it unsafe." Zalo folds his arms and stands in the corridor.
"I was naked, you foot-high dog-knot!" Ned grabs a shoe from the floor next to him. "The place is dangerous because you're knockin' it down around me!" He raises the shoe to throw at the gnome in fury.
Then he stops. His eyes dart to the side, down the west hallway. He pauses, throws the shoe well past Zalo, missing his target by a full yard, and locks eyes with him. His eyes dart again to the west hallway.
Back in the scullery, the rest of the part is treated to another, more lengthy laugh, and Sanbalet continues. "You three—there are at least three of you—are the freshest jest Sanbalet has encountered in a very, very long time."
Alton quietly thinks out loud, ”You three are the best he’s heard in a long time? Ha!” Alton gives a wry smile, “Wait ‘til he gets a load of the rest of us. Let’s try to take him alive. He sounds like he might have a bounty on his head.”
"Still,” the deep voice continues, “you entertain. Sanbalet fears you not. Show yourselves! Introduce yourselves!"
The silence following Sanbalet’s invitation hangs in the air like a toxic fog. Finally, he speaks up again from the cellar. “Very well. I shall come up to meet you, if I must. You can tell me all about this looming threat.”
Nicolas backs up to the entrance of the scullery and indicates with his hands for the others to stack up. Alton steps back and tries to put on a non-threatening smile. He readies his rapier behind his back.
Sanbalet laughs, “I can only imagine the ragtag rabble that awaits up there, given the unsavory task you accepted. So far you’ve revealed a damsel and a dwarf, one of whom is a sophomoric wizard, and the other a fine swordsperson, if one were to judge from this new corpse of mine.”
There’s the sound of a footstep on the bottom stair. “Unless, of course, there are actually four of you in total? I do believe that’s the preferred number meddlesome adventurers flock about the land in.”
The footsteps continue, slowly, accompanied by the occasional thump of a wooden staff. They’re ascending the scullery stairs.
Ilseh and Tydir spot something and brace themselves, peering intently downward. The barbarian nods to her companion, "That's an illusion. Now why would they need tricks such as that?"
“Blades out and eyes up people,” Tydir shouts in warning, spinning and heading back into the kitchen. “We've got an ambush coming!”
As Zalo catches sight of Ned’s eyes, a look of dawning realization sweeps over the gnome's face. "Yes, ahem. Well, if you'll excuse me, I don't need any more footwear thrown at me today." He suddenly turns back towards the kitchen, an extremely concerned expression on his face.
"There's more smugglers in the west hallway, and Ned's a traitor!" he hisses with alarm to his companions. "This whole speech is just a distraction!"
Ned stares incredulously at Zalo, and his face twists into a frustrated rage. "What?" he shouts. "No! No!
"You absolute, bloody..." the man begins, raising his arm to point to the west corridor—but he stop short and begins to scramble to his feet in panic.
Alton exhales heavily. He knows Sanbalet is dangerous and needs to be taken out. He turns the corner to the stairs and weaves between the legs of Ilseh and Tydir.
Staring up at him is a wizened old man with long gray hair, a silver cloak. The man is slowly plodding up the stairs, his gnarled staff thumping on the wood with every other step.
Alton charges. Dodging his robes and legs, he slips behind the figure and stabs upwards with his rapier as he shouts, “Sanbalet?! More like Staba-augh!!"
Alton sees his perfectly maneuvered rapier go straight through an illusion! He glances behind him and then runs back upstairs. As he reaches the top step Alton sounds exasperated as he says, “Gah! I just stabbed an illusion of an old man! Clever wizard!”
The halfling stumbles at the top step, and falls to his knees. Quick as lightning, Ilseh reaches down and grabs him by the arm. She drags him back into the scullery, shoves him into the middle of the room, then steps sideways, out of sight of the stairs, drawing her sword.
Alton is sweating profusely at the sudden burst of adrenaline rushing through his system. He looks up to Ilseh and blurts out a quick “Thanks!” before finding a spot next to the door to the scullery, hoping to find partial cover as he peeks around the corner towards the stairs.
“The old man is an illusion," Ilseh whispers back to the rest in the scullery. "Stay back and wait.”
Nearby, Tydir hears Zalo and Ned shouting. With little hesitation, he heads down the hallway towards the entryway. “Ilseh, hold the rear here, I'll help Zalo!”
Watching Tydir move off, Nicolas considers the group’s position. They had two confirmed enemies to the west and nothing more than an illusion of an old man on the other end. For the moment the only rear to hold would be dragging Zalo or Ned from danger.
"Ilseh, I can hold the rear against an illusion just fine, however there seem to be a good number of people that require halving in the west hallway,” he calls out. “Perhaps you can handle that?"
Without turning to Nicolas, Ilseh answers, "You don't trust the rest of 'em? I'm sure they've got it."
Tore nods. “I’ll be right down the hallway, yell if ya need me." Pulling a dart from his belt, he runs through the kitchen down the hallway towards Zalo, elbowing through the crowd of friendlies already gathered there.
Unfazed, Nicolas readies himself in case the enemies’ charge proves too aggressive, and they seek to push into their temporary headquarters. He hopes the front line of a wizard and a traitor could perhaps hold long enough for reinforcements.
The slow footsteps and occasional wood-on-wood clomping sound continue up the stairs. The old man crests the top of the stairs, into the scullery, but thanks to Ilseh's and Alton’s warning, the illusion is clear now; the figure is transparent, like a ghost. It continues ahead until it disappears through the north scullery wall.
A few seconds of silence later, there's the erratic sound of multiple sets of boots rushing up the steps. They stop just short of emerging into the scullery, just on the other side of the wall Ilseh and Alton are pressed against.
In the entrance hall, Ned and Zalo are in trouble. Closing in on them from the west hallway are two stalking figures. In the lead is a woman with a crossbow, wearing a black knit cap and leather armor. Just askew behind her is a large goblinoid with pale green skin, wielding a longbow, clad in plate armor and wearing a purple cloak.
Scrambling to his feet, Ned rushes towards Zalo, a look of unadulterated terror on his face. The woman drops her crossbow, draws her sword, and charges; the large greenish man is close on her heels.
As Ned passes the balcony rubble from Torestorlim's fall earlier this morning, he pauses and stoops down to grab a hefty piece of 2x4. Then, twisting his entire body back, he spins and lunges, flinging the board desperately with both hands towards the two assailants rushing out of the west hallway. He doesn't even wait to see if it lands; he simply resumes his scramble towards the north hall.
The board sails across the room in a low arc, spinning through the air as if on an invisible potter's wheel, and lands square in the face of the advancing swordswoman. She screams and drops her weapon, both hands clamping over her face, blood gushing down her chin from beneath her fingers. The sword and board clatter to the floor—along with what sound to be a few teeth—and the woman stoops forward in pain, stumbling erratically to a halt in the middle of the room.
An arrow suddenly whistles down from the north hall, over Zalo’s and Tydir’s heads, and into the swordswoman’s side. She crumples onto the floor.
Nicolas, who had been waiting patiently in the kitchen door at the far end the north hall, had found his mark. Tydir, just in front of him, is waiting for the next, crossbow held close to his face.
The hobgoblin, already nocking an arrow on the run, veers around his fallen comrade. The movement was enough to foul Tydir's aim; the dwarf’s bolt sizzles down the hall, past his allies, and above the hobgoblin’s head, lodging with a loud thump into the front door of the house.
The creature looks up and sees five people aligned all the way down the north hallway and into the kitchen: Ned, Zalo, Torestorlim, Tydir, and Nicolas. He turns his head towards the west hallway and shouts a single word in goblin. Then, with a sneer that makes his flattened nose appear even flatter, he draws his bow.
Ned flattens himself against the wall as an arrow narrowly misses him and sticks into the floor next to Zalo. The gnome yelps with fright, then scampers back down the hall, pushing past Tydir with some difficulty, and holds his hands up in a strange pose, a few inches apart, as if waiting to clap.
The moment the gnome locks eyes with the hobgoblin, he claps and shouts "Sonoros!" down the hallway. A reverberating hum builds in intensity around the platemail-clad warrior, who screams in agony, clutching at his head. Trickles of brownish-red blood, as if from an old and neglected stain, gush from his ears as he collapses to the ground, the longbow clattering to the moldy floor beside him.
The face twitches briefly for a few moments and then is still.
Combat Round 2
From afar, Nicolas watches the female smuggler to ensure there's no further movement beyond the occasional death twitch. He felt no particular pride in his work, but certainly appeared to be taking things extra cautiously given the circumstances.
Without a word he turns back to the scullery and sweeps his vision to the cellar door, readying another arrow from his quiver. Ilseh is still pressed against the wall, waiting for the unknown assailants on the stairs to make their move. The mercenary positions himself against the kitchen-scullery door, just across from Alton.
Carefully, Alton steps out and mumbles something, then holds a soft note, like a gentle hum. Then he stares at the scullery staircase landing intently, ready to cast at the first enemy he sees.
Impatient as ever, Ilseh peeks her head around the stairway's corner. Immediately, a dark red hobgoblin encompasses much of her view. He lets out a beastly howl. There’s the snap of a crossbow from behind him, and the pale woman ducks back, just in time, out of its deadly trajectory, the bolt thumping loudly into the scullery wall next to the arrow meant for Tore a few minutes ago.
In split-second effort, Ilseh wheels back around the wall and grabs at the hob, attempting to pull him out of the security of the staircase, but there is now an illusory wall in place before her, blocking her sight. It looks very similar to Zalo’s own wall, with one difference: a pattern of yellowed bricks are arranged in the shape of a giant, smiling face.
It seems Sanbalet is trying to best his fellow wizard.
From below, in the cellar, slightly louder than before, comes Sanbalet's voice. "Ah! One of my esteemed guests! Please, feel at home!"
Gentle, calm laughter echoes up from below.
Ilseh reaches blindly through the illusion, but fails to harness a proper hold of the creature. Retreating behind her two allies in the kitchen doorway, she curses under her breath about cocky magic users. She reaches down for her pack and finds what she was looking for immediately- hanging from her dropped gear- a metal, toothy hunting trap. Yup. I'm tossing you down there.
The sound of bootfalls resume on the stairs. Around the corner, into the scullery, comes a six-foot tall, burgundy-skinned hobgoblin wearing a set of scale armor that is engraved with fine blue lines depicting various sea life: starfish, shells, seaweed, and fish. The creature pauses after emerging, trying to get his bearings after passing through the illusory brick wall. Both Nicolas and Alton make their attacks.
Alton shouts, “Hey look a hobgoblin! Soon to be, uh,” panic grips Alton’s face as he struggles to rhyme, “hobblin! Yeah! Um, cause you’re gonna get hurt and...” Alton slowly becomes more quiet, “maybe hobble around because of your injuries...”
The hobgoblin looks towards the halfling and pauses, cocking his head. Just then, Nicolas lets loose his arrow, which glances off the creature's right shoulder, lodges slightly in the wall, hangs a moment, then clatters to the floor.
The goblinoid's face shifts a shade brighter. Drawing his longsword, he charges towards the kitchen.
On the hobgoblin's heels, emerging from the cellar, is another guard, a towering human man with well tended shoulder-length blonde hair, wearing a weathered, black leather armor vest. In his grasp at his side is a drawn and locked crossbow.
As the hobgoblin charges, the man pauses a moment at the top of the stairs, glancing to his left. Seeing the halfling and the human taking cover behind the doorway, he steps backwards into the far corner of the room, raises his weapon, and fires.
Alton quickly pulls himself back behind cover, and the bolt lands with a loud knock, sinking deep into the other side of the wall.
With a primal shout the hobgoblin leaps forward through the doorway, between Nicolas and Alton, bringing the sword down in a vertical arc towards Ilseh. The barbarian steps aside deftly. The blade bites deep into wood planks, sending meaty chunks of centipede flying and tumbling across the floor.
Out in the entrance hall, Ned surveys the two dead bodies, and his eyes fall upon the smashed guard's scimitar. He scurries with a limp out of the doorway and leans down to grab it. When he begins to stand, his eyes move quickly to the west hallway, and he immediately moving in that direction.
"Watch it!" he shouts to Tydir, scrambling low to the left. "There's another one down there!"
Still wearing only a long-sleeved shirt and underwear, Ned pins himself against the wall to the left of the doorway, his sword raised in preparation for attack.
A few moments later a tawny-skinned bowman creeps carefully to the end of the west hallway. Tydir, catching a glimpse of the man, fires his crossbow, but the shot is just barely wide of its mark, and the bolt hits the doorway molding, splintering wood across the floor at the bowman's feet.
The enemy carefully lines up a shot of his own against the dwarf and returns fire, then ducks back down the hallway, out of sight. The arrow drives into Tydir's midsection, knocking the wind from him and spinning him on his heel, to the flooor.
Up the scullery, there's the sound of lighter footfalls coming up the stairs. From around the corner emerges a young-looking elf with short-cut black hair and a nauseatingly handsome face. He wears a gaudy, red, cavalier hat with three peacock feathers in, an intricately-stitched purple vest, and poof-legged black pantaloons.
He looks very much like an elvish dancer.
Without hesitation he sweeps his gaze to the left, directly towards the kitchen, and smiles. "Ah! We meet at last!"
It's Sanbalet.
With a saccharine smile he surveys the scene: a cowering halfling and human in the doorway, and his personal hobgoblin bodyguard in the middle of the kitchen, engaged with at least one unseen enemy.
Sneering arrogantly, Sanbalet raises his left hand in the air with three digits outstretched, and swings them forward, towards the doorway.
"Wrath!" he shouts loudly, and a purple point of light erupts from each finger, careening erratically towards the doorway.
Two veer towards Nicolas, taking him by surprise as they smash him hard into the wall behind him. He remains on his feet but can already feel a bloodiness to his exhale as he composes himself.
Alton attempts to duck back behind cover, but the magic missile hooks around the corner of the wall, and slams into the halfling's right shoulder, sending him staggering, the leather on his shoulder smoldering.
With another laugh, Sanbalet steps back behind the wall, onto the cellar stairs.
At the far end of the north hallway, Zalo clambers to his feet, sweating profusely and unsure which direction to go. But seeing the magic missiles sail into the kitchen from the scullery, he judges this the greater threat and hopes to buy them a little more time—and cover.
He keeps his distance, briefly making eye contact with Alton and Nicolas. "Keshertoo!" he intones, and points at the distant scullery doorway, holding his closed fists together, and then stretching them apart diagonally the way one might with a ball of dough.
The spell sounds a bit like the arcane version of a sneeze, but the effect is unmistakeable: a pane of frosted glass materializes in the doorway between Nicolas and Alton, leaving a narrow gap between it and the floor that blocks sight from the scullery into the kitchen melee. The still image of a roaring lion's face with ravenous fangs is etched onto both sides, its magnificent and flowing mane comprised entirely of shadowy flames. Its eyes are not eyes at all, but pools of total darkness, the glass smoothed into a flat surface and dyed opaque. Around the edge of the pane, mystic runes flare into existence. He slyly winks at his companions as he inclines his head toward the pane.
"Several of your companions are quite dead!” Zalo muses aloud to the stoic hobgoblin as he retreats into the hallway. “Might you be next, I wonder?"
Combat Round 3
"Or, might you?" retorts Sanbalet, unseen behind the illusory pane of glass.
The hobgoblin seems to take no notice of Zalo’s taunt, and instead squares up with Ilseh for a second attack.
Emboldened by the cover of the illusion, Alton lunges at the creature from behind like a small child tackling a loving father in a friendly game, the only difference being that Alton is trying to stab much taller hobgoblin to death. The results are the same though. In both cases the larger figure is left unhurt and possibly laughing at the smaller one's vain attempts. In this case, Alton curses as his rapier deflects off the hobgoblin's armor.
From down the north hallway Tydir sees the onslaught in the kitchen. Still on one knee, grimacing in pain at the arrow in his gut, he pushes himself upright and stumbles further up the corridor. There he draws a bead on the foul creature with his crossbow, and calls upon Procan's blessing to drive his bolt home.
As soon as he squeezes the release, Tydir knows his strike will find it's mark. His bolt whizzes past the melee and into the hobgoblin's back, sending it sprawling dead onto the floor next to Ilseh.
Tydir feels the last of his strength begin to seep from his wound. Collapsing to the ground, he fumbles and loads another bolt into his crossbow, hoping against hope that they survive this ambush.
Alton looks up from the fallen foe at his feet, and sees Tydir in great pain. The halfling sends him a healing word: "Injured you are, my friend Tydir! May these words of healing not be the last that you hear!"
After a short pause, Tydir gets to his feet.
From behind the illusion, in the scullery, a voice shouts out: "Lion! There's a- a- a lion-thingy in the door!"
"Nitwit!" replies Sanbalet with a hint of irritation in his voice. “Look closer! It's an illusion!"
With the hobgoblin assailant defeated, Nicolas was given another clear shot into the room, and hopefully at that Sanbalet fellow. He steps quickly through the illusion. Disappointingly, he only could see another smuggler pointing a bow back at him. But Nicolas’s fingers were faster and he loosed an arrow toward the man, piercing his outer arm. The enemy grasps the arrow and tears is quickly from his flesh.
Barely waiting for the results he puts his back fully against the wall a few steps away from the doorframe, hoping to stay out of sight and out of mind of any further attacks from the scullery. Turning back to the kitchen, though, he saw his companions pretty majorly exposed to more attacks. "Get to cover!" He shouts, "or else you're going to end up pincushions!"
With a final click, Ilseh completes her task. With an armed hunting trap in hand, she turns around to face the remaining foe in the scullery. She whips the metal contraption in a sharp circle for good measure, and lets it fly through the scullery door- only it heads straight up to the ceiling, the trap's jagged teeth biting into the wood.
Ilseh brings her shield arm above her head to cover her from the falling debris, as well as her face from the slight embarrassment, stepping slightly backward as the trap falls back down before her.
Damnit! She thinks as she coughs the dust and splinters a few times. Nonetheless, she procures her blade and readies it in front of her body. She's already proven what she can do with a good sword in her hand- she may have to do it again.
Tore, who had been too late to help in the entrance hall, finally returns to the kitchen. He immediately springs through Zalo’s illusion, and into the scullery.
Seeing the guard at the landing, the dwarf jumps, left leg extended, the other tucked under himself. The guard shoves the incoming foot aside, sending Tore into a spin. He untucks his leg, makes purchase with the floor boards, and spins on his ball of his foot while blindly extending his arm with a clenched fist. The spin stops abruptly as the fist slams into the cheek of the guard.
Looking down the stairs behind him, the drunken dwarf yells, "E's right here he is! Sanbalet’s at the top of the stairs!"
Sanbalet furrows his brow and booms, "Downstairs! Now!"
The guard next to Torestorlim lowers his bow, grabs the dwarf and flings him aside, then runs down the stairs. Sanbalet spins around and storms after him. Both men pause at the bottom, the guard taking up a defensive position, and Sanbalet reaching for his pouch.
With Tore’s warning, Zalo scampers into the scullery and towards the stairwell, his feet pitter-pattering on the boards of the ancient and crumbling house. Peeking from behind Tore, he makes a crushing motion with his left fist and sweeps it out down the stairwell. "Somnolescur!" A cloud of glittering teal and purple sparkles briefly appears at the base of the stairs. The particles waft on an invisible wind, engulfing the cellar in a surreal and dreamlike quality as they swirl around Sanbalet and the guard. Then just as quickly, they vanish. Zalo blinks, slightly disoriented from his proximity to the effect.
The gnome watches with mixed emotions as the guard immediately keels over, unconscious and snoring loudly, but Sanbalet remains standing as he digs for something in his pack. "One more of them down!" he squeaks up the stairwell in a strained voice.
Combat Round 4
Emboldened, Alton charges after Zalo and Tore, hoping to catch up with the friends. As he reaches the cellar his eyes go wide, and he gasps out in surprise.
Sanbalet jerks his hand out of his satchel. It's clenched into a fist and pulsing with energy. Crooking the fingers of his opposite hand into an arcane symbol, he raises it backwards and into the air like a dancer's flourish.
"You! Will! Burn!" he shouts, flinging his clenched fist towards the top of the stairs with each word. Each time, a searing beam of flame and heat roars from his knuckles: one at Alton, one at Zalo, and one at Torestorlim.
Alton tries to cover his face as the blast of fire scorches his skin. He yells in pain as the flames lick him, burning off arm hair and a few layers of skin. After the localized inferno dies down Alton lowers his arm and stumbles a bit, but catches himself on the wall.
Zalo and Torestorlim are no better off. The tiny gnome, who had just finished a spell of his own, is sent flying backwards, through the pottery shards, and into the scullery wall. Miraculously, he is still standing. The dwarf, too, is sent reeling back, but catches the doorjamb with his un-maimed hand, steadying himself.
With Sanbalet likely too far away to reach this turn for a melee strike, Alton raises his chin and shouts with all his fury, "You are a sickening man, Sanbalet! Your evil plans have seen their last day!"
He then turns to see Zalo and Tore, also still standing from the scorching blast, and gives the dwarf a little bardic inspiration, "Tore! Get this guy! Get him fast! Any longer and we won't last!"
With no room to the left or right on the staircase, Torestorlim crouches down at the top and rips a dart between Alton's legs, the fletching whistling just past the head of Sanbalet. The force of the throw dropping him to his belly, he rolls behind the cover stairwell and makes his way back to his feet.
The cacophony of explosions at the top of the scullery steps gives Nicolas a particular sense of dread. Ned and Tydir were engaging with another foe to the west, but the wizard was proving a tenacious foe that needed exterminating. He nocks another arrow into place and made it halfway down the stairs quickly before taking aim at the half-elf. He knew aiming to kneecap a wizard would be difficult, the angle was wrong and his clothing too loose to ensure the shot would hit. He sent an arrow singing toward the center of mass of the wizard, and finding a nice home in his side.
Back in the entrance hall, barefoot and pantsless Ned carefully peeks around the corner of the west hallway, then snaps back against the safety of the wall. He waves at Tydir.
With slow, careful hand signals, Ned points at Tydir, then to the middle of the entrance hall. He raises a make-believe crossbow, pretending to shoot down the west hallway. Then he points at himself, making a running-fingers motion, and points down the hallway, towards the enemy.
After he's finished, he lowers his sword and steps away from the wall slightly, settling halfway into a runner's stance.
“Ned is moving!” Tydir shouts as he moves into the entrance hall. “I'm covering. Watch my back.”
As soon as the dwarf takes his first step, Ned steps out into the west hallway and charges down the corridor. The archer, waiting with his bow drawn, releases the string. Ned grunts in pain as the arrow finds his bloodied leg, sinking deep into the thigh. But the half-naked man continues on, flattening himself against the door of the north room, giving Tydir a clear shot down the hallway.
Tydir lifts his cocked crossbow and takes aim down the long hallway, watching as the half-naked stranger sprints towards near certain death. When Ned clears his line of sight, Tydir lets loose his prepared shot, skewering the bowmen at the other end of the hallway.
In a rushed panic, Ned steps back out into the corridor, and flings his sword madly at the swordsman. The enemy easily ducks it, however, and the weapon clangs to the floor and against the west wall of the room.
Turning for the safety of the room behind him, Ned opens the door to the north and steps inside.
The bowman moves to nock another arrow, but thinks twice when he sees Tydir turning the crank of his crossbow. Instead, he retreats into the trap door, and pulls the hatch shut behind him.
Ilseh, still in the scullery, sees that the center of combat has moved elsewhere. She barges her way down through the densely crowded stairway. "Move! Get out of the way!"
Re-equipping her shield, she stands over the sleeping guard, at Sanbalet's flank, and readies herself for any incoming attack. "I can take the heat!"
In the cellar, Sanbalet is all but surrounded. His last guard is asleep before him, and the pale, crazed woman is standing over the figure, sword and shield at the ready. Nicolas and Alton are on the stairs, a stone's throw away, with the drunken dwarf leering down from above.
With a panicked expression, he reaches into his satchel and procures a small pinch of something. "Razzle!" he shouts, and flings something up the stairs in an underhand motion, wiggling his fingers afterwards. Suddenly a strobing rainbow erupts from his digits, blasting Alton and Nicolas with light while sending eerily colored shadows up onto the scullery wall.
As Nicolas rubs his eyes helplessly, Alton yells in surprise. He blinks and covers his eyes with one hand, but after the assault he sees nothing but white, even in this dark cellar.
He does, however, hear Sanbalet step away and strikes back at the offending wizard. He thrusts the rapier towards where he remembered Sanbalet standing, and feels some resistance as it skewers some part of him.
Sanbalet screams in pain, and turns to flee; Ilseh, who was unaffected by the spell, steps in and lands an attack of her own on the retreating wizard.
Alton does his best little halfling duck and weave, hoping to present a harder target for anyone trying to strike him. He says to those around him, “Augh! I’m blind! Oh gods I’m blind! Help me! Don’t let them escape!”
The wizard staggers away and disappears through the secret door, and his footsteps pause. "Where are the others?" his voice echoes authoritatively. There's a muffled, distant reply. "What? By two of them!? Imbeciles!"
There's a silence, and then the hollow sound of metal, like a cooking pot being thrown across the room, followed by a few more rapid footsteps.
Again Sanbalet's voice, this time cordial and refined, comes crooning from the secret door, towards the party. "Right! Stop it! Stop, I say! Cease fire! Sanbalet surrenders!"
Earthday, Harvester 20th, 469 CY
Front of Zalo’s residence
Early morning
It’s daybreak, but there’s no sign of the sun. The Saltmarsh fog is thicker than normal today, rendering the street outside Zalo’s room all but dark. The dampness feels like a death shroud.
All six adventurers are there, at the doorstep, waiting in pensive silence. There’s a muted clattering to the north, and moments later a man arrives, emerging from the depths of white mist. He’s wearing an eyepatch, and is unshaven. He pulls behind him a handcart.
The man sets the handles of the cart down. “You must be Zalo,” he says flatly. “Ain’t many gnomes in Saltmarsh.”
He reaches into his pocket and draws out a cigarette, already rolled and ready to smoke. It takes him three times to light it on account of the moist air. Then he reaches into the front of the cart, draws out a worn leather portfolio, and opens it.
His eyes dart up from the page to the group. “Y’know, that list of yours that y’gave Solmer totaled over a thousand gold worth of equipment.”
He champs down on his cigarette, and returns his gaze to the papers. “Quartermaster Trag was for sure we was outfittin’ the Keoish Navy for their next sortie against the Sea Princes.”
Drawing a paper out of the binder and waving it in the air, he continues. “Just where’n the Nine Hells you goin’? The Empire of Iuz? For a year?”
He peers down at the paper and points his finger to a line. “I been on a ship for six and ten months at a time, and we only used but two healer’s kits. You guys wanted nearly a dozen.”
He grins widely. “Anyways, if you ain’t figured it out yet, there weren’t no captain that’d quarter this leviathan of a list. Not all of it anyways. And a few of ‘em even laughed at me, thought it was some new-guy runaround. Sent me on, to the next ship."
"‘Go ask Captain Sampson for the aged groo-yay,’ one says to me after I give him the list. ‘He gots the company cheese this week.’”
“Anyways.” The man clears his throat and adjusts his eyepatch, then begins piling the goods on the walkway as he checks off his list.
“One flask of lantern oil. A pouch of nails. A hammer, slightly rusty.”
He looks up. “Course they ain’t gonna part with the good stuff.”
“Ten sticks of chalk and a candle. Fifty foot of hempen rope. A crowbar. One potion of healing and two healer’s kits.”
He moves around to the other side of the cart. “A wooden round shield and two daggers. Non-silver.”
Again he pauses. “Weapons’re scarce on the seas. An’ ya can’t use a shield and tow a line at the same time. Takes one too many hands. So they’d of probably thrown it out, anyways.”
He returns to hefting items out of the cart. “One two-pound sack of flour. A small sack of garlic. To go with the rope, it says.”
He draws out a large block wrapped in brown paper. It looks wet. “I was told I had to verify this one word-for-word—‘one hunk of premium-aged cheese.’”
The deliveryman slaps the block down onto the pile. It’s clear from the grease seeping through the butcher paper that this cheese might be aged, but it’s most definitely not premium.
“So old Kilroy from the Lamplight provided the cheese. But only on the condition I found out who’n their right mind asks for cheese.”
Zalo grins widely, taking a step forward and already fumbling at his belt for the knife. "That's me. Want a slice?" He unwraps the wet hunk and carves off a piece.
"To hells with it,” the man says. ”It'll make a good story back on the deck. Gimme a piece."
His mouth full of cheese, the courier looks down at the pile of gear on the ground. "So that's that, then. Anything else? Any messages you need sent back to the boss-man?"
Alton’s pack is stuffed with all his worldly possessions. He’s in his normal brown pants, white shirt, and green cloak. He approaches and looks up at the man and says excitedly, “Oh! Oh! The hammer and nails were for me! And the flour!”
He then turns to the group and holds the flour with both of his hands, “Just a few more and I’ll have a bouquet of flours!” He giggles excitedly at his own joke.
He continues, “I was hoping for the axe, but I suppose one of my stronger friends here can fill that role in case a door needs opening.”
Alton holds up the hammer and nails. “And these in case one needs to stay shut. The flour can be sprinkled on the ground to look for footprints, and if there’s any left I can make some fishcake!”
“Hmm...I should have asked for sugar...” He looks at the cheese and wonders aloud, “I suppose I can improvise...”
The courier finishes his piece of cheese. "Huh. Ain't half bad, when you look at how much it's weepin' in that wrapper."
"Right, then." The man puts his portfolio back into the cart. "I'm off.”
"Mind yourself the day, wherever yer goin'. A fog this thick can only be an ill token for somebody. For better or for worse, Procan's got his eye on Saltmarsh this mornin.'"
He eyes the party one more time, then grabs his handcart and clatters away into the fog.
Tydir turns to the party. Clad in his customary salt-stained boots and cloak, he's added a vicious-looking, curved blade and buckler to his right hip, the ingenious rig clearly one of his own creation.
“Procan's eyes are on us, indeed. I know not what lies ahead of us, but I do know he has set this task in front of each of you - and tasked me with assisting your efforts.”
With that, he draws the small, intricately carved knife from his belt and uses it to prick his thumb. Shaking his fist as he speaks, Tydir sprays a few drops of blood into the air in front of the party, his voice shifting down an octave and taking on a sing-song quality:
“Wind, waves and tides stand before you. Water, salt and iron gird you. Procan provides, Procan protects.”
With that, he lowers his hand and a smile breaks out across his face.
“Well then, the formalities are covered right and proper, aren't they. Anyone else need to do anything before we set off?”
Munching on a slice of cheese and rearranging items on his belt, Zalo mumbles, "A bit disappointing about the vials. But I'm ready when you all are!"
Nicolas slides the dagger behind his back, and fits the chalk and other odds and ends into various pockets and holders on his belt. He wipes off the dust from his black gloves, and pulls his slightly wetted hair back from his head as he straightened his back.
"I am prepared" he adds simply.
Crumbs of the greasy, pungent cheese fall to the ground from Zalo’s mouth, languishing slowly in a puddle of saltwater spray. "I don't know how Procan feels about cheese, but my word, this is delicious."
Alton stuffs his new items into his pack, rearranging things to fit everything in. He straps in and says, “I’m ready! Lets get going."
After the last of Solmers’s delivery is divided and packed, the party disembarks. They follow the road south from Zalo’s doorstep, around the corner, past the docks and fishmonger’s plant, to the east. Even in the fog the stench of the fishmonger’s plants are unbearable.
“OOO! OOO! OOO!,” says Alton. “I can play a marching song! I’ve always wanted to play a marching song!”
Left right left right
Going off to fight!
Left right left right
Succeed? Yes we might!
At the edge of town the path begins ascending along a bluff and past The Leap, where it’s said that locals throw themselves into the sea after a loved one perishes at sea.
Thankfully, despite the poor visibility, the journey’s pace is solid. The road is easy to follow, and Alton’s song (combined by the wet, chilly air) encourages a brisk step.
Before long, the front ranks stumble to a halt at a post. It marks a fork in the road. The rest of the party gathers around.
To the post are nailed two hand-written signs.
The sign on the left is older, with faded and chipped paint, and simply reads:
Seaton
The one on the right looks new, with solid, fresh paint:
Copperlocks Mine
Seaton
and carved at the bottom with a knife, a helpful traveler scrawled:
Danger! Ghost House
Torestorlim perks up when he sees the sign. "Ey wait a minute, dwarf! Stoneheart...Stoneheart... Now I 'member I do! You were them folk biddin' fer the mine 'gainst the Copperlocks! HEH! Best hope yer misfortune 'as run it's course. Losin' again at a time like this... well.. it ain't the time!"
Tydir looks up sharply at Tore's mention of the Copperlocks’s contract, but then smiles as he realizes his fellow dwarf is looking to score points of some sort at his expense.
“That was a lifetime ago my friend, and a story best left for another time and place.”
And while he dismissed Tore's comments out loud, he can't stop thinking about them, and finds himself wondering just how much the slovenly dwarf knows.
Zalo scoffs incredulously as he sees the sign. "Ghost House, indeed. That's just the sort of thing I'd write if I were an eccentric alchemist and didn't want to be bothered by the town riffraff asking me for free potions all day."
Nicolas steps to the sign, running his gloves along the painted and carved letters.
Alton ponders to the group, "You know, if someone was able to carve the letters ‘Ghost House’ on the sign, then that means someone was able to both learn it was haunted and still escape alive to carve the warning. So maybe it's not so bad!"
His optimistic smile then drops and he says, "Unless...unless the ghosts carved the letters...oh...oh hmm..."
"Rest easy Alton,” replies Nicolas, “I doubt a specter carved a sign so far away from what would be their abode. The sign was carved much before the rest of the painted signage was added so any recent paranormal activity would be ruled out."
He flakes off some wood scrapes from his gloves. "I suspect Zalo might be on the correct mindset, the 'ghost house' moniker was one assigned before the recent troubles, and could possibly be linked to the previous owner's desire for privacy."
Before the group leaves, the gnome summons his owl onto the post, and the two lock eyes. It then turns, flaps away briefly, beginning to rise, but immediately swoops back down onto the road ahead, just as it's fading from sight in the white shroud. It retreats back to the group in short bounds, half-hopping and half-flying. When it reaches Zalo, it looks at him and cocks its head.
Zalo nods and kneels down to one knee so it can hop up. He smiles and taps his shoulder. The owl flutters onto Zalo's shoulder, settles in, and begins to preen the gnome's neat beard.
The party proceeds to the right, along the old coast road. It’s still on an ascent, but the climb is much less severe, almost level. At times a rocky precipice looms dangerously out of the fog, near to the path, to the right. In the distance below, the sound of crashing waves can be heard.
The fog begins to grow brighter, glowing with light. Suddenly, as if by some unoerthly magic, the party breaks free of it, stepping through the nebulous threshold, blinking into the sun on the horizon directly before them.
The owl on Zalo’s shoulder ruffles its feathers a moment, pivots its head around, and leaps off of him, taking flight up the road ahead, ascending steadily into the sky.
As everyone’s eyes begin to acclimate to the blinding light, a bucolic scene surrounds them. A large hill rises to the left, to the northeast, covered by rolling fields of wheat. Dew glistens prismatically from the ends of leaves and wheat-spikes, creating a shimmering rainbow upon the hillside. To the right a sheer bluff drops away to a breathtaking view of the Azure Sea. Fog and scud clouds zoom over the tops of the waves.
The party continues along the well-established road, and the fields on the left begin to grow disheveled, untended, and rank with weeds. The fog creeps back in patches, blasting faces with a clammy breeze from time to time. Soon the sun disappears altogether, and only occasional patches of cold light can be seen out over the water. The wind picks up, and a briny stink of churning salt water fills everyone’s nostrils.
The road begins a sharp turn to the left, around a steep bluff on the right, when there it looms over the crest: the haunted house.
Dilapidated, unwholesome, and decaying, it stands like a forgotten tomb upon the highest point of the cliff. All around the property, which butts up directly against the road, a stone wall has crumbled in many places, exposing the interior grounds. An ornate metal gate lies open close by, where the road meets the foot path. It sways slightly in the wind.
The party slinks through the gate, and up the hill for a closer look. The path is faded and overgrown with weeds, winding its way up the seaward side of the hill towards the front door. Wild flora grows throughout the inner yard all around, and a rotted wooden roof of a water well rises out of the tall grass next to the footpath, on the west side of the building. All the years of wild growth cannot hide the evidence of a well-tended garden that once sat on the east side.
The steep path completes its ascent up the south side of the house, past the well, and dangerously close to the cliff. A stumble could mean certain death by what looks to be a two-hundred-foot plummet, to the beach. But everyone carefully makes their way up without issue, and gathers at the front door.
The house is over two stories tall, with a gabled roof that has several holes from missing slate shingles. It's easy to see why people are reluctant to approach the place. Whatever color it was painted, it’s now brown and gray with salt and time. All of the windows on both floors are busted out, and only a single shutter remains on a second-floor window frame, hanging on by a single hinge. The sea breeze blows it to and fro, and it clatters harshly against the aged wood.
The front door sits in its frame at a rakish angle.
Current Roles:
GM - Fata Morgana: The Ghosts of Saltmarsh
Tydir carefully walks towards the path leading to the front door, looking for any signs of that someone, or something, that has been here recently. He leans forward, carefully inspecting the hinges and doorknob assembly of the off-kilter door
Nicolas seems to notice something toward the dilapidated remains of a well. He breaks away from the group as his attention fixes on the grass.
"Pardon me for a moment please, I need to examine something."
Perhaps it was a foolish endeavor to already break off from the group in uncertain territory, but Nicolas had a lead that he needed to follow. He approached closer and began examining the bones, trying to figure out their origin and the recentness of their departure from muscle and flesh.
Alton tags along to examine the bones. He readies his rapier as he whispers, "I saw those animal bones as well! Be careful. Whatever killed it may still linger."
As Alton walks, he looks carefully at the grasses leading to the grounds, for any dangerous creatures or animal traps.
Zalo's eyes narrow. "I'd be careful around that well and those bones! In my research around this place, I heard that giant weasels had been spotted here recently. The last thing I want is a nasty bite from one of those creatures."
The grim atmosphere means that even Zalo is beginning to wonder if his first assessment about this place might have been too hasty. Maybe there was something supernatural inhabiting this place. A nervous energy flits through him as he bustles about.
White-knuckling the grip of his paddle held at his side, rope of garlic around his neck, Tore tries his best to appear collected and calm, but it's easy to see he's rattled, by the potential vampires, ghosts, the 200-foot cliff a simple misstep away, or a combination of the three; it's hard to tell, but he's visibly anxious and sweating profusely. The armpits of the wine-polka-dotted robes are tinged a pale yellow, and his odor is worse than normal.
"Ey, gnome, can ya send yer bird up ta the windows there and get a look?"
The gnome nods at Tore's suggestion. "Certainly." He glances up at his owl, who begins circling the house.
"I suppose now is as good a time as any to make another introduction. That is Cahoots, my dear friend and sometimes research assistant. It's complicated, but we share a special bond and can communicate with... well, not words, exactly. More like pictures I can send him."
"And while our erstwhile owl is examining everything, could someone help me look for tracks? Or I'll help you! Either way, I'd like to see if something considerably more substantive than a spirit has been here recently."
Everyone seems too intent on their own explorations to help.
After carefully examining the path alone, the gnome stands on his tiptoes, trying to peer over the edge of the cliff from afar to see the beach at the bottom of the cliff.
Ilseh stands silently behind him, examining the house from afar.
Torestorlim wanders over to the well. Picking up a bone from one of the deceased animals, he flips it into the well and listens for the splash.
There’s a satisfying plunk of water that echoes from the depths of the well.
Curiously, there is another plunk.
Then the sound of crunching and grating rock, and a hailstorm of splashes at the bottom of the well. A raspy, scraping sound can be heard as something big is climbing—make that slithering—up the inside of the well.
Nicolas, crouched down at the bones, throws a critical eyes toward Torestorlim. "That was not wise, friend."
He begins backing away from the well and readies the dagger on his belt, kicking his pack off toward the house.
Alton looks up at the well. His eyes go wide as the realization of what’s happening dawns upon him. He runs back towards the house entrance as much as he can and drops his pack. With his rapier in one hand and flute in the other, he keeps his eyes locked on the well.
“Everyone move back! Whatever’s coming up that well is about to feel really tired!”
Combat Round 1
Suddenly, a square, serpentine head rears up over the edge, and strikes at Torestorlim. The dwarf lurches to avoid the bite, but he's too slow; quick as lightning, the serpent strikes him on the right shoulder.
The force knocks him back a few steps, and his hand moves to the wound. White fluid is seeping out from between his fingers, down his shoulder.
Torestorlim turns pale, stumbles, and collapses to the ground.
The snake finishes its ascent from the well, flopping with a thud onto the ground amongst the bones and rotted fur. It's enormous, as long as a man is tall, and it's covered in muted brown stripes.
Just behind it, another snake slithers out from the broken-down well, similarly patterned, though with a large chunk of its tail missing.
As soon as the second snake drops into the dirt from the well's edge, it coils back and strikes at Nicolas. But he was ready. He leaps back, avoiding the bite altogether.
Nicolas evaluates the situation and finds the odds incredibly unfavorable. He completes his roll away from the serpent and shouts out to the rest of the group, "We're under attack! Two serpents!" before disengaging from the melee combat that seemed to him to be something of a death wish. He goes at a full clip towards the front door of the house where the rest of the party was gathered.
Tore's chest is heaving, and foam begins to seep out of his mouth. His whole body goes rigid.
Zalo gasps in horror. "Tore!" His fingers are already moving through the practiced motions of a spell as he raises one hand. With his other hand he snaps twice and points at the snake that's attacking Nicolas.
Cahoots, who had been watching from a window of the house, spreads their wings and leaps, diving straight towards the snake. They extend their claws as if to grab at the thing, but veer away at the last second, then heads back up to his window sill again.
The gnome then levels his index finger at the serpent. A crackling jet of scarlet fire coils around his arm, then leaps through the air and sails toward the melee at the well. As it flies, the heat hisses against the morning moisture and salt spray from the beach below, sounding not unlike a snake itself. It slams into the tail of the creature.
Alton winces. He mentally shelves his previous plan and goes for a new approach: insults.
“Foul snake from beneath the ground, you’re so ugly you should be drowned!”
The snake recoils back in pain, hissing vehemently.
Then, in quick succession, Alton plays a series of magical tunes on his flute and directs their healing magic at the unconscious dwarf Tore. Alton hopes it is enough to prevent death, and with any luck, any permanent injury.
Torestorlim, lying on his back, coughs violently, spewing a volcano of blood and white spittle into the air. Glancing around, he instinctively reaches in pain for his right shoulder as he regains his bearings.
Tydir spins to assess the scene. Knowing no one is going to be able to take care of Tore until the snakes are either killed or drawn away, Tydir drops one hand to his ceremonial knife, holds his other hand palm out and calls out:
“Procan Protects! I smite thee in his name!”
As he finishes, a flash of blinding light erupts from his hand and shoots out towards both the serpents. The light sears into the scaly skin of one snake, and the creature curls up into itself like an ant under a magnifying glass, dead and crisped.
The other snake hisses in agitation, unaffected by the light.
Tydir then moves forward towards Tore, looking to close the gap as best he can while staying out of striking range.
The ocean magic, the owl, the insult—it all seems too much for the final snake. It doubles back, rearing its body up to climb the stones of the well to retreat back into the darkness.
Ilseh had been distracted by the house's dead nature. It was dismal, abandoned, grey and ashen.. it reminded her of a great man, now gone. Memories of her giant father flooded her view and only the shout of their hired hand, Nicolas, brought the pale woman to her senses.
Fluttering her wet eyes, she surveyed the current scene for the first time. The drunkard dwarf had fallen, gravely injured by the looks of it, and the rest of the party was in various modes of action.
It was snakes that had assaulted the party: one coiled, singed and burned. The other slithering away.
Drawing her shortsword, Ilseh placed herself in front of the prone dwarf, knees bent, body slightly hunched forward with the blade pointed before her.
"Someone pull him back!" She shouts, pointing at the gasping Tore without taking her eyes of the serpent. "Get him out of here!"
The snake raises its head over the lip of the well and pulls its body over the brink. Then it disappears over the edge. There's a scratchy, slithering sound, a few splashes, and then only the wind and the waves can be heard.
Current Roles:
GM - Fata Morgana: The Ghosts of Saltmarsh
Seeing the situation begin to de-escalate, Nicolas moves to assist Torestorlim. He rushes over and puts his ear to the dwarfs mouth, listening for air, then recoils at the smell of the dwarf a bit.
He gets up to his feet as the dwarf appears to be conscious. "Good to see you are still with us, master dwarf."
Almost as quickly as it had begun, it was over — but Zalo is still panting from the rush of combat nonetheless. He trots over to Tore and wipes the sweat from his brow. "Well, thanks to Alton's quick reflexes and Tydir's exemplary spellcasting, the threat has been repulsed. I am certainly grateful for such adept companions."
He fidgets for a moment before continuing and clears his throat. "That said, may I suggest that, in the future, we be just a tad more cautious in our explorations of conspicuous bone piles? I could have been swallowed alive and dragged into a watery grave by those things!" The gnome shudders, a full-body wriggle that could be mistaken for a very brief and ungraceful dance. "I'm glad they're gone."
Tydir moves to Tore, and reaches down to check on his fellow dwarf. Looking him over carefully, Tydir is amazed that the fool is still alive.
“I have no idea what’s in that claw you drink so much of, but either you’ve developed an immunity to poison or you’re the luckiest dwarf I’ve ever met. Either way glad you’re ok - no idea how you’re on your feet - but glad you are.”
He then turns his attention to the crisped snake husk and nudges it gently with his toe, still marveling at the power that poured out of his own hands.
Nicolas goes over to the well and cautiously peers over the edge to see if the snake is truly gone, keeping a tight grip to his dagger. Another attack like that would certainly not be appreciated and covering an exterior threat such as this would at the very least allow for them to rest easy and plan their next moves unmolested.
“I believe we are safe for the moment, though I'd caution against any further exploration," he says as he begins moving away from the well and kicks away one last animal bone from his feet.
Ilseh slings her blade by its hilt to her side, seeming satisfied with Nicolas' investigation.
Alton approaches the well and tries to peer over the side. He looks down into the darkness and says, “Those snakes must have come from somewhere. I wonder what else is down there?”
Coming to consciousness, still flat on his back, Tore sees Ilseh by his feet between him and the well. "I told 'anna not ta let anyone in me room! What's yer problem girl!" Feeling the wetness of his insides now dripping down and off his neck he grumbles "Did ya spill a drink on me?! I 'ate pranks girl! Don't cha be messin with me ever again while I'm sleepin, I warn ya!"
She rolls her eyes as she turns around to face the braggard dwarf. "It's a curious thing when you can't tell the difference between being drunk and being nearly poisoned to death, dwarf."
She starts walking towards the steps of the house, purposely walking by and past Tore. "Now let's disturb this one," she grumbles beneath her breath.
A mischievous smiles goes across Alton’s face, and he starts speaking excitedly. “Hey. Hey! HEY!! I just! I just had the best idea ever! What if I, I mean, what if we tied a rope around my waist and lowered me inside?! I’m small enough and can fit into any tiny area. If something goes wrong, I’ll tell or tug on the rope or use my message spell or something! But nothing could go wrong, right?! Who has the lantern? Let’s do it!”
Nicolas turns to Alton, expressionless. He looks the halfling over from head to toe and back again to discern if he might actually be serious, but says nothing. Determining that Alton might very well indeed be serious, or at the very least was making a poorly timed joke, he only sighs and shakes his head before heading off after Ilseh toward the steps of the house.
Alton says, “Hey! We already killed the snakes! At worst there’s something else down there, and you can pull me out. At best, who knows?! Maybe a diamond wedding ring! Or a magic dagger! Or, Oh! Oh! Maybe a secret entrance!”
Zalo draws himself up and then blows a stream of arcane bubbles into Alton's face, where they pop with a soft noise that sounds faintly like a duck quacking. "Absolutely not! And if either you or Tore try something similarly dunderheaded again I won't hesitate to push you down this well myself!" He huffs.
Cahoots lands on Tore's shoulder and nuzzles him briefly, before flapping away in an arc over the cliff and continuing their examination. "I saw that!" grumbles Zalo. "He doesn't deserve that sympathy!" calls the gnome after the owl, but they're already high aloft.
Alton looks at Zalo and asks, “Will you at least tie a rope to me first?”
"Around your neck, if I need to!" He jabs a finger in the air. "Foolishness and fiddlesticks! Poppycock and perfuffle!"
”Hey, if he wants to be a serpent's lunch,” Ilseh chimes as she turns her body to face the quarreling short people, hands on her hips, "by all means. He should also sing on his way down- give the snake a show along with its dinner."
Alton laughs. Thinking twice about doing something rash, he looks over the edge and into the well again.
His face crinkles a bit, and he slowly backs up from the well a few steps.
“So, uh, as much as I was insistent about going into the well, I’m having second thoughts. I think I see another snake down there. Perhaps we should kill it? You know, so it doesn’t sneak through the grass and kill us?”
"Leave the snake- and the well- be,” Ilseh fires back. “It's just defending it's home. I think most of us could share that instinct."
Zalo turns around immediately and casts a very worried glance at the well over Ilseh's shoulder. "It's still alive?" He looks apprehensive about her suggestion of leaving it be, but he doesn't say anything else for the moment.
“I agree with the big one here, says Tydir, nodding towards Ilesh. “We should leave the snake and the well alone, and concentrate on the house.” He gives one last glance at the snake corpse at his feet, then squares up and starts for the front door of the house.
"I accept ‘tall one.’” Ilseh replies.
Tydir snorts up at Ilesh. “Tall one it is then.”
Fighting a small grin, he motions her forward. “Shall we try the front door, oh tall one?”
The air goes out of Zalo as he sighs, resignedly, digging through his pack for something. "I suppose standing around out here arguing isn't going to do us any good. I'm sorry for my outburst, and I'm glad everyone is — more or less, anyway — still standing. But let's please try to be cautious. We don't know what's in there. Or out here, for that matter. " He finds what he was looking for: his leatherbound notebook, which he flips open and records a few notes.
"And only a methodical and careful approach is likely to yield results!" Zalo taps the quill on the page for emphasis. "At least, if we want to be alive at the end of today. I'm grateful that I'm at least with competent colleagues."
As the party has been discussing the next plan of attack, Cahoots had circled their way once around the entire house, and systematically began landing on the sill of each broken-out window to peer inside.
At one south-facing, upper-floor window, they suddenly ruffles their feathers and hoot. Rotating in place to face outwards, they spin their head back for another look into the room, then look down at Zalo.
When the gnome meets the owl’s gaze, Cahoots immediately stretches their wings, gives three practice flaps, and dives out of the window, taking to the air. They fly a tight circle over everyone’s heads, then light back upon the window ledge. Again he hoots.
Zalo nods at the barn owl as it preens its feathers, admiring the way the iridescent dew reflects off of it in the foggy gray morning. "Hm. Looks like there's something either moving or alive up there. I suppose that's as good as a place as any to look once we're inside." He points to the southeast window, high up and facing the sea, and waves to the owl to continue peering about.
"Any guesses about what kind of vile, poisonous animal it is this time?" He smiles wanly at his companions.
Again the owl hoots and looks back into the room. After one final, emphatic hoot at Zalo, they take flight, stopping again at the various windows around the house.
“They're still checking the other windows for anything else interesting, though. I'm sure it won't be much longer before they're finished. Cahoots is nothing if not observant and thorough."
He smiles. "And soft! Feathers like the finest pillow and they love head scratches."
As Tydir reaches the front porch, he pauses and swings his head methodically from side to side as he does, carefully checking for any signs of traps or tracks before stepping up onto the structure itself.
A few moments later, Cahoots comes gliding around the corner of the house, and swoops low over everybody's heads, tousling hair and hats with a silent breeze.
The owl crests slightly over the south cliff in a graceful arc, then dives straight down, out of sight.
Ilseh shakes her head derisively as she whips her short hair away from her face, turning back to the house. ‘As if that was specific and helpful,’ she thinks. Annoyed, Ilseh pushes her bangs back beside her face.
Cautiously, the pale woman approaches the building's entryway. She steps on the stair's first step with her hands holding her weapon's hilts, and looks up at the body of wood and mortar.
Zalo scrutinizes the garden around the corner of the house. When he spots the overgrown rose bush, he freezes for a moment and then backs away. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I think those weasels I heard about are probably making their burrow underneath the garden."
He looks around at everyone. "Unless there's some compelling reasons we need a tomato, I'd like to suggest that we adopt Ilseh's well-considered advice and leave it alone."
Alton walks back to the house, joining the rest of the group. He puts his pack back on, and stands against the wall next to the door, his rapier at the ready for whatever may be beyond the front doorway.
Tore looks around in confusions as he slowly gets back to his feet, rubbing the bump on back of his head he took when he collapsed. "This ain't me room...the hell are we an why does me mouth taste like a handful 'a copper and why am I so dizzy...."
Wiping the spit up off his neck, he glances down to see his hand coated in blood. Losing his balance slightly, his eyes go cross and he falls to one knee, hands extended out gripping in the grass to keep him from falling off the world.
The pain comes on suddenly, the partially open wound still sizzling from the poisonous bite. He rolls onto his back and rustles around under the front of his robes, hand finding purchase on the one of the red potions. Pulling the cork with shaking hand, he dumps the contents in his mouth, gargles and swishes for a moment, and swallows with a gulp.
"Nothin like a good cocktail before work, there isn't! Back ta work, kids! Now where were we?" He, too, joins the rest of the party at the front door.
Suddenly, Cahoots flaps in from behind and lands on Zalo's shoulder. With a deep-throated coo, they begin nuzzling the gnome's ear, preening his beard.
"If it's alright with the two of you,” Nicolas pipes up from a surprisingly close distance behind Tydir and Ilseh, “I'd like to take an attempt in the matter of the door." He steps between them and to the front step of the porch, his gaze fixed solely on the front porch, content from here to make a full investigation of the scene lest anyone else end up in an unfortunate situation, serpentine or otherwise.
His eyes scan the entry for every detail, every crack and crevice. He knows someone is in there, so they had some means by which to enter, but it didn't necessarily have to be the front door.
If there's snakes in the well, there must be something to keep any other hostile creatures out of the house, he thinks to himself. But then why hasn't the door been forced before?
Something had to be there.
Nicolas grasps the doorknob. Then, carefully and slowly, he turns it.
Current Roles:
GM - Fata Morgana: The Ghosts of Saltmarsh
The door grinds open with a loud and unpleasant creak, into a musty, dirty entrance hall. The entire scene is dilapidated and damp beyond measure. The walls are bare, the wood rotten in spots. There are patches of black mold everywhere. On the floor are strewn heaps of plaster, fallen from the walls and ceiling. Broken and smashed furniture lie scattered throughout the room.
Ahead, to the north, a corridor leads to the rear of the house. A staircase on the eastern wall—to the right—climbs to the next story, reaching it at a balcony that overlooks the entrance hall along its entire north and west sides. The stairs look safe to climb, though the balcony rail is broken in several places.
Beneath the stairs and balcony, at the northeast corner of the entrance hall, a corridor leads right, to the east. To the left, centered in the wall, another corridor leads into the west wing of the house.
Zalo gulps as the door opens, peering past Nicolas's legs into the gloom and disrepair. "Well, this certainly doesn't look like anyone's lived here for a while. Not anyone who understands the precepts of structural integrity and building maintenance, anyway," he whispers.
Tydir pitches his voice low but loud enough that those nearby can hear him. “Master Gnome is right. The most recent occupants of this home have no sense of maintenance.”
He points to the balcony on the other side of the room. It’s sagging miserably under its own weight. “The middle of the north balcony there is ready to collapse - use caution if you walk over or under it.”
Zalo’s owl returns, and the gnome gives him a nuzzle back and looks glumly at the dilapidated building. "I don't think this is going to be any place for you, my friend. You've earned a nap." He drums the fingers of his left hand on his right palm, and the owl disappears.
"Cahoots doesn't seem to have found anything besides the movement in the upstairs floor on the southeast, nor did he see anything on the cliffs.
"Do you think I should make a few preparations to bring out my magical sight, just in case there's something more than a snake or two in here? It would take a few minutes, but I could do it outside so as not to disturb anything in here. The eerie lights people are seeing have to be coming from somewhere, and I wonder if magic is responsible."
“Aye, Master Gnome,” replies Tydir, “I think that would be a useful exercise. We can hold here in the entry-room while you prepare your ritual.”
As he says this, he draws his blade and lifts his buckler off its mount, smooth movements that look out-of-place on a cleric.
Zalo nods and steps outside. He kneels down on the ground and clears a space around him a few paces away from the door.
"Just interrupt me if you need me." He then pulls out three small candles and lights them, setting them on three small stones and arranging them into a triangle around himself.
Inside, Tydir rolls through the door to the right, staying close to the wall, but spreading the group out a bit. He carefully scans the room, looking for any signs of tracks, traps or clues as to who may be lurking upstairs. But he seems to have no luck.
He looks over towards Ilseh. “What can you see from up there, Tall One? Any sign of ghouls or ghosts?” He keeps his head on a swivel, looking for any developments as the rest of the party complete their preparations and move into the entry way.
"I'm in the same room as you are," Ilseh retorts. "I see what you see."
Either way, Ilseh takes a moment to take in their new dilapidated surroundings, and one thing stands out.
"There's a worn pathway amidst the detritus. There- and there." Ilseh points and makes two lines with her long arms, indicating a path leading from the stairs down into their current space and to the left corridor; the other traces a path leading from the door behind them to the corridor dead ahead. "I wouldn't think it to be an animal, much less some ghost, lest some bears were testing the beds."
"Indeed,” Nicolas adds as he kneels at the staircase, “it seems we can rule out any paranormal or animalistic foes at this stage." He works a white substance between his fingers.
"Unless it is common for spirits or beasts to wear boots." He points at the smudged white remnant of a boot print he’s standing over.
Tydir shoots Ilseh a respectful nod. “Hrumph, your height does you well. I missed those tracks entirely from down here. So, we have two sets of tracks and one person upstairs somewhere - does that sound about right?”
Outside, Zalo traces a circle on the grass with his finger, joining all three candles, then holds both hands up and begins moving them in careful, practiced motions as he chants quietly. As the gnome does so, the barest arc of a luminous circle appears on the ground, and slowly begins to grow, creeping over the salt-sprayed grass minute by minute and inching towards the first of the three candles.
As the minutes pass, the arc grows and grows, becoming a faint ring that pulses with lucent power, until at last the circle is closed. The candles instantly snuff out and Zalo puts his hands down at his sides, wiping the sweat from his brow and quickly putting away his gear. The gnome joins the others.
Aside from the shuffling of feet, and the occasional sniffle, or gust of ocean breeze through the two busted-out windows near the door, the room is deathly still.
Alton leans over to Zalo and asks quietly, “That was a neat spell. What did you find?”
Zalo’s eyes fall upon Ilseh for a moment, then he nods and whispers to the group. "I don't sense anything yet beyond the things we're carrying. But I should be able to feel if something magical gets within a few dozen paces." He peers once again into the gloom as his eyes adjust.
"Given the tracks Ilseh found,” he continues, “any thoughts on which way to go? Perhaps we cover this floor and then see what avenues are open to us upstairs? Or would we prefer to check upstairs first?"
“I believe you suggested a methodical approach Master Gnome, and I would tend to agree with you. It would seem to me we should clear the first floor but keep quiet while we do it.
“Master Nicolas, if you'll continue to lead us, I may be able to lend you some aid if you'll permit.”
As Tydir says this he slides up and lays a hand on Nicolas's back. A faint glow of divine energy can be seen peeking out from between his palm and the mercenary's back.
Nicolas considers Zalo’s proposal as he receives Tydir's blessing. "Methodical is good, but following the process, should we not first check the upper rooms? We have confirmed already that there is a person upstairs, and the tracks to confirm that they have not moved to the lower levels as of yet. Disposing of them would allow us to proceed un-agitated from a rear attack, should we descend lower or alert the entire household."
"I agree with Nicolas,” says Ilseh. “We should take a look upstairs."
Zalo looks about, staring into the distance. “My ritual won't last too long, so I'm going to take a peek downstairs without disturbing anything while I can still sense magical energies around us. If there's trails of — er, well, something — passing by, it must be comparatively safe. At least for them."
He glances up at the rickety balcony that Tydir mentioned. "Unlike that balcony."
"I'll be back before you can say arcanological orreries!" whispers the gnome.
Alton nods quietly to Zalo in agreement. As Zalo goes down the hallway, Alton keeps his eyes upwards, towards the staircase, in case the house's occupant decides to show itself.
Zalo treads carefully into the western corridor on tiptoe, taking one step at a time but stopping short of entering any rooms. He holds one hand out in front of himself, and his eyes glaze over slightly, as if feeling for something that's not quite there. But his expression is one of focus and concentration.
His tiptoeing turns out to be more like a series of squeaks and groans as he steps on the time-ravaged floorboards, but he makes it to the end of each corridor without apparent issue, systematically probing for the tell-tale vibrations of an arcane spell as he gives each room a cursory look. His hands sweep about as if pushing aside cobwebs, feeling for anything.
He freezes when he gets to the end of the western corridor, carefully scrutinizing it for a moment. He stops again at the northern corridor. For the eastern corridor he doesn't seem to stop at all.
When he's done, he returns to his stalwart companions. "Well, that was intriguing. There is definitely a magical aura on the northwest floor of the room at the end of the western hall." He points down the hallway. "An illusion, to be precise. However, the way it's placed is suggestive of a trigger or trap of some kind — I can't tell if it's actually dangerous, but I'm fairly sure that if we get within a few paces it will activate."
He points down the northern hallway. "There's a kitchen at the end of the hall. Another room, maybe a pantry, also seems to have a magical aura behind it. But the door was closed so I couldn't see the emanations properly, and didn't want to unduly disturb anything."
"Never mind all that, though. The most important discovery: there's a library next door, right in the next room down the hall! Can you believe our sheer luck?" He says this in tones one might reserve for discovering a mountain of diamonds.
“A library Master Gnome?” says Tydir with a grin. “Well then, seems like we have hit the motherlode indeed.”
“Magical traps?” he adds. “Upstairs does seem more promising…”
"Wholeheartedly agreed, friend Tydir,” replies Zalo. “And if there were something upstairs, I think I would have felt it, but I didn't feel anything besides those two tingles.
“However, we simply must come back to the library before we leave this place altogether. I'm taking every book I can carry." Zalo’s eyes get a wistful, dreamy look as he contemplates the possibilities.
Alton quietly whistles at the thought of so many books. He whispers, "That sounds good friend, but first we need to contend with those traps and whoever or whatever is upstairs. Does anyone know how to disable magical traps? I'm good with mechanical traps, tripwires and the like, but I wouldn't know what do do with magic! Can we just throw a rock at it or something?"
"We could certainly try,” says Zalo. “If it is a trap, however, I don't see any reason to set it off at the moment. Why risk a dangerous explosion or something similar?"
He strokes his beard for a moment. "Hmm. On the other hand, the magic in the western room is illusion magic, and this is not a school known for being directly harmful. I don't think it will explode, but it might perhaps play a trick or deceive us in some way, I would say."
After Zalo describes his arcane finds on the ground floor, Tydir leads the way up to the next floor. At the top of the stairs he points out the weak spot of the balcony, to the left. The rest of the party are able to file in behind him without issue, though the stairs creak and groan ominously. Some of the planks bend in the middle with the taller folks’ weight, seemingly on the verge of snapping. Once everyone is safely at the top, Nicolas resumes his position in the front rank.
Upstairs, the east-west balcony turns into hallway in either direction, both of which terminate at an outside window. There appear to be a total of five rooms accessed by this long, single passage that runs the length of the house.
Just to the west, across the sagging portion of balcony, another hallway disappears to the right, a continuation of the north-south balcony on the west side of the entrance hall.
Alton works his way between the legs of the group members, trying to get a good view of each hallway. He stops while looking down the east hall, then points to the last room on the right.
"Zalo,” he whispers, “I believe that's the room where your bird saw the movement. We should explore that room first. Should we...should we knock?"
Zalo peers down the hallway, then looks at Alton. "I can't imagine that knocks are something this house sees very frequently." The gnome frowns, concerned about what may lie beyond.
"But you've just given me an idea,” he whispers. “I suppose we could know the answer very quickly. A moment; I won't be able to see or hear you while this happens.” He puts a hand on Alton to steady himself.
Zalo's eyes get a faraway look as he stares at the doorway to the house. A soft rustling sound is heard, like a leaf tumbling through a windy day, as Cahoots appears above the lintel and swoops outside.
Zalo keeps himself steadied on Alton's shoulder as he stares off into nothingness.
Tydir, seeing the gnome enter his trance-like bond with the owl, steps out to cover the group’s rear, and protect Zalo from any unseen threats. Curved blade held out, buckler at the ready, he carefully scans the stairs, the hallway, and the entrance looking for any signs of things that go bump in the night.
Nicolas turns back to the group for a moment and points a finger to the northern hallway, across the weakened balcony. "I'm going to ensure that there's no further surprises in that hallway first. I'd recommend caution on the weak floor, and please do not immediately follow me as I'm unsure how much weight this can manage. I'll give an all clear when my search has been completed."
With that he approaches the weak balcony and, removing a piton from his pack, carefully begins charting a small course across the rickety floor.
Step by treacherous step, Nicolas makes his way across the sagging portion of the balcony. It groans slightly with his weight. With one particular step, the entire balcony begins to shift and settle slightly. Nicolas freezes, withdraws his foot, and finds another foothold.
Eventually he makes it across the section, and disappears around the corner, to the north.
"Good call on the weight,” says Torestorlim. “I'll...erm.. I'll hang back a moment while ya make sure the floor is safe 'n all. Don't want me legs turnin inta a chandelier I don’t,” he whispers.
Tydir pats his fellow dwarf on the shoulder. Again, a faint glow seems to emanate from his palm, infusing the monk with the blessings of Procan.
'Don't worry my friend, we'll get you across the gap here, The Sailor has his eye on you'
As he finishes blessing Tore, Tydir slides to the rear of the group to keep watch over the balcony for anything approaching them from behind.
Nicolas makes his way up and down the north hallway, doing his best to check for areas where traps would most likely be set. Half the rooms are closed, the other half devoid of occupants aside from old furniture and garbage. He checks for tripwires in the hallway, tests a few choice sections of the floor, and even runs a hand along the decrepit walls for hidden hinges and panels.
Seemingly satisfied with his search, he returns to the end of the hallway, at the intersection, and gives a thumbs up to the group. "All clear,” he adds very quietly.
Zalo shudders as his senses flick back to the present moment, gasping. "There's someone tied up in that room! A man, on the floor, mostly naked," he whispers.
"I suppose we'd better make sure the rest of this place is safe before we get them out of here..." The gnome casts a worried glance at the shifting, rickety balcony.
Alton nods and agrees, “Good idea, Zalo. This place is rickety and we wouldn’t want the house collapsing on us while we move him out.”
Alton suddenly has a look of excitement wash over his face, and he starts digging around in his pack. A second later he pops up with the hammer in one hand and the pouch of nails in the other.
“Ha!”, he declares, “I knew these might come in handy! Maybe we can reinforce the weaker parts of the balcony and staircase!”
Alton then gets a look of dread, “But...but that man. If he was moving earlier, and now isn’t then...then maybe he needs out help right away! He might be hurt or sick or...” Alton gasps dramatically, ”infected!”
Alton continues, “I know it’s gettin’ redundant at this point, but let’s be careful!”
"Oh, he's very much still alive!” says Zalo. “Probably not in the best circumstances, granted. But not in any apparent immediate danger."
He casts a glance down at Alton's hammer and nails. "Well, not any more than whatever level of danger exists from staying in this place."
Alton puts the hammer and nails away back into his pack and heaves it back on his shoulders. He thinks for a moment then says, “If the man in that room is tied up, would there be any harm in communicating with him? I can send him a short message like I did with Hanna the other night. Not for drinks, of course, but asking about his situation. He might be able to tell us something important.”
Torestorlim grows impatient with the discussion around him. ”Alright fellas, gimme a bit a space. I know the best way round this rot, I do."
He backs up from the weakened portion of balcony, and takes off towards it. With a running leap, the dwarf aims towards the parallel hallway wall to avoid the sagging, rotted boards on the floor. In midair he plants his lead foot against the wall, and pushes off with a grunt, aiming for the solid section of balcony next to Nicolas.
But when he tries to push off, instead of propelling him forward, the effort kills his momentum altogether. Wide-eyed and horizontal, Torestorlim the drunken dwarf falls straight down like a bearded boulder, pack-first, disappearing with a crash through the rotten, wooden floor, leaving a sizable hole behind.
For a moment there’s only silence, followed by the sound of shuffling from below as the dwarf attempts to scramble back to his feet. Then, slowly and forebodingly, the entire upstairs structure creaks, lets loose a mighty groan, and a large section of the balcony folds and collapses, burying the hapless dwarf in planks, beams, and dirt.
Current Roles:
GM - Fata Morgana: The Ghosts of Saltmarsh
Nicolas takes a big step back from the rotting floorboards as the last few bits tumble out and down. Instinctively he reaches for a dagger while the sound rings through the house, ready for any for to emerge into the hallway. He waits poised to begin combat and listens for movement
Zalo gasps in alarm. "Tore!" he cries out with horror, for the second time in the span of just a few minutes.
Nearby, Alton watches in horror and gasps in surprise.
"MMMMMMMMMM!!! HHHHHHH MMMMMMMMMMMMM MMMM!" Tore exclaims from below, under the heap of debris.
Tydir gimaces. "I've got him" he calls to the group. He points down the upper east hall. “There's someone down that hallway moaning for help. You lot keep an eye out up here, I'll see if I can get Tore back on his feet"
Alton points towards the room where the man had been tied up and whispers something to himself.
A moment later Alton sighs and says, "No luck. It won't work if I don't know him."
Tydir begins cautiously making his way back downstairs, being careful to step close to the sides and avoid the weakest treads.
Zalo’s alarm quickly turns to pint-sized, gnomish fury once he realizes he can hear breathing under the collapses balcony. "Tore? Tore? TORE?! Your chicanery could have gotten us all killed in this deathtrap of a house! I've half a mind to come down there and finish the job this balcony started!" He shakes his fist in the air.
He's about to patter down the stairs, but Tydir's faster and gets there first, so instead he grumbles out loud. "You'd better be alive under there so I can give you a piece of my mind!"
"Seems like our cover is blown,” Alton quips in frustration
Tydir gets to the rubble pile and begins digging through the broken pieces of balcony to find the stout monk underneath.
Alton tiptoes to the edge of the fresh hole in the floor and braces against the wall Tore tried to wall-run against so he can see downward. He says to those down below, “Is Tore injured? I can use another healing word on him but then I’ll be tapped out for the day.”
He settles back on the stable part of the balcony and says to himself, “Sheesh this adventuring stuff is a lot harder than I thought. How in the seven heavens am I supposed to write a song about a monk...who sunk...and was covered with junk? No, no, that’s terrible.”
Looking up through the hole in the balcony above him, Tore rubs the now bigger bump on the back of his head. "This place wasn’t built by dwarfs, it wasn’t…” He grumbles incoherently as he dusts himself off and examines his wounds.
A large, sharp piece of debris has pierced into his abdomen, and he's bleeding pretty profusely. Cuts and scrapes cover most of his exposed skin, both eyes are bruised and blackened, and blood drips from one ear.
Tydir grabs him by the shoulders. “Hang on a minute friend, let me check you over.”
He pulls out his small ceremonial knife and slices open his open palm. Working to remove the debris, he chants softly under his breath. "Procan protect this man that he may continue to serve your needs. Procan heal this man that he may continue to stand in the path of the storm. Procan bind these wounds as we are bound to your will.”
The blood flowing from Tydir's palm glows with a pale blue light and seeps into Tore's open wounds, knitting them closed even as the jagged debris is pulled clear.
“There you are my friend, ready for the fight again."
Tore stumbles back up the staircase, leaning heavily on the railing, and looks around.
Nicolas relaxes and takes note of a few errant sounds. He moves back toward the end of the platform and places the dagger back into his belt.
"I apologise if this is seen as too late of a revelation, but there is an alternative method to reach this floor." He looks to the state of Torestorlim, then points behind him. “There appears to be a stairway up at the end here, though I do not know what lies at he bottom. I'd suggest any further investigations on this floor begin from there."
Zalo buries his head in his hands. "All of this could have been avoided? Yes, let's please use the other stairs instead. Unless, of course, they're even more rickety than this contraption." He taps the floor with his boot, uncertainly.
If Tore could shoot daggers out of his eyes, that's the expression he'd be sending in Nicholas’s direction. Forgetting why they're here in the first place, not that it really matters after the cacophony moments prior, he says, “WHAT CHA MEAN... 'ANOTHER STAIRCASE?’” - in his best Nicholas impression. "OPEN YER FECKIN EYES!”
Tore turns around and stomps loudly back down to the ground floor.
Alton says, “Wait! Wasn’t there a magical aura detected in that room downstairs? Let’s hold off on that.”
Alton taps the wall to the north of the balcony with the bottom of his rapier. After several soft thunks, he suggests, "Hey Ilseh! I just had an idea! Do you think you could knock a hole through this wall? If the floor can collapse from a falling dwarf, I'm sure a little muscle can break through this wall here and let us pass to the other side of the house."
Alton gets a nervous look on his face. "But not too much! Don't want the whole thing to collapse! Just a small hole for us to crawl through."
Alton then turns to the eastern hallway where the man had been seen by Cahoots. “I really am worried about that tied-up man. He might be hurt or need our help! Surely he can tell us something about what’s going on here!”
Nicolas looks up from the recovering dwarf to the halfling, "He was also calling for help, which likely means he is not in direct harm's way for doing so."
Just then, there is a thumping sound from down the upper east hall, coming from one of the rooms, like someone stomping on the floor. It continues for a good spell, stops, then repeats.
Alton opens his eyes wide and stares to the east at the last door on the right. He points and says to the group, “See?! He hears us and is trying it get our attention! We need to help him!”
Zalo lets out an exasperated sigh and rolls up his sleeves. "Very well. The sooner we get out of this dilapidated deathtrap of a demesne, the better we'll all be. But not before we get those books, of course!"
"In any case, if we see another sagging floorboard I'd like to suggest we adopt the novel strategy of simply not stepping on it. I know that might seem radical, but perhaps we can try it out for a bit and see how it goes."
Alton motions at Ilseh and Zalo, “Come on! Follow me!”
Alton takes one quick step forward, then stops in his tracks. “Right. Traps. Uh, I guess I’ll go first.” He moves slowly eastward, carefully tapping each foot on the ground in front of him to avoid a Tore-cannonball. He scans the walls and ceiling as he moves.
Zalo follows Alton carefully, keeping an eye out in each room for anything that looks out of place. He looks with alarm as he sees more decaying floorboards in the room adjacent the man’s.
"The balcony wasn't the only unsafe spot in this place. We'd do well to avoid those unstable patches too." He points them out. "As Tore so aptly said, this house was not made by dwarven hands."
A few steps later, in front of the final door, Alton bends down and picks up something shiny off the floor. He holds it out to reveal a metal key and says, while trying to hold back a smile, "This may be a key development!"
Alton continues to the door where the man was located. He peeks through the keyhole, then knocks on the door. "Hello in there!” he says loudly. “My friends and I are here to help you! If I can come inside safely to help you, bang on the ground once. If there's any reason I shouldn't come inside, bang on the ground twice."
There is a sturdy thump from inside the closed room, and an excited, unintelligible, gag-muffled voice.
Alton nods and puts his hand on the doorknob, realizing it’s locked. The key fits, and the lock turns easily. The halfling distractedly examines his fingertips, rubbing them together. Then he again grabs the nob, closes his eyes, and breaths out, hoping it won't be his last.
Flinging the door open reveals a decayed bedroom. A bed with a mold-covered mattress is in one corner, and piles of rags in another, presumably the bedding and curtains. Most of the floorboards are warped and bent. Piles of dirt and dusty cobwebs are scattered everywhere.
In the southeast corner lies a human man bound and gagged, clad only in undergarments. His eyes open wide in joy as Alton peeks inside.
Alton simply walks across the room, towards the man. Halfway across the room, however, there’s a sharp cracking sound, followed by a sickening groan. The halfling, a panicked look on his face, dives backwards, back towards the door, and just in time—there’s a terrific crashing of rotten timber as the middle and west side of the room collapse to the ground floor, nearly taking Alton with it.
Zalo screams from behind. "Not again!"
As the room fills with dust, the bound man, eyes wide in terror, scoots himself back against the corner, away from the gaping hole in the floor.
Alton is sprawled out, face-down on the floor near the doorway, scrabbling for a handhold, legs dangling over the edge of the hole.
Zalo hustles over to Alton and grips him by the shoulders, hauling him out of the yawning pit. He glances at the bound man. "Don't move; wait for us to come to you. It might not be safe."
“Thanks Zalo, I owe you one,” Alton says with an exasperated voice.
Alton then slowly works his way around the room to the man, keeping as much distance between himself and the new hole he made. He puts his weapons away and pulls the gag off the man.
"****in' Hells!" the man blurts out when the gag comes off, before Alton can even speak.
Alton gives a friendly smile and says, “Hi. My friends and I are here to help you. Who are you? What happened here?”
The man, wide-eyed, shoots a look of disbelief between Alton and the chasm of jagged wood and nails. "The place is coming down!” he says with agitation. “That's what's happened here! I was wondering what the bloody Inferno that noise was out there! It was the house! Falling apart at the seams!"
The floor nearby creaks ominously in response, and another piece of wood falls from the floor into the rubble heap below.
"****!" the man says, scrunching his body back into the corner even further, away from the hole. "Let me free! I need to get out of here! We all do!"
Zalo squints at him and offers his waterskin. "Calm down and take a drink. Yes, this place is extremely unsound, but it's not about to immediately collapse. My colleagues have just been a little... enthusiastic in their wanderings and the house hasn't taken that very kindly." He smiles reassuringly.
The man awkwardly twists his torso around to show his present state. His wrists are bound behind him with rope, his elbows hooked over a wooden dowel behind his back.
He wiggles his fingers at Zalo. "I can't rightly take you up on your offer. Can't you give me a little help?"
Zalo looks at Alton. "I don't have much that would cut through ropes like that. Do you?" He scrutinizes the wooden dowel. "Well, in the meantime, bottoms up?" He holds the waterskin up near the man's face questioningly, to see if he'll take up the offer. He drinks a sip and swallows. "Perfectly safe and fresh. Gnome's honor."
“I have a…” the man starts. He looks around the room.
“I had a sword," he says bitterly. "It’s probably gone, now.”
The man looks at Alton, then to Zalo. He takes a deep breath, and resignedly leans forward to drink.
After an exceedingly long and greedy draught, with much of the water going down his chin and onto his undershirt, the man twists his head to wipe his mouth on his shoulder.
"Now," says Zalo, "how did you come to be tied up here? This is certainly no place for a nap."
“Where was your advice last night?” the man says. “Cos you’re dead-right. It wasn't the place for a nap. That’s exactly what I aimed to do. Come up and get some sleep for the night.”
He purses his lip for another pull of water, and Zalo obliges. After wiping his mouth again, he continues. “It was dark, and I was coming in from Seaton. I thought I could rent some lodging here, but…”
He looks around the dust-choked bedroom. “Well, you probably figured it out when you saw it, too.
“So I thought I’d just come in the back door, toss my bedroll in a corner, and get some shuteye before I went the rest of the way into Saltmarsh in the morn. But I didn’t make it past the kitchen. I got jumped.
"It were two, maybe three lads. Big, burly ones. They must’ve followed me up from the road. Knocked me cold at some point, and, well, I woke up a few hours ago, with the sunrise. No clothes, no pack. They just left me here for dead.”
He looks over at Alton. “So how about that blade? These binds are cutting into my wrists something hellish.”
Alton looks at the man’s eyes, trying to discern truth from exaggeration from lies. He didn’t see the ‘Haunted House’ sign? Alton thinks to himself. He keeps his weapons stowed.
He says to the man, “I will, but let my cleric friend check you out first to make sure nothing’s broken.
Alton yells out to the rest of the party, “Hey everyone! I found a live one! Upstairs, east wing, last room on the right. Oh! And watch your step!”
Current Roles:
GM - Fata Morgana: The Ghosts of Saltmarsh
The man looks up at Alton. "Nothing's broken. I just got a good thump on the head. Can't you just cut me loose? I think my hands are gonna fall off. And my feet!"
Zalo pats him on the back as he slakes his thirst, considering this story. "That sounds like an awful time. Just so I understand, you're saying these bandits jumped you when you were inside this house, in the kitchen?"
"Yeah. I was just comin' inside, from the back door. I barely got a look around, and they were on me. My wager is they were following me. Waiting for me to get off the road to make camp before they jumped me."
"I had a big pack," he sighs, looking around the room. “It’s probably halfway to the Northland by now.
Zalo sits him up so he's more comfortable. "And how about a name, friend? I'm Zalo."
"I'm Ned," the man says to Zalo. He looks greedily at the canteen. "Can I have another drink? I'm parched!"
The gnome provides the canteen, and Ned takes another messy pull, dribbling water everywhere.
Just then, Nicolas takes a cautious step into the room, sure to test that the floor can handle his weight before committing to walk across to Ned.
Ned looks surprised. "Procan's bollocks, how many of you are there?
"If you've been here,” states Nicolas, ignoring the question, “then perhaps you're aware of the strange sounds that have sparked our own inspection of the property?"
Ned shakes his head. “I ain't heard nothin'. I been out like a lamp all night. I only came-to when the sun woke me up. That was just before that gods-awful noise you guys made out in the hallway.
"The only thing I seen or heard this morning was some barn owl that kept coming to stare at me. I figured he might've been thinking to eat me, like a vulture'd do."
"I just wanna get outta here," Ned says with resignation. "Go somewhere safe. Where the floors don't fall in.
“You all should, too.” He leans his head towards Alton. "It's a wonder the little man didn't get killed just then."
Alton introduces himself in a cheery tone, "Oh yeah, hi! My name is Alton! Great to meet ya! I sorta wish it were better circumstances but I'm sure we're all gonna be friends when we get out of here, but, um, we need to be careful right now. Give us a minute to secure the house and make sure no more of these floors and ceilings fall through. Stay here and give us a shout if you need anything."
Alton starts to dig through his pack but realizes his hands are dirty. He tries to wipe them on his pants, then digs through his pack and finds a ration: smoked salmon. He unwraps it and offers it to Ned, "Here, eat this. I'm sure you're hungry. I caught it and smoked it myself! Real strong one to reel in, it was. Almost pulled me into the water! I had to brace myself against a tree and..."
Ned stares helplessly at Alton, dumbfounded, as the halfling holds the food out in offering. "You going to feed me, too? Because it's the only way I'm going to be able to eat in this state."
Zalo nods at Alton, taking the salmon. "I'll help him."
Alton suddenly realizes he's talking too much, and stands up, looking at the door, "I'll let you finish that. Now where are those dwarves..."
Back in the entrance hall, Ilseh had maintained her position at the rear of the party, on the balcony, focusing her attention down the stairs, throughout all of the ruckus. The rest of the party were now in conversation with a man found bound in the far room behind her. She could hear their voices bounding off the black walls of the hallway.
With a hand phoning her mouth, Ilseh shouts a whisper, calling down to the dwarves through the hole in the balcony. "Ey! Have you found anything?"
“I’ve got him, Tall One,” whispers Tydir in response. “He's back on his feet, and we're headed upstairs.”
He looks at Tore. “Let's try taking this slowly, quietly and carefully my enthusiastic friend, how does that sound? It seems that our colleagues have found someone upstairs, let's go check in on them.”
With that Tydir sets off quietly back up the stairs, passing Iiesh and hoping that his fellow dwarf is following close behind.
Tore staggers his way to the foot of the stairs.
Up in the collapsed bedroom, Zalo carefully breaks off a piece of the salmon and offers it apologetically to Ned. "I'm sorry about this. I'm sure my companions will be here soon."
Ned hesitates, but leans forward and takes a bite of the salmon.
Zalo continues. "These men who jumped you and tied you up; did you get a look at any of them?”
“I didn’t see them,” Ned says between bites. “It was dark, and they came up from behind. Left a knot on my head for it.”
“Do you know why they might have been following you specifically?” asks Zalo. “This is a well-traveled road, and I wonder if you might have been singled out for some reason. Any notable enemies who'd want to hurt you, things like that?”
“None that I know of. Not yet anyways. I think they must’ve been stalking me. I had a rather large pack.”
“And what was your business in Seaton?" Zalo smiles in what he hopes is a disarming way. "Sorry for the barrage of questions."
Ned swallows his mouthful of food. “As I told you, I’m from Seaton. My business was in Saltmarsh. At least I hoped it would be. I heard they were hiring adventurers there, and I decided to come try my hand. I’m pretty crafty with a sword.”
He suddenly looks around the room in a panic.
“Blast! My sword is probably gone, too!”
"Well,” says Zalo, “I'm sure we can help you get to Saltmarsh once we're finished here, and get you situated there. It's only an hour or two down the road."
He breaks off another piece of Alton's smoked salmon. Alton certainly knew his fish; the gnome's mouth was starting to water. "I'm sorry again about your predicament. I'm sure it won't be too much longer; we're just doing a little investigating, and my colleagues are nothing if not thorough."
Ned cranes his neck forward for another bite of fish. "I'm famished. I feel like I drank too much ale. My head's got a mule team runnin' through it!
"So what're you investigating?” he blurts, bits of fish falling from his lips. “Why're you diggin' around in here?
“I ain't complainin', mind. I'd probably be dead if you weren't."
He takes another bite, aided by Zalo, and with a full mouth he garbles out, "You the militia or something? How come you ain't letting me free? I ain't done nothin' wrong."
Zalo contemplates this for a moment. "We've heard there's some strange lights and sounds coming from here. Supposed to be haunted, folks say. Though so far you're the only thing we've found inside, alive or not. So it remains a mystery as to what, if anything, is causing these lights and sounds.”
Strange sounds, for sure," Ned says. He twists his head around to wipe his mouth on the shoulder of his undershirt.
"Probably the sound of the old heap coming down around us. I say it is indeed haunted, and trying to kill us all.
"You shoulda seen that owl," he adds, nodding his head towards the window. "The way it was gawkin' over there. It weren't natural."
“This house isn't that big,” says Zalo. “I'm sure we'll get to the bottom of it soon enough, and then we can be on our way and help you back to Saltmarsh."
The gnome smiles apologetically again. "Nothing personal, and I'm not the militia. I'm simply not the strongest fellow and I'm not very well-suited for a task like that."
Joining Zalo in the room with Ned, Tydir pauses a moment, mumbling under his breath and rubbing his hand together.
As soft blue light infuses his hands, he immediately begins checking Ned over, examining his injuries and trying to ascertain anything he can about his condition.
“Seems you've taken quite a lump on your head here friend, how are you feeling?”
"I got a horrible headache," says Ned. "And my wrists hurt. I feel beat up, and tied up."
"You know," Ned says, looking around the room, "the longer you stay, the more likely we're gonna die. All of us. You already had two floors fall in. Many more like that, and the whole place will collapse. We'll be buried alive."
He wriggles around, revealing his bound hands. "Let me outta these. They're just knots. Anyone can undo 'em. If one of the bigger folk lend me a spare set of clothes, and maybe a blade, I can help. We'll all be back in Saltmarsh by lunchtime."
Returned from the entrance hall, Alton listens, from the doorway, to the back and forth between Zalo and Ned. He seems inclined to believe the man as he nods along to his story.
The halfling says with a reassuring smile, "Well, I'd offer you some of my spare cloths but I don't think you'd fit. Not that you'd want to look like a pirate anyhow!"
His smile fades and turns more serious, "Listen, Ned, I like you. I feel real sorry for everything that's happened so far. We will help you, I assure you, but first we need to take stock of the situation. You saw me nearly fall down that hole behind me! Let me go talk to my friends and we'll figure out the best way out of this."
Zalo offers another hunk of salmon. "Will you be alright if I leave you here for a moment? I'd like to check on my companions. As you said, the sooner we wrap up, the sooner we can be gone from this place."
Ned shakes his head, and shrugs helplessly. “I ain’t got no say in it, apparently.”
Alton, Tydir, and Zalo return to the hallway, and Alton motions everyone else to come together.
He whispers just loud enough for everyone except Ned to hear, "Listen, I think we should let him go. He's naked and afraid. How can you blame him? Haunted house, attacked by bandits, left tied up and naked, scared by an owl."
Alton looks to Zalo and has a sudden realization, "OH! That was probably Cahoots! Ha!
“Anyways I don't think he can cause any harm. Let's show him some kindness and maybe he'll help us out. I say cut him loose, give him some spare clothes, and tell him to stay behind us while we explore the house.
“No sword though, I don't trust him that much. What do you all think?"
Zalo shrugs. "It's certainly strange that he's here, and the bandits he says he was accosted by concern me a bit — they could be waiting for us on the road when we leave."
The gnome nods at the sensible suggestion. "Yes, that seems advisable. But this place is pretty rickety. I say we ask him to stay outside so nothing else inadvertently collapses. So, untie him, spare clothes, no weapons, and stay outside?"
"He is unlikely to remain outside, given the troubles he has encountered here,” Nicolas offers. He gives another cursory look down the hall, towards Ned’s room, no longer as a threat but now more as an assessment of an asset.
"I have no issues with releasing him,” continues Nicolas. “He appears a harmless third party to all of these events. My only concern would be another person traipsing around here without a guide, and I believe we can hardly spare the resources to keep him safe as well as trust he will remain nearby."
Tydir pitches his voice even lower. “He appears to be exactly as he claims - he was hit rather hard on the head and these bindings aren't for show - they are cutting into his skin. At the very least we need to cut him loose to stop the ropes from cutting any deeper into his wrists and ankles.”
Zalo nods. "He doesn't seem untrustworthy to me, I just think there's more to this story. He is the only living soul we've seen in this place and we still don't know what's making those lights and noises. And he wasn't doing it while tied up.
"So something else is going on here. I just don't want him interfering with our investigation while it happens. If his story is to be believed, he is just a traveler on the road."
Tore, breathing heavily and covered in blood, wine, and splinters, finishes his ascent up the stairs, and joins the circle of adventurers.
"Ah jus' untie the fool will ya,” he barks impatiently. "He'll stay in 'ere with us. I'll stand behind him, I will, and if he tries any funny business I'll clobber 'im over the head with me paddle and leave 'im here ta rot with the wood. Les' finish up with this forsaken place and get the hell home, it's bout drinkin' hour and we're jus standin' 'ere gettin' dusty!"
"YA 'EAR THAT FELLA?” he yells down the hallway. “NO FUNNY BUSINESS!”
Zalo taps his palm. "I'll submit my previous proposal again: we untie him and give him spare clothes and no weapons, and tell him to remain outside and sit on the steps for his own safety."
Tydir nods his head as Zalo speaks and joins in a low voice. “I agree, we should untie him but not arm him. I'm not sure he's telling us the entire truth - his story just doesn't make sense.”
As the group in the hallway continues discussing their discovery, there comes from the bedroom a grinding sound, the crunch and crack of rending wood, and a loud, cascading crash of timbers.
Rushing back into the room, the party sees another small section of floor has collapsed, taking the moldy bed with it. The air is now so full of dust it's becoming hard to see.
Ned has squirmed farther away from the hole, into the corner, the ends of his elbow-hobble dowel digging into the plaster of the adjoining walls.
He looks over to the doorway. His face is pale-white, and his voice wavers with terror. "Gods alive, get me out of here!"
Tydir makes his way into the room and cuts the man's legs free, and helps him to his feet, guiding him out of the room and into the hallway. Ned quickly stands and hurries towards the door, his arms still tied behind his back, hooked over the wooden dowel.
The man is tiny, and lithe. He has long, greasy black hair and a lean, stubbled face. His legs, poking out from his loose, striped undershorts, are unusually thin.
"Thank you! Please, my arms too! They're going to fall off!"
Tydir looks skeptically at the rest of the party, looking for anyone with a serious objection to releasing Ned from his bindings. Seeing none, he cuts the poor man's wrists loose from the wooden dowel.
'Alright then traveller, you're free now, but I hope you heed the warning of my exuberant friend here and stay out of trouble.'
The dowel clatters to the floor, and Ned rubs his wrists, wincing in pain. There are deep red welts where the ropes once were. Tydir kindly helps massage life back into his wrists and hands.
Alton looks up and tries to reassure Ned. "Wow! This place really is falling apart! Ha! I would offer you some of my spare clothes but I, uh, don't think they'll fit. Perhaps one of my taller friends here has a spare set. Why don't you wait outside while we investigate the rest of this house. Don't stray too far though, we encountered a few angry snakes by the well outside. Probably best just to sit on the porch until we're done, and then you can join us on our way back to Saltmarsh. Oh! There's a great tavern there, the Snapping Line. It's great! Well, maybe not the local drink. They call it 'claw', and it tastes as good as it sounds."
He stops for a second in thought, "Anyway, be careful on that staircase on the way down. It looked sorta weak. If fact you might be better just climbing down a rope." Alton unties the rope from the side of his pack and offers it to Ned.
"I ain't waiting out there alone!" objects Ned. "What if those thugs come back? Let me help you! It'll hasten your task. The longer we stay here, the more danger we're in."
He pauses, then looks around the room at everyone. "What exactly is your task?"
Ignoring Ned’s question, Alton turns to everyone else and suggests, "I suspect there is more to this house than meets the eye. People don't set up magical traps just for fun.” Alton starts giggling, "Although, imagine if someone did! Ha! The ultimate deception! Let's finish up this floor and then go back downstairs. Those traps are probably covering up something valuable, or at least worth investigating. So, who's up for a little sneaking around?"
Zalo gestures to Ned and points down the hallway to the stairs. "This way, if you please. You don't have to wait outside if you'd prefer not to, but as you just saw this place is not exactly stable, so the fewer of us there are moving around, the better. Please stay at the front door."
"I'm not sure there's any reason for the thugs to come back. If they wanted to dispatch you they would have done so, not simply left you tied up. So I think you can rest easy on that front. And if there were only three of them, as you mentioned, then they'll be outnumbered, now, won't they?" Zalo smiles.
Ned shakes his head. "I bet I ain't gonna do near half the damage to this place that you lot already done, but I'll wait for now. I need to sit down proper, let the blood get back into my hands and feet."
Ned's shoulders sag as he makes his way down to the foot of the entryway stairs. He sits on the last step, at the bottom, then gingerly touches the back of his head, then inspects his fingers, rubbing them together.
He turns his gaze back up the stairs. "Keep an eye out for my pack, would you?" he says loudly. "And my clothes. I can't fathom they stolen my clothes. Probably tossed 'em somewhere."
Current Roles:
GM - Fata Morgana: The Ghosts of Saltmarsh
With Ned safely at the foot of the stairs, the party proceeds to resume investigating the house. During their conversation, the wind whipped up from the sea, bringing in an unusually large fog cloud. Now the air tastes of salt and must, and there's a light, disturbing haze everywhere inside the house. Dew begins to collect on the smoother surfaces. The outside landscape is shrouded from view of the windows.
Tydir takes position at the top of the stairs. Head on a swivel, blade out, he's carefully covering the party's rear while keeping an eye on the newcomer.
"Oy there, Ned is it? What exactly is your trade? You seem to be a mite tall to be a miner.”
Behind him, down the hall, Zalo glances out the window at the fog. "Perfect. Just what we need in this ramshackle deathtrap," he sighs wearily, scratching his beard, nonplussed. He peers out the window of the north hallway, where the familiar form of a barn owl materializes into view for a moment before flapping into the air.
The gnome calls down the stairs. "We'll keep an eye out for your clothes and pack, Ned. In the meantime, we must insist that you stay put to avoid any issues. We'll come get you when we're done and help you get safely on the road to Saltmarsh. In the meantime, I'm going to finish poking about up here."
He moseys over to the room adjacent to Ned's former abode, where he first spotted the weak flooring. Alton quietly falls in behind him. Zalo scrutinizes the room closely, since he didn't get a chance to before, and wonders what became of the smudgy bootprints that Nicolas found.
The room appears to be another dirty, decaying bedroom without furniture. Even viewed from the doorway, it’s evident that the floor in here does not look safe; some of the floorboards are missing, and others are partially dislodged.
The two spread out, eyes sweeping the area at their feet. Both avoid the left side of the room, where the floor is most damaged. From time to time Alton crouches and prods or pries at a floorboard, leading the way. He points out where the tracks resume, ending at the window. Zalo moves to the window and crouches down to have a closer look at something that caught his eye. Alton continues surveying the area.
After a few moments later, Zalo comes upon an unusual sight in a house that was supposed to have been abandoned decades ago: fresh scratches on the windowsill. And below that, something even more unusual: a spot that was still wet.
"Hmm. Now, what's this?" Zalo licks his finger and presses it into some of the floorboards, rubbing the spot. It's not just wet; it's greasy to the touch.
"Do you see this, Alton? These scratches, where something heavy once lay not too long ago, and used many times over? And this oil on the floor?" The gnome thinks for a moment. "Hear me out on this, yes? Let me paint you a picture."
Zalo's hands make some motions in the air. After a moment, a crude, vaguely humanoid figure appears hunched over the windowsill. In its shapeless hands is a lantern with an oil wick, the flame frozen in place by the illusion. "I think we may have found where our mysterious lights were coming from. Well, one of them, anyway. But why would someone go through all the trouble just to put a lantern in a window night after night, I wonder?"
The group gathers in the hall just outside the door, leaving Ned on his own at the foot of the stairs. Tydir points out everything they've found: two magic traps downstairs, a mysterious stranger (Ned) attacked, bound, and left tied up in a room--but otherwise unhurt, and a lantern in the upstairs window with tracks going in and out on a regular basis. Zalo reminds him they're not traps, simply illusions, and Nicolas wonders if the illusions are to hide the second set of stairs, forcing people to use the rickety flight in the entry hall.
Then the subject of Ned came up, and voices lowered further. Whatever the other details of the house, the party seems to arrive at one conclusion, which is that Ned's story is doubtful. The house is obviously abandoned, so leaving someone tied up would be a death sentence. It would be far easier to simply kill the man than spend the time binding him so effectively. But Ned had been attacked; Tydir verified that fact. Attacked, but left alive in an "abandoned" house. Was someone coming back for him? Was the party meant to find him? Was someone else meant to?
The discussion over, Tydir returns to stand watch at the top of the stairs.
Nicolas had largely been quietly assessing the scene as of late. He couldn't read Ned to his liking and that troubled him. The house was falling apart, which of course troubled him. Everything about this situation felt wrong, but he couldn't manage to put his various thoughts into a connected and sensical pattern. He scowled hard, clearly frustrated at his own mire of thoughts.
Zalo, too, seemed frustrated. He returned the conversation to the newly found evidence. "But again, why would someone put a lantern in the window?"
Alton looks at the window, through the bedroom door behind him. The sound of the ocean dimly cuts through the fog, from far below.
He perks up. “Lighthouse! Maybe whoever lived here was using that window as a lighthouse! The cliffs are down the other side and maybe they were using the lantern to signal ships down below. I wonder what for though...”
Nicolas's eyes shot up to the halfling. It was if all the lines became clear and the fog in his head had parted as the fog outside began to roll in. He snapped his fingers and his eyes lit up, "Smugglers. Has to be. They use the light to signal the boats when and where to bring in their goods. Must be some kind of hideout nearby...below the house maybe? Would explain why they're so protective of the location but have put no effort into maintenance."
Tore cuts Nicolas off. "Gots ta be smugglers, it does!” His voice booms down the hall.
The robed dwarf turns and begins stomping down the hallway, towards the entrance hall. “Now ya little weasel, it's bout time ya start movin them lips in a way that makes sense…” The rest of the party follows the riled-up dwarf.
On the balcony above the stairs, Tydir is watching the party's reaction to Torestorlim. At the bottom of the stairs, Ned is in mid-stretch, working the kinks out of his arms and legs. He casually gets to his feet, and stretches slowly.
Tore’s tirade continues. “I was gettin' real impatient listenin' ta ya spout that nonsense and unless ya want me ta tie ya back up, clobber yer head and throw ya down the well, it's in yer best interest ta not tell me or me companions anymore lies, so let's hear it son..."
Torestorlim reaches the tops of the steps and turns to descend when Ned, without a word, leaps to the front door, opens it, and disappears running into the fog.
Zalo is momentarily stunned and doesn't have time to get out so much as an exclamation before their erstwhile companion disappears into the roiling gloom.
"Perhaps Cahoots can get a fix on him." He steadies himself against the bannister of the stairs as his eyes take on a distant, glassy look. "Back in a flash, but don't wait for me!"
Alton watches with a mix of surprise and sadness. He points towards the door and mutters a quick spell under his breath, then waits longingly for an answer.
A moment later he sighs and says, “No luck. I sent him a message pleading for him to come back, that we were friends. I don’t think he’s coming back. I do hope he’ll be ok.”
Alton visibly shakes it off. He tries to put on a stiff upper lip but it’s easy to see he’s hurt by the sudden departure of Ned, as if it were some personal failure.
Zalo snaps back to awareness, peering around for a moment, slightly disoriented. "Well, he's heading for the road. Cahoots will keep an eye on him as best as he can, but perhaps we should watch our backs in this investigation. If he went to get help he might not have to go far." The gnome gets a worried look on his face as he contemplates more thugs.
"Ah, **** the house!” shouts Tore. “We'll come back! None of us are gonna live if that fool manages ta get help! LET'S GO!"
Tore takes off running out of the door.
Zalo watches, dumbfounded, as the dwarf takes off. "There's really no reasoning with him, is there?" An exasperated sigh escapes his lips as he hustles downstairs, heading out the back door in an attempt to save a little time.
Tydir sighs heavily and sheaves his blade, shaking his head at the monk's nonsense.
“The fool is determined to get himself killed.” he mutters under his breath
“Hrumph. Threatening to beat the truth out of someone who was attacked and left for dead might not be the best approach to get them to talk, but running doesn't exactly make him look innocent either. Especially since he's unarmed and naked - methinks it's likely he's confident he can get equipped somewhere close. We should make haste with our search here and be careful keep watch behind us.”
Blade out, buckler by his side, Tydir begins moving down the staircase to take up position at the bottom of the stairs where he has a view out the door and through the entryway. He pulls his salt-stained cloak around his form and attempts to hug the shadows as best he can.
Stopping just outside the door, Tore stops and slams his paddle into the earth. The fog is too thick to see Ned. "AH HE'S ****IN GONE... ****!" He stomps back inside.
"I knew we should never have untied that weasel! Better get yerselves ready, ya should. I'm bettin' he comes back with friends. Maybe we can tell who he belongs ta by his clothes, if we can find em."
A moment later, Zalo, too, returns to the entry hall from the back door.
“Well,” says Alton, “there’s not much we can do now except figure out what else is in this house.” He suddenly lights up in though, “Oh! I just thought of something! So, so, so if there was someone at the window with a light then there must have been somewhere for them to stay. A bed, rations, maybe even some letters with orders. Let’s keep looking.”
Without even thinking about it Alton starts singing, and Zalo can’t help but picking it up and humming along. It’s a sad tune, but catchy, and Alton sings it under his breath:
The house was rotten, barely intact
We found a man, he’d been attacked
He was tied up, said his name was Ned
We set him free, but into the fog...he fled
Zalo can't help but hum along...
Current Roles:
GM - Fata Morgana: The Ghosts of Saltmarsh
With the commotion over and Ned gone, the party reconvenes in the entrance hall.
Alton sighs as he stares out the front door into the mist. “You’re right, Tore. He fooled us all. But that’s out of our control now. Let’s focus on this house now.”
He looks up at the hole in the balcony, “You know, I think Nicholas and I can probably finish the search upstairs if the rest of you want to figure out those illusions and see if there’s anything interesting in the library. Shall we?”
Zalo perks up. "The library! You don't need to tell me twice." His feet patter with tippy-taps of excitement as he immediately scurries down the west hallway and flings open the door with enthusiasm, peering into the shelves for anything that's still intact or interesting.
Alton starts heading towards the north end of the house where the kitchen and second staircase lie. He says, “I think we should take this way, it might be a bit safer.” His face gains a smile, “Assuming, of course, this house doesn’t fall on us first! Watch your step.”
Alton walks slowly, scanning the hallway floor, until he comes to the kitchen. At the doorway he stops and looks inside before stepping in.
The kitchen is dirty and damp, with patches of gray mold and cobwebs on the floor, walls, and ceiling. In the southwest corner is some iron cooking equipment with a chimney above. Next to it, under the west window, is a cracked and discolored stone sink. To the right of the sink, a small, closed wooden cupboard is fixed to the wall. Against the far north wall, a flight of wooden stairs leads upward from west to east; the woodwork of the staircase is decayed, and a few of the treads are missing.
Alton speaks up down the hallway. “I see some boot prints leading up these stairs. Not much else. Someone want to help me with this illusion? I don’t want to be bleeding out in here while you’re all looking through books!”
Wordlessly, Tydir goes to retrieve the enthusiastic diminutive collector.
Not waiting for an answer, Alton begins rummaging through the kitchen equipment until he arrives in front of the cupboard. Even standing on his tiptoes, the halfling is unable to see the bottom shelf's contents.
He looks around for a way up, and his eyes fall upon the stone sink to the left. With a grunt of determination he pulls himself to the top, and stands carefully, balancing precariously on the edge. Then, leaning forward, he peers inside the cupboard.
On the other side of the house, Tydir enters the library in search of Zalo. Already the gnome’s head is buried deep into the pages, poring over the extensive magical diagrams and runic patterns.
"Incredible!” says Zalo. “Did you know that with the right resonance factors, pentagonal emeralds can be used to focus divination energies for enhancing rune pathways?" He looks up momentarily, stunned and delighted by this esoteric revelation.
"Master Gnome,” Tydir says patiently, “I do believe you are likely best equipped to help Alton with those magical auras. Perhaps the exploration of the library can wait until we understand what's waiting for us in the kitchen.”
The gnome snaps back to reality for a moment, but his head returns to the book. "Oh, yes, what was that you were saying? The stairs weren't where the magical effect was. It was somewhere in the pantry. I didn't open it because we'd just arrived at the house and we didn't want to be too noisy.”
He hooks a hefty load of books under one arm, while holding the open book entitled "The Magical Properties of Gemstones" in the other. “But I'm happy to perform the ritual again and get a better fix on it." His eyes never leave the pages as they flit from one line to the next.
"But the stairs are safe to climb, as far as I saw, magically speaking."
In the kitchen, Alton is tottering on the edge of the stone sink, trying to reach the very top cupboard shelf. A sound catches his attention, from behind. It's cavernous and scratchy, something sliding lightly across hollow metal, and it's coming from the sink. Suddenly, there's a light and rapid clicking echoing out from the drain, like the drumming of a thousand tiny fingernails. It's ascending.
Combat Round 1
A moment later, a pair of red, hooked appendages crests the lip of the drain, from the dark recesses below. And then another pair. And another.
It's an enormous, crimson centipede, over a foot long.
Alton lunges back from the sink and runs backwards along the countertop. He jumps down and shouts, "Nice try you ugly bug! Not even your mother will give you a hug!"
The air shimmers with arcane energy, but the centipede keeps snaking out of the drain, unimpeded. Seeing his spell fell on deaf ears, Alton wonders if centipedes even have ears, and runs to the corner of the kitchen.
Nicolas had taken a slower pace to take in the finer details of the rooms in the back, and to avoid discovering any sort of basement too hastily. However, as the group spread out he had become increasingly uneasy at their exposure. His paranoia seems to be confirmed as the scuttling sounds from the kitchen send him to action.
He barely gets to the opening of the kitchen when Alton's aggressor is already apparent. He has only seconds to react, so he sends a dagger from his belt off toward the creature emerging from the sink. His aim is true, but just before the dagger is about to hit, one of the crossguards catches the edge of the sink, and the projectile falls inside the basin with a clatter.
Ilseh follows suit. She shrugs her left side and swings her beaten 'shield' from around her left shoulder, then pulls her left short blade from its sling with her good arm as she slowly approaches the open entryway of the kitchen from the hallway.
Seeing a large millipede-like insect assaulting one of her smaller comrades, she regrets her cavalier approach. Ilseh immediately closes the distance between herself and Alton, raising her wooden shield and pointing her sword at the creature.
"Get behind me!"
Torestorlim is next, sprinting through the kitchen door. He breaks off to the right as he enters the room. Seeing just the head of the centipede sticking from the sink drain, he pulls a dart from his belt and murmurs to himself "I knew all the practice I was gettin' at the tavern would pay off.."
Aiming carefully, he waits patiently…
The centipede finishes its ascent from the drain, crawls over the edge of the sink, and lands on the floor with a soft thump. As soon as it plops on the floor, Tore grunts and flings his dart with all his might. It sticks clean through one of the centipede’s tail segments, splitting the creature in two. The back portion writhes helplessly on the floor while the larger, front section continues slowly on towards Ilseh.
Another centipede, as big as the first, rears its head out of the sink and follows, slinking out of the sink onto the floor. It, too, targets the nearest intruder—Ilseh.
Both bugs arrive at her feet simultaneously. She kicks the maimed one away, and it skitters across the floor, into the corner, coiled up defensively. The other finds purchase on her foot, crawls partially up her leg, and sinks its pincers into her thigh.
"AUUGH FRIK!" Ilseh yells. The bug's piercing incisors were deceptively long, and a stinging sensation accompanied the pain. Green droplets form around the puncture wounds.
Down the west hallway, near the library, Tydir hears the commotion. He pulls his blade and buckler, and moves at full speed towards the ruckus.
Zalo, startled, sets the books down in the hallway with alarm. "What's happening now?"
He scurries back through the hall after Tydir. "I swear, if Tore has collapsed another staircase back there, I'm going to wring his neck," mutters the gnome under his breath.
Tydir responds with a chuckle, "This house seems to be trying to kill us all on its own - without the help of any ghouls or spirits!"
Combat Round 2
Tydir rounds the corner, comes barreling down the kitchen hall, and he sees the horrible bug-like creature sinking its pincers deep into Ilseh’s flesh.
Nearby, Nicolas is already on the move to help. In a quick motion the man unsheathes the rapier from his side, and runs the short distance between him and the warrior. Making moves around the overgrown myriapod, Nicolas thrusts downwards, just behind the head of the creature, piercing deep below it's chitinous exterior. There's a brief and sickening crunch as the weapon skewers the thing’s head, as well as three more segments behind it. The rest of the body writhes helplessly, coiling around the end of the rapier like a kebab.
Just then, Alton wonders if the bugs are best cooked fried, or low and slow.
With a flick of his wrist, Nicolas flings the elongated body from the rapier’s tip into the corner of the kitchen.
Another centipede slides out of the drain of the sink, onto the floor, its fangs dripping with poison. Tore runs around the other side of Ilseh, paddle coming down in a large sweeping arc, just missing the escaped crawlers. The end of the paddle slams into the floor of the kitchen, sending up a small plume of dust and mold.
Alton steps to the side, quickly points, utters another vicious insult, and the creature curls up into a tight ball, its legs twitching.
Tydir closes the remaining distance to the kitchen as quickly as little legs can carry him, and slices the palm of his hand with his blade as he runs. Clasping his bloody hand on the warrior’s shoulder, Tydir’s voice booms out, “You shall not fall brave one, for you are the storm that Procan has sent!”
The blood from his palm runs down her body and seems to seek out her wounds, seeping into them and knitting them closed, as a warm light emanates from where he grips her shoulder.
Wide-eyed with uncertainty, Ilseh watches as the pious sailor's peculiar healing magic fuses into her wound, closing the ruptures in her blanche skin. She pivots her leg side-to-side, feeling only a dull echo of the pain that was before.
"Thank you, dwarf." She simply says, readying her sword and shield once more, eyes centered on the centipede-spewing kitchen sink.
Zalo scurries into the kitchen, pausing for a moment to duck under Ilseh's legs as he examines the situation. With two horrendous insects still twitching in their death-throes near her feet, he glances with dismay at the sounds coming from the sink. The hideous clacking mandibles of another centipede are not far behind.
He levels his finger at the lip of the sink, and a tight coil of flame and smoke spirals down his arm, flickering and quivering like a taut bowstring as it yearns to be released. A bead of sweat rolls down his forehead as he holds the spell in abeyance, waiting for the right moment.
With hollow tinny scratches, another centipede cascades out of the drain, and crawls onto the edge of the sink. Zalo lets loose his attack. With a sizzle, the bolt hits the bug square in the head, and it flips backwards into the sink, dead and burning.
Current Roles:
GM - Fata Morgana: The Ghosts of Saltmarsh
The group, clustered behind Ilseh on the front line, looks around the room guardedly. The four enormous bugs lie dead before them. The corpses of some are still squirming, dry chitin scraping like a whisper on the floor. In the sink one smolders, filling the room with a foul, charred stench. A soft breeze blows just outside, gently roiling the fog into misty eddies past the kitchen door.
Alton walks over to the burning centipede. He leans in and sniffs, but then quickly moves away with a crinkled nose. “Ugh, too burnt.” He looks at the others cut up by blades, “No good, no good. I guess no centi-stew for us tonight.”
“What in Procan’s holy name is going on with this place!” shouts a visibly exasperated Tydir. “nd what is with you lot blundering into bitey, stingy things that want to kill us! I can’t keep patching folks up like this!”
Alton turns to the group with a somber face, “Sorry everyone. My mistake for not being careful enough. But as my daddy used to say: ‘Every mistake is a lesson.’ Let’s not repeat my error. Let’s team up while exploring the rest of the house. Given our luck I’m sure more dangers await. But maybe, just maybe, we’ll find some more clues here.”
Zalo stretches, yawns, and rubs his eyes blearily as the tension leaves his body. "You have the right of it, Tydir. If this keeps up I'm going to need to take my afternoon nap this morning! It's frankly impressive that you're all still standing."
He gasps suddenly, his eyes wide open. "Oh no! I dropped the books!"
He scurries back down the hall and around the corner to the library, where he scoops up the books he'd left on the floor. When he returns to the kitchen, he sits down by the door, where there's a little more light, and resumes reading the thick tome.
Ilseh slings her sword and shoulders her shield. Smudging the drying blood across her now ripped pants, she inspects her newly acquired scars on her thigh. A dull pain lingers deep within, close to her bone, but the wound was closed. Two even paler half-moon shapes have taken the place of where the centipede's incisors tore through her skin and flesh. She traces them with her fingers.
Without looking away she says, "I'm sure it wears on you, but I appreciate what you did." She stands straight and looks at the dwarf that had used healing magics on her.
A heavy sigh from the dwarf and his anger seems to dissipate like a summer storm -furious but brief. “I’m sorry for my outburst Tall One - it most certainly wasn't directed at you. Your quick thinking and your selflessness undoubtedly kept the danger from the rest of us.
“And Procan sent me to you lot because he knew you would need his blessings - you all are simply proving the wisdom of his ways.” This last bit was delivered with a broad smile and a hearty chuckle, almost as if the lean dwarf was enjoying himself in this ruin of a house.
Making a hmph, Ilseh smooths her right hand to brush back her hair. "So, what exactly have we gathered from this place? Honestly, seems like an abandoned, dying home that has been filled with the talk of scared folk. So a man was tied up here? I've seen weirder, and in less weird places."
The gnome makes a "mm-hmm!" of approval at Ilseh's remarks. "Well, I mean, we're pretty certain someone's been using a lantern in that upstairs window. Now, if I were a ne'er-do-well, I'd probably stay out of sight. But the easiest way to stay out of sight is probably not to shine lanterns out your window at night.
"Now, as for what we've gathered, why, just look at this treasure trove!" He taps the tall, precariously stacked tower of books by his side. "My vote is you lot finish looking around where you feel it's appropriate. That'll give me a few minutes to examine the magical aura in the pantry to see what it can tell us."
Torestorlim speaks up. “I think our friend knew 'bout this bein a smugglers hideout, he did. Wanted us ta take care of it for 'im. Primewalter may be takin' their coin, and that's why he didn't want us to get 'im involved."
Ilseh looks over. “Suppose it was fortuitous we found the man just when we were to investigate. Ugh." She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. She detested the machinations of the political.
"If this is some sort of illicit cache,” she says, “then we've yet to clear it. Unless we plan on burning the whole thing to cinders, I'll stay with the gnome while he wafts the magic."
"I'd recommend against tossing the entirety of the property into the fire," Nicolas adds in, nonchalantly, as he stows his rapier and begins moving off in the direction of the sink. "There is potential evidence to point to whom might be financing and directing the smugglers.”
He reaches into the sink, brushes the smoldering centipede aside, and retrieves his dagger. “While losing Ned is certainly regrettable in retrospect, his situation marked him as someone who might not have been in good standing with the group that occupies this property.
"So I'd agree with Alton, we should move carefully and together to investigate the remaining illusions as they may hide more information regarding the operations here." He was certainly interested in what was occurring here, what they were smuggling, but most importantly who were they answering to, if anyone.
Zalo puts the books down again, disappointed at having to set them aside, but nods. "Very well! Your advice of sticking together is well taken. I will pack these up for viewing later and prepare the ritual."
He starts rummaging around in his pack for the supplies, setting out three small stones and evenly spacing them into a triangle. "Oh, I'd almost forgotten. I found this in one of the books."
The gnome makes a few strokes with his hands, and a moldy, tattered page appears in the air. It once held writing, but is now mostly illegible except for two words:
beyond skeletons
"What do we make of that, I wonder? It was stuffed between two pages in the library."
Zalo sets out three candles on the stones, and traces a circle in the damp, musty floor around them. "Here we go! I'll be occupied for a few minutes." He smiles and gets to work, stepping into the circle and moving his hands about as he chants.
It's much different than Alton's musical and improvisational approach to his craft. This is a language of precision and rigor, though there are still touches of creativity in a flourish here or a flick there. A luminous arc gleams faintly on the ground, growing into a circle as the minutes pass.
There’s a fluttering sound outside as Cahoots appears through the fog, mid-descent, and lands just outside the doorway, kicking up a small cloud of dust. With three short hops, they cross the threshold, and tilt their head to survey the party.
When Cahoots spots Zalo, their feathers ruffle, and they make a short, leaping flight to the top of the cupboard to perch. Patiently, they wait for the ritual to finish.
Tydir settles himself in place in a quiet corner of the kitchen. Taking long deliberate deep breaths to center himself, he slowly works his hands through a series of movements reminiscent of a sailor tying invisible knots. He mumbles in a low voice as he does, nearly at a chant. The words are indistinct but have the rhythm of a sea-chanty and are seem to have a soothing effect on the cantankerous dwarf.
Alton is nodding his head with the rhythm. His fingers move silently over his flute, and he mouths the words when he can hear them. When the song is completed, Alton asks, "Whoa, neat song! We should totally perform that sometime. You sing, I play. What do you think?"
There’s a chuckle and a shake of the head from Tydir. “No my friend, it isn’t that kind of song and I’m not much of a singer. But Procan doesn’t mind a warbley voice like mine when the song is for him.”
The glowing sliver around Zalo becomes an arc, and grows until it becomes a circle. The last segment completes, and the candles flare for a moment before they snuff out. Zalo claps his hands twice, rubbing the sweat from his brow as he packs up.
Cahoots hoots softly, attracting the gnome's attention from above. When the two lock gazes, the owl extends their left wing, then slowly and deliberately preens it. After tucking the wing back in, they leap from the cupboard and glide to the gnome’s left shoulder. There, they again ruffle their feathers, and begin preening the gnome's beard. Whatever the message they’re sending, Zalo seems to understand.
Alton steps up to the gnome excitedly and asks, "So, what did you find? Anything good? I checked most of the kitchen but you know, that was just with my eyes and hands. I don't have cool magic like that. I wish I did. I just never had the right schooling, you know? 'Oh Alton, get that net! Alton, get me the bait! Alton, scrub the deck!' was my education. Only learned to read from tavern signs! But man, if I had magic like that, I'd be casting it like all the time."
Alton takes a breath, "So? What'd you find?"
The gnome smiles. "That's funny. I was just thinking how I wished I'd learned an instrument. You have a skill with your flute that is better than anything I can muster with my magic. And learning from tavern signs is more impressive than learning from a master, for one judges impressiveness by the talent and dedication required, and I dare say your effort surpasses mine in that regard."
"Now, let's see about that aura in the pantry. I don't suppose one of the more eagle-eyed among us could check the door itself for anything untoward like, say, pantry centipedes or pantry spiders?" Zalo glances nervously at the pile of centipede corpses dead from various means in the kitchen.
Alton nods at Zalo and says, “I’ll do it! I feel bad for, you know, waking up those centipedes. It’s the least I can do.”
He tiptoes over to the pantry with his rapier outstretched, turns the knob, and carefully pulls the door open. The exuberant halfling gasps out in surprise. ”More stairs!!!”
Instead of a pantry, the room is a tiny scullery. It displays the effects of damp and decay more than most of the other rooms encountered so far. Mold grows in patches on the floor, walls, and ceiling. Stairs, on the middle of the east side, lead southward, down into what is presumably a cellar. A single window, to the north, lights the room with ethereal, fog-filtered sunlight. A large copper cask, split, discolored and empty, stands under the window, with a small heap of crockery shards on the floor beside it.
Alton walks over to the staircase and is about to step down but then stops mid-stride. He looks back over his shoulder and says, “So, uh, if there’s anything I’ve learned about this house it’s that we should be careful. I don’t think anyone has used these stairs in a while but cellars can be home to all manner of dangerous creatures. Oh! I bet more snakes. Or maybe lots of bugs.” His eyes open wide with a mix of excitement and fear, “Maybe even a zombie!!”
Zalo peers into the scullery, looking nervously at the mold. "I hope that's just, you know, mold, and not...mold."
He scans the room carefully, looking for the aura or anything else that seems out of place. "It's in here somewhere, I just need to focus a little bit. Oh, there it is, it's on the...", he mumbles quietly to himself…
Tore gently gently shoves past Alton and Zalo, and looks over his shoulder. "Come on ya bunch a babies, it's just a bit a dark it is. If the smugglers are down here we tell em the truth a the matter, turn 'round and leave and go collect our gold. Place is as good as empty it is. I'll tell 'im. Now... let's go!"
The dwarf moves to step down, onto the stairs.
"Tore!" Zalo hisses abruptly, moving into the room behind the boorish dwarf. He throws out his hand in warning, and delicately but firmly grabbing the only thing within reach: one of the dwarf's braids of amber hair. "It's coming from the first step on the stairs!"
Tore scrunches his forehead in a scowl at Zalo, but quickly relaxes back to his normal wrinkled look of disdain.
Zalo scrutinizes the stairs more closely, still holding onto the braid. "And it's another illusion, it seems. But either way, don't step on it, if you please."
He takes a deep breath to center himself and lets go of Tore's hair. "Sorry."
"Well a kind word a warnin would a done ya just fine it woulda... but... I guess I appreciates the gesture none the less. I haven't had a drink in many hour, I haven’t, and this ol man mus' be gettin a bit impatient..."
Nicolas, from the back of the group, calls out coldly to Torestorlim, "Are you certain it is wise for you to go galivanting off again? Especially given your...previous encounters?"
He gets behind Zalo and gives his own cursory glance into the scullery, "Perhaps we stick with out plan of remaining together? Would that be so radical an idea?"
Tydir speaks up from the corner of the kitchen. “I heartedly concur! This clap-rattle deathtrap of a house requires a methodical approach, Master Dwarf. I implore you, please don't go scurrying off into the darkness. Especially since I'm afraid I can't repair anymore damage to anyone today…”
He turns to Zalo. “Master Gnome, can we simply step over this illusion to avoid it? Or do you have the ability to remove it entirely?”
The gnome bends down next to Tore and Tydir to carefully look at the stairs. "I think we can just step over it. It looks like there's a large pocket of magical energy being held in reserve here. If we trigger it, it will emit some kind of sound. And if there are smugglers are down there, perhaps it's an alert that someone is snooping around up here."
He thinks for a moment more. "You know, I think I've heard of a spell like this before. It lets whoever casts it leave a short message. The message can be a warning, a scream, a helpful hint, or anything, really. It's impossible to say without triggering it. But I don't think it will be good for us if we do."
He looks pleadingly at Tore. "So, yes, stepping over it would probably be ideal."
Alton looks down at the hidden spell with a grimace, “Well whatever it speaks, I don’t think it’ll be a recipe for honey cakes. Likely a warning for anyone down below. An alarm.”
Alton lights up and gasps, “Oh! I bet the smugglers are down there! Big, nasty, smelly men with swords and clubs...” Alton looks towards the stairs, “And apparently a wizard. Gah! I wish we could contact the authorities, Anders maybe...but if we leave now then they’ll get away.” Alton nods in acceptance, “We have to do it. We have to defeat them.”
He bites his lower lip and his eyes raise up as he remembers something. “Hey! Hey! Hey! I know what do to! My daddy used to catch catfish, mmm! Delicious creatures! By putting a net down in front of their underwater mud hole then poking around the hole with a stick. As soon as the catfish came out, he’d pull up on the net and BAM! Dinner!”
“Anyway!” Alton continues, “What if we smoke them out? Start a small contained fire in that pantry and then seal it. I have a hammer and nails, remember?! Seal it up tight and see if anything down there squirms.”
Nicolas runs a finger along the dust of a shelf and inspects it before rubbing it off, "If they're snuggling things in such a way that they require signaling to the sea then they most likely have a second entrance by which to bring in their illicit goods. A fire at this level will do nothing but endanger ourselves."
He shifts his attention over to Alton with an emotionless stare, "In this case, though we are not formally the authorities, we carry a responsibility to remove these miscreants from the property. Regardless of the descriptors you choose to attach to them, they must be dealt with. We all accepted our contracts with full knowledge of the risks involved in carrying out this task. To go back now would reflect poorly on ourselves and our families." He added a bit of extra emphasis to the mention of family as he knew it was a point of exploitation for Alton, and he needed to ensure that the bard's resolve wouldn't waver at a critical point such as now.
“I agree with our acquired expert here,” says Tydir. “Blades out and shields front, that's the best way forward my friends. Quietly of course, but I'm not sure we'll gain much surprise with all the racket we've already made.”
Tydir suits his actions to his words and draws his blade and buckler, working his arms through a series of quick limbering exercises.
"Ey we never agreed ta defeatin no smugglers, we didn’t,” says Tore. “Smugglin’s a time-honored tradition in the marsh, an' the ties ta the political folk run deep, and I don' feel like makin no enemies outa them folk I don't. An approach that isn't led by a blade an' battle cry might suit us better, it might."
Zalo looks surprised at Tore. "What's that? Taking a nuanced approach to a difficult and possibly dangerous situation, layered with any number of contingencies and complexities? Perhaps I have judged you wrongly." He smiles.
“I’m inclined to agree,” he continues, “but I don't think smugglers will be likely to look favorably on us discovering their operation. The council's going to want an explanation for what's going on here, won't they? We can't rightly tell them 'nothing'."
He peers down the steps. "We don't even know if there are smugglers anyway. That's all speculation so far."
"Regardless of its heritage or connections,” says Nicolas, “it is a profession which drives economic opportunity away from well meaning people of the town, and can strengthen several detestable markets."
He moves through the small crowd and skips the first step of the stairs. "We have a job to do, and we won't be able to complete it standing up here."
Tydir steps into the stairwell, following on Nicolas’s heels. He says nothing to those still hesitating in the scullery; the time for talk has passed. Carefully avoiding the trapped step, he advances down the stairs, his buckler at the ready, blade held low and close.
Skipping the first stair, Tore sprints after Nicolas and Tydir, yelling along the way, "IF ANY TRADERS ARE HERE, I COME WITH A WARNING. PLEASE DO NOT ATTACK. I AM THE MONK FROM THE SANCTUM, SMUGGLER OF ALE. "
“Blast that fool dwarf!” exclaims Tydir.
Alton cringes, as the dwarf is clearly throwing away their surprise advantage. He stares with horrified eyes, then down to his belt. He quickly pulls out his flute and improvises a lively tune:
What's the best drink in the world? Ale!
What do we say when we finish our ale? More!
How do we get more ale? Sale!
And who's the best ale salesmen? Tore!
Alton finishes, and yells down as well. "AND I AM HIS TRUSTY SIDEKICK! WOULD YOU LIKE TO COME UP FOR A FREE SAMPLE?"
He gains a very nervous face as he holds his rapier outstretch towards the kitchen doorway, expecting an ambush any second now.
Everyone heads down the stairs without issue, some carefully, some brazenly, and some foolishly. The room appears empty of occupants. Shoulder-height wooden wine bottle racks line the north and west walls here. There appear to be no intact bottles left in the racks and shattered bottles cover the floor. Against the east wall, at the foot of the stairs, rest two large metal storage bins that appear to be empty. In the center of the room lies a human corpse clad in plate mail; a longsword lies by the corpse’s right side, and a large shield covers its legs.
Alton peers around the dark room and sees no potential hiding spots, but he remains vigilant with his rapier at the ready. Knight? Zombie? Wine bottle elemental? Anything is possible.
Zalo hops the step, much more spry than he normally is, and traipses down the stairs carefully. He has his hands up and at the ready as he looks about.
Ilseh follows last, having the same precautionary instinct to defend against an ambush as Alton did.
"Seems a party took place before we ever arrived."
Nicolas is surveying the scene as the others shuffle in, already irritated that anyone would have a leg up on them in regards to setting an ambush thanks to his 'companions'. As he comes upon the body, though, he crouches down to examine the corpse, his mind immediately going to work looking over the body to determine every detail. He busies himself with the placement of the body, purposeful or just where he fell? It's certainly an all too natural position for a body to crumple into. He has much to consider.
Tydir joins him from the other side of the plate-clad cadaver. The two speak to each other in murmurs as they begin to unfasten the dinted plate armor to get a closer look at the corpse, itself.
Eying the longsword, Ilseh reaches down and lifts it, testing its heft. She then kneels down beside Nicolas and Tydir and watches them work. "What of the man?"
Nicolas looks up. “Well it wasn't a clean end. The armor is ruined from blunt force strikes. It suggests a less than ideally equipped force, but in greater numbers than the man was prepared for. It was a drawn out engagement by the look of it, hardly a quick hit job. And here you can see the—”
There's a sudden and sickening squishing sound, the whole body lurches, and a thick, fluid mass of tiny worms comes gushing out from between the plates like curdled milk being squeezed from a bladder.
Current Roles:
GM - Fata Morgana: The Ghosts of Saltmarsh
Combat Round 1
Ilseh urks backwards at the sudden squelching, rising to her feet as the corpse's flesh bursts forth.
Oh crap. Her face is shadowed with grim recognition before she yells holding her arms wide and preparing to move away.
"EVERYONE GET THE HELL BACK! DONT LET THEM BITE YOU!"
In a panicked frenzy, Nicolas stands up from his crouch, draws his rapier, and repeatedly whips the weapon madly at the wriggling mass on the floor, the metallic clacking echoing off the bare cellar walls. Bits of fluorescent green goo spatter onto his, Tydir’s, and Ilseh's face. He then rolls away to safety, behind Ilseh.
Tydir stumbles back from the ooze coming out of the corpse, scrambling to get clear of the mass of worms boiling onto the floor.
A sensation of heat and thriving energy fills Ilseh's chest, flowing down the veins of her arm and into her hand. The enervation bursts into red sparks of flame. But before the fire can grow in intensity, the woman has already thrust her palm forward, throwing little more than embers at the writhing insects, which burns too few of them.
Affixing her shield to her arm once more, Ilseh turns her head back and shouts, "I'm not joking- GET THE HELL AWAY!"
Tydir, pointing his blade at the writhing milky mass of creatures, calls upon Procan's power: “I smite thee, foul creatures!” A wan light seeps from Tydir's hands and slides down the wickedly curved blade, bathing the creatures in a pale blue light; but it seems to have no effect whatsoever on the creatures. None.
Concentrate you fool dwarf, concentrate!
A good portion of the worms seethe towards Ilseh. In an attempt to remain on the front line, she throws her shield onto the floor and stands on it, pushing the encroaching grubs off the edges with her toe as they try to crawl up.
Alton looks horrified and excited at the same time. “Oh my gods!” he cries. “What amazing fishing bait!”
He runs up to the wormy mass with his rapier, lowers his blade to the ground, and makes a few quick back-and-forth motions, hoping to stab a bunch of them like a worm-kebab. Though most of his grubby quarry is simply smashed and smeared across the floor, the halfling manages to thread a few of the large grubs on the end of his rapier. Satisfied, he quickly retreats to the doorway of the cellar.
Tore, who had been standing near the doorway, casually walks past Ilseh and into the writhing mass of worms. He starts stepping around in slow circles. "And you take some a this, ya can, and I think you can take some a...THAT...and some a THIS..." With each step there's a sucking, smacking sound much like that of forming a hamburger patty by hand.
The wriggling beneath him doubles in intensity, and he suddenly leaps out of the swarm, shouting in pain. Lifting his robes with clenched fists, he grasps desperately at his feet. A few of the worms found purchase in his ankles, and have already bored their way beneath the skin, into his bare flesh.
Zalo looks on with dismay as the encroaching swarm masses around his companions. These wretched worms weren't familiar, and yet they adopted many familiar patterns among predatory creatures of a similar nature.
"We need to burn them off when they latch on," Zalo says with mounting alarm. "Immediately!" He hops down off the last step, rushing next to Tore, who was howling with pain, clawing at his ankles.
"Oh, I'm going to be sick!" The gnome's face goes white as he gets a close look at the worms, their squishing, mealy bodies gorged with blood as they begin to disappear under Tore's skin. "Hold still!" He holds his hand out to Tore’s feet, averting his attack slightly to lessen the damage.
But Zalo is no surgeon on short notice. Despite his efforts to limit the collateral damage, a jet of blazing fire courses down his arm and engulfs the dwarf's exposed ankles. He takes a few shaky steps back. Tore collapses to the floor, his screams of pain redoubling.
Alton feels bad for the dwarf and makes a mental note to try to convince him to wear shoes next time.
Combat Round 2
"What the hell did I just say!" Ilseh shouts at the dwarf as he steps on the rot grubs with his bare feet.
Thankfully, she wasn't the only one who knew a thing or two about these insects- she saw the gnome immediately scorch the imbecile.
Still on top of her shield to evade the encroaching masses- Ilseh hates losing its protection- she jumps back and away from the teeming insects. While midair, she builds another collection of heat in her hand and thrusts it forward at Torestorlim's assailants, burning some of the dwindling swarm.
She lands nearby the dwarf, squashing a few more beneath her boots. "These things get in- you die!" She harshly scolds.
Furrowing his brows in concentration from behind, Tydir again calls upon Procan's might to drive back these maggots. “Burn with purity of Procan's sight!” He watches in disappointment as the wan light sizzles against the writhing mass, crisping up only a handful of worms.
What are you doing, you are Procan's chosen. Focus, man!
Alton, seeing the limited effect his rapier had last time, almost pulls out his flute for a moment, but reconsiders. He makes a heavy sigh and charges back at the smaller group of worms. This time he swipes back and forth along the ground a few times, cutting the worms up with the tip of his weapon. It’s not great, he know, but it’s the best thing he can do.
Not being eager to test Ilseh's theory at the moment, Nicolas carefully plans out a course to try and attack the swarm without suffering Tore's fate. Though inefficient, he strikes a few more worms with his attack, hoping to disperse the swarm.
His ankles black and frayed with burnt skin, Tore pulls out his mash paddle and begins flogging the worms next to him and Ilseh, the wood clacking loudly with each blow. Bits of grub splatter and fling from the end of his weapon, flecking everything (and everyone) in the room with green gunk.
Zalo scurries up to the worms, kneels down, and carefully aims his outstretched hand at the mass. A coil of fire erupts from his fingertips, roiling across the floor like a carpet being unfurled, leaving a black, charred path of dead grubs behind it. He quickly retreats again behind the safety of the others.
Combat Round 3
Once again, Tydir reaches out to his connection to Procan, drawing on his faith instead of his fists. Again, there’s no effect. Unfortunately his faith seems to be lacking in the fervor needed to burn back the mass of worms.
Using the point of her longsword, Ilseh leans forward and drags her shield back from the diminishing sea of worms, gives it a good thump on the ground to knock off the straggling worms, and re-equips it. She sidesteps in front of the dwarven monk, and forcefully steps backwards, pushing him into the others, behind her. Then, hand outstretched, she unleashes another blast of fire. This time it’s enormous; a large circle of grubs hiss and sizzle on the floor before her, leaving just a few behind.
The remaining worms flood towards Ilseh, but their diminished numbers are unable to gain purchase on her boots; they're simply crushed under her feet as she retreats.
Alton and Nicolas both push to the front line. Side-by-side, they whip, scrape, and jab at the remaining grubs with their rapiers. When the scrape and clatter of metal-on-stone ceases, so too does the constant and terrifying writhing of the floor.
Nearly the entire cellar floor, as well as parts of the wall and ceiling, are smeared green with innards. Chunks of black char are mixed with white bits of grub—a few of which are still oozing and twitching. But it seems the threat has been eliminated. The air is filled with acrid smoke, a smell like that of burning flesh. The corpse in the middle room has been rent into three, ragged pieces. A vile, translucent fluid oozes from the gaping flesh, as well as from the seams of the battered plate armor.
From behind there’s the ominous sound of hooting, softly echoing down the stairs. Cahoots has seen something, or someone.
Current Roles:
GM - Fata Morgana: The Ghosts of Saltmarsh
“Cahoots seems to be agitated,” says Tydir. “I think we should be prepared for company.” He turns to face the stairway, and slinks into a dim-lit corner.
Alton looks up at the staircase and scratches his chin. Wiping some sweat off his brow, he ponders, “I wonder who’s up there? Zalo, can you see through Cahoots’ eyes?”
Zalo's eyes snap toward the stairs with an alert expression. "He's spotted someone. I don't know what yet. Let's get out of sight of the bottom of the stairwell." He motions to the wall against the stair and takes up a position some distance from the stairwell, his hands at the ready.
"Be right back," he whispers, and the gnome's face goes unsettlingly blank.
Alton moves to the bins, standing on his tiptoes to peek inside. Then he walks along the perimeter, feeling the walls slowly with his hands. “Cellars are a great place to find secret rooms. Maybe this house has more than meets the eye!”
Tore steps into the pile of goo up, up to what's left of the man in plate. Rolling him over onto his stomach, the plate is cracked around the shoulders and the rivets bent. "Not much good that'll do us, it won't."
Cutting the straps off his pack and stepping out from the pile of goo, Tore empties the contents onto a less messy spot on the cellar floor, then begins throwing items over his shoulder as he digs through the pile. ”A bedroll.. junk.. a mess kit.. junk.. tinderbox.. junk..big ol' pile a' torches.. junk..
"Aye.. a bit useful this is..." Tore removes some rope from the bottom of the pile and stuffs if into his pack.
He rolls the remains of the body away from him. "Nothin ta identify the man, there ain't. Jus some poor adventurer he was... Ah well."
Alton looks up, finished with his examination of the walls. "Apparently these eyes don’t see anything special. Looks empty to me.”
Something catches Tore's eye across the room. Amidst the broken bottles under the win rack, was an intact bottle with dark green, smooth glass and a hide parchment label. Dusting off the glass and cobwebs, his eyes gleam at the hand-painted, fancifully dressed unicorn on the bottle.
"Madeira Fortified! Never thought I'd see a bottle in me whole life, I didn't! Do yas know how rare this is?! Oxidizes in half-full casks in the bottom 'a ships on long tropical voyages! They says it'll cure ya if yer poisoned, but me think it'll just settle a sailor's sea sickness it will. If we make it outta here we're gonna celebrate we will!"
Pulling a length of the rope he just procured, he wraps the bottle from bottom to top twice to protect its delicate glass, and gently sets it in the top of his pack.
Tydir is watching the stairs carefully, cupping his hand to his ear. “Pipe down you fools!” he whispers. “Now’s not the time for a shopping spree - Cahoots is clearly trying to tell us something.”
"Right then," agrees Nicolas. "If we can perhaps have any semblance of professionalism in carrying this out this time?" He casts a side eye toward a certain barefooted dwarf.
The mercenary surveys the room and, stowing his rapier, produces a bow, nocking an arrow. "Get one person to either side of the doors, at least, and then one to charge them head-on as they enter the room, and we should be able to surrounded them quickly." He makes his own way to a darker area of the distant wall and begins sizing up the distance to make his shot.
Isleh agrees and positions herself, back to the wall, her shield and sword facing the cellar's previously only entryway. She's perpendicular to the stairs, hopefully one of the last to be noticed by anyone who'd happen down them.
"Yeh, surrounding them would be the best way to go, and I've got plenty of fire left in me." She swings her newly acquired longsword in her hand.
Zalo snaps back to reality, but lets his guard down slightly. "Someone's here in the house. Cahoots has only a limited ability to communicate, but I asked if it was someone we'd seen before, and they seem to think so. Ned is back, if I had to guess. Who else would be in this horrible house?"
"That's the best I can get at the moment, but they didn't come down the stairs. I wonder if perhaps they went upstairs instead. I suppose we'd better be careful." He coughs into his fist, looking at the ground. "More careful than we have been."
Alton places his pack behind the corpse (without getting mucky, yuck!) and lays prone on the ground to hide behind it. He holds his trusty flute in one hand, and mentally prepares a few useful spells.
He whispers loud enough for everyone in the cellar to hear. “Hey! Hey! Hey! Guys! Guys! If Ned’s back then I think he pulled the wool over our eyes. I bet he’s not naked, and I bet he’s not alone. I bet this corpse on the ground was the last adventurer who ‘saved’ Ned.”
Alton looks to the corpse with some sadness in his eyes, “I don’t want to end up like him. Now if we’re going to charge back upstairs, let’s do this with some planning. These bandits aren’t some mindless beasts, they clearly have planning and experience. We need to do this right or else one of us will die.”
Alton continues, “I only have the energy to cast one more spell. I have one that can put a few of them to sleep so we can deal with the woke ones, or I can make an illusion that can mask our approach.” Alton looks around at the others, “What else do we have?”
Tydir is tucked in against the wine racks, attempting to envelope himself in their shadows. He pitches his voice low so it won't carry beyond the confines of the room. “I’m afraid I'm of limited use for some time - aside from my blade and buckler here, that is. I can bestow Procan's blessing and, if he smiles on me, burn them with Procan's light. But that's about all.”
Zalo ticks off his offerings on his fingers as he does a mental inventory. "I haven't expended much. I can offer a fog a few dozen paces across, a volley of unerring magical bolts, or I can also put one or two weaker beings to sleep for a short time."
He looks around at his companions. "If we're feeling tapped out, I don't think it's worth risking our lives to continue. If there are smugglers operating here, and we haven't found them yet, perhaps discretion is the better part of valor.
Tydir nods. “I worry that if we leave only to return, the smugglers will be better prepared for us in the future. That said, if our friend the dwarf here encounters any more difficulties, I'm afraid I won't be able to get him back on his feet.” He pointedly glares at Tore.
“And there is the small matter of our line of retreat being blocked by Ned - or whoever is upstairs. Seems whatever we decide we need to deal with that problem first. I would defer to our Professional here for his advice on how to proceed.”
Alton looks to his bedroll, then shakes his head, “I don’t think we should try to wait them out. More likely they’ll attack us while we’re not expecting it or just run off never to be found again. We should deal with them now.”
"We also haven't searched the entire house yet, either,” says Zalo. “Several rooms remain uninvestigated. The approach hasn't been very methodical."
Zalo scrunches up his face. "Come to think of it, why put a spell on the stairs at all unless there was something here the alleged smugglers didn't want people to see? I don't think a bunch of maggot worms is likely to be worth hiding." He kicks one of the mealy bodies, briefly disgusted by the wet, squelching sound it makes as it tumbles over the floor.
He looks at Tydir. "I don't suppose Procan's blessings permit you to deal with the supernatural? Just in case that "beyond skeletons" note isn't a metaphor."
“If he permits me,” says Tydir. “His holy Word should be a particularly powerful tool against such abominations, but alas, I am not a full priest of Procan like my Master and as such don't wield the full might of the majesty of the storm."
Tydir smiles a bit at the Gnome. “’In other words no, but I can smash them with blade or buckler if the burning light fails me like it did on these stupid worms.”
Alton responds to Zalo, “Exactly my thinking! I searched the room as best I could, but whatever other secrets that are here might be out of my short reach.” He dangles his fingers as high as his stubby arms can take them. “Maybe someone else can do another search?”
Zalo spends a few moments peering at the walls and flooring to see if there's anything out of place, but nothing catches his eye. "Maybe it was simply a ruse to lure people to the cellar? Or perhaps the smuggling operation ended before we got here, and only Ned has been left behind. If indeed there was smuggling at all."
The whole time, Nicolas, too, had forgotten about the upstairs threat, poking and prodding around the crates along the east wall. “I’m not so certain,” he says as he slides a box across the floor. He pushes his foot down to a spot on the floor and looks around the room for something to happen.
There's a metallic snap from the south wall, and the outline of a door appears, swinging ajar, into the room a few inches, from the tension of an unseen spring.
"Clever Smugglers, " Nicolas adds. “So now we have our way out if for some reason Ned still frightens us."
Aside from Tydir, who is still watching the cellar stairs, the whole party is surprised and delighted. Ilseh emits a small sound of bemusement. Seems he's actually worth the coin.
Zalo motions for quiet and points to the wall near the newly revealed door, indicating how his companions could position themselves to be out of view for anyone on the other side. He then makes a few passes in the air with his hand, and an inquisitive, smiling, frozen duplicate of Zalo appears near the door, as if in position to peer through once the door is opened fully. "Decoy," he whispers. "Just in case."
Alton looks towards the door, “I think me and Ilseh should stay down here and hold the cellar. She can hold the door and I can hit from behind, even heal her if needed. The rest of you can sneak up behind them and engage them upstairs. Oh! I can use my Message spell to keep in touch so we can coordinate. How does that sound?!”
The six adventurers continue to discuss their options, taking guesses at what lay beyond the hidden door. Is it a secret way into the house from outside, or does it go even deeper down, into another cellar or even a dungeon? Then, they came upon the realization that searching for the door with someone still upstairs might have been an error in judgment. Now that it’s open, they may have revealed their discovery ahead of time to anyone on the other side of the door.
Nicolas again steps on the button on the floor, but only another, quieter click comes from the vicinity of the cracked door. Quietly cursing to himself about his own intelligence, he walks over to the door and manually pushes it closed with a louder click. "Now nothing will be coming up from there."
Tydir scowls. “Or at least they'll have to open the door first before coming in to slit our throats from behind.
“Well now,” he says, “we're in a bit of a pickle aren't we? With doors in two directions, a known problem above and unknown challenges in front of us.” He looks pointedly from the stairs to the secret entrance that Nicolas has found. “Mssr Mercenary, do you have any suggestions on how to handle our predicament?”
Nicolas steps away from the door. ”We can't very well have ourselves engaged on two fronts. Especially in our collective state. No clearing the dangers above us must take priority and then we can rest before moving in further below.
"Now, at the moment we have an advantage in that we know the enemy is here but they only know we are in the house, however that advantage is depleting by the moment. They'll work their way down here eventually so let's move to deal with them now."
He throws a thumb to the door. “Anything behind that door will likely be staying behind that door for the near future."
Looking around the room, his eyes fall upon the remnants of the last adventurer to come this way. He moves decisively over to the gooey corpse and begins piling the battered plate-armored body parts against the door, balancing pieces precariously one on top of another.
"There, that won't keep them from coming through, but should make enough of a racket when or if they open the door that at least we won't be surprised."
Zalo nods at Tydir's thoughtful precautions. "That's a good idea. Better safe than sorry at least.
"You know, it just occurred to me. If the spell on the stairs is meant to conceal or dissuade us from seeing one entrance to the smuggling operation, perhaps the other spell is too. So this might not be the only way from the house into the underground portion of their operations.
"Either way, I'm in agreement. We should deal with the situation at hand before we introduce any more... situations."
Tydir immediately moves to his fellow dwarf, and grasps him firmly on the shoulder, letting the pale blue light of Procan's blessing flow into the monk. “Do try to be careful on these steps my friend. I'm afraid I can't patch you up again today if you fall."
With that, Tydir steps past Tore and makes his way up the stairs and into the kitchen.
Leaving the secret door for later, the party climbs out of the maggot-strewn cellar. Slowly, one at a time, they navigate the enchanted step at the top, file out of the scullery, and into the kitchen. Bits of centipede are still strewn out across the floor; the one in the sink has stopped burning.
Outside, the fog seems to be thinning.
Alton looks around the kitchen, then to Zalo, “Hey Zalo, your owl saw someone, right? Where are they?”
Zalo shakes his head. "Cahoots saw someone, but not when I was looking through their eyes. I suppose we could ask them which way the interloper went." He makes a flourish and the owl materializes on his shoulder; he exchanges a few silent words as he gazes into the distance.
Cahoots glides off of Zalo, into the scullery, and perches atop the cask. There they fluff their feathers, and flap a wing towards Zalo, who is standing in the scullery doorway.
Alton starts taking a look around the room but suddenly stops in his tracks. He turns his head upwards, eyes scanning the empty ceiling. Raising his hand, he points towards the second floor and whispers, "Ssshhh, I think I hear someone upstairs!"
Then he turns towards the group and stares daggers at Tore, "I don't think they know we're here, and for once let's keep it that way!"
Alton looks around the room. "I don't think they'll risk using the broken staircase in the entrance. We should wait for them here by this staircase for them to come down."
Zalo glances down the corridor to the main hall. "Our feathered friend seems to think that the interloper went through the kitchen somewhere. Unclear which direction. Did you see which direction they went through the kitchen? Towards the stairs, the door, or the main hall?" He glances back the owl.
Cahoots flaps out the scullery window, circles around through the fog, and glides back into the kitchen through the back door. They land and hop onto the first step going upstairs. There, they hoot.
Alton, who had been watching the owl with interest, suddenly stops moving and looks around. He whispers, ”Hey! Hey! Everyone! Whoever’s upstairs has stopped moving. They might know we are here.”
Nicolas seems to agree as he sighs at the loss of yet another period of strategic advantage. He nocks an arrow in his bow, and points it toward the stairs. Tore simply pulls a dart from his belt and holds it behind his back, and peers up the stairs.
Tydir also sighs, and readies his blade, moving to flank anyone coming down the stairs and trying to stay out of sight. “Mssr Mercenary, how should we approach this conundrum.”
Nicolas thinks for a moment and then responds in a whisper loud enough for the group. "We have one method of ascending, they have one method of descending. Hold here, observe their next move, and react accordingly."
The six adventurers stand stone-still, weapons drawn. Tydir is just beside the wall that encases the foot of the stairs to the upper level, scimitar in hand, ready to pounce around the corner. Nicolas has taken up a position beneath the cupboard, his bow drawn and aiming upwards, towards the top of the stairs. The rest are scattered throughout the kitchen, waiting anxiously."
Everything is still. Ears are cocked, and eyes are scanning the ceiling in an attempt to pick up some trace of activity. Only the distant ocean, and the occasional, tense ticking of Nicolas’s drawn bowstring can be heard.
Suddenly, from the scullery, there’s a loud clank and hollow clatter of steel on stone, echoing up the stairwell from the cellar. An unintelligible exclamation follows—a voice—and then a hissing sound, like someone shushing a child.
A moment later, from the ceiling, there’s the unmistakable sound of light footsteps; someone is walking at a brisk pace from the north wing of the building, into the west wing.
Zalo rushes into the scullery, looks down the stairwell for a moment and, hearing the sounds, points to the basement, mouthing "someone's there.” He draws a shape in the air with his hands, and finishes the spell with a flourish as a brick wall materializes over the stairwell.
He leans down to rap it once, but it makes no sound, and his hand is unencumbered. "Illusion,” whispers the gnome, pointing it out his companions.
Tore pleads in a whisper, "Even with the illusion it's jus' a short matter a time 'for they figure out it's fake. They set magical traps fer people like us, they know magic better than us we do. We're surrounded, injured and drained we are. We need ta pick a side and not be in the crossfire, it's er only chance a gettin' out as I sees it.
“We can plead with what we assume is Ned and his friends ta fight with us 'gainst the smugglers, or give the smugglers a warnin' the government is on ta em and they'll have ta find another place ta do business. Asks yerselves, which is our best chance a gettin' outta here alive, askin the ninny who already got conquered and stripped left ta die only ta make enemies with a smugglin' network, or warnin the smugglers they should leave. Either way we did our jobs, I jus wanna go home and have a drink."
"Then please ensure that you leave with as little noise as possible,” Nicolas says quietly to him. "I'm going to deal with Ned and work my way back down. Rest is a luxury that will be earned today." With a soft and careful step, he begins making his way up the stairs toward the sound.
Tydir nods decisively and follows carefully behind Nicolas, up the stairs. Alton creeps along behind them, not wanting to leave them to confront "Ned" alone. His rapier is at the ready, prepared to use it but hoping he doesn't have to. He holds his breath at every step, hoping his lightweight steps don't cause any creaking in the staircase.
Tore removes his pack and sets it on the floor against the wall. "Suit yerself then fellas.”
He moves to open the flap on the top of the pack, in search of the bottle of wine he had just found, when a stern voice echoes up the stairs from below, through the mock-brick wall. "What the? Oi, Jake! Come 'ere. Have a look, you ain't gonna believe it!"
There's another shushing hiss from below, and then silence. A low voice whispers, and another responds, followed by another moment of silence. Then, after another short unintelligible conversation, the sound of rapid foot-falls fade away into the distance.
A few moments later, after another series of whispers, there are light footsteps on hollow wood. They're ascending the stairs.
Zalo huddles close to Tore and Ilseh, a worried look crossing his face. Nevertheless, he steels himself and gets ready to engage anything hostile. The gnome inches back into the kitchen doorway, keeping an eye on the scullery.
After a few moments, and some more footsteps, there's another whisper. This time it's close, just past the brick-wall illusion.
"Hold on," begins the stern voice. "Hold, I say! It's some sorcery! That ain't real!"
There's another voice, this one in a heavy elven accent. "Eh? How can you...oh. Oh! Oh, yes, I see, now."
"Steady," replies the first voice. "They must be close."
Zalo turns to Cahoots. The owl, still perched at the bottom step to the second floor, takes off, flapping silently down the north hallway to the entrance hall.
The footsteps up the stairs resume. Then, suddenly, there's a hideous, hair-raising scream—as if a soul in torment—that rises from the cellar below. Ilseh and Zalo both jump, staggering back from the illusion-covered staircase.
"****in' hell!" the elvish voice screams, seemingly from right inside the illusion. Shuffling and stumbling feet are heard, moving down the steps.
"Idiot!" the other voice hisses. "Watch where you're going!"
Tore quickly wobbles over to the illusion. He extends his arm through the brick wall, and begins his accouncement speech again, but not too loudly this time. "Fellas, don't be alarmed. Ya triggered a—”
He’s cut off by a shout from the other side of the wall. "Someone's in there!"
Current Roles:
GM - Fata Morgana: The Ghosts of Saltmarsh
Combat Round 1
There's the snap of a bowstring from the cellar, and the sickening sound of an arrow sinking into flesh. Tore, shouting in sheer terror and pain, jerks his outstretched hand back through the illusion, an arrow piercing clean through his wrist. Eyes wide with shock, he stumbles backwards into the scullery, and collapses to the floor, unconscious.
Zalo, just around the corner, steadies himself, points his finger towards the cellar door. His hand begins accumulating arcane energy.
"Go!" the stern voice booms from down the steps. The unmistakable sound of heavy boots come rapidly clomping up the stairs. Another arrow whistles up from below, through the illusion, and lodges in the scullery wall next to the basin window.
A dirty, shabbily dressed elven man in tattered leather armor emerges from the brick wall, into the scullery, scimitar in hand. He turns to face the room just as Zalo releases his spell. The man instinctually ducks down. The arcane flame torches over his head and slams into the wall above the stairs, leaving a smoking hole in the wood. Glancing up at the impact, the elf wheels around to face his assailant, raises his scimitar above his head, and charges.
When Ilseh sees the gnome about to get run down, she rushes to meet the attack, blindsiding the elf, driving him into the wall. He shoves her off of him with his foot, takes a step, and comes in with a sweeping attack from the side, slicing hard into her midsection. A stream of blood splatters across the floorboards.
Cursing under his breath, Zalo again raises his hand towards the enemy — but again, something is just not quite right with the incantation. The elf is unaffected.
Taking a few steps back, Ilseh clutches her wound with her sword-hand and brings it before her. The blood fills the gaps between her palm's wrinkles and the hilt of the dead man's sword. The pain in her abdomen was seething.
It was this kind of moment that demonstrated whether an individual 'flights' or 'fights'- and Ilseh didn't have wings. But she did have sword.
The severed nerves firing off on her stomach begin to dull and Ilseh's vision begins to quake. Her hand clutched her weapon's hilt and Ilseh's amber eyes alight with a ferocity since yet unseen. A fire inside her emblazes and boils her blood. With a violent shout, she jumps at the haggard elf, longsword poised to plunge into the man's body.
The pale woman's unyielding disposition towards her grievous injury flabbergasts the shambled elf. He flinches and attempts to turn away and flee, but the tip of Ilseh's downturned blade slips straight through his clavicle, cleaving the flesh down along the spine. He falls to the floor, unmoving.
Zalo watches with astonishment as Ilseh's newfound and skillfully wielded blade cuts through flesh as easily as one might part a bowl of soup with a spoon. His green eyes widen, equal parts stunned and impressed as the elf collapses.
From upstairs, Alton, Nicolas, and Tydir all hear the sounds of battle from below. Nicolas stops and utters one word. “Shit.”
Alton, who was in the rear, turns and runs back towards the staircase. He knows this is no insect they are facing. As he dashes, he gives some inspiring words to Nicholas, “Go and run! Defend our friend! Please don’t let him meet his end!”
Tydir spins on his heel and follows. He prays to Procan for help in protecting his comrades. You sent me to join this band, and it's clear they need all the help they can get, but it would be nice if you could nudge that fool dwarf a bit and stop him from doing so many stupid things.
Nicolas runs down the stairs, past the halfling and dwarf, and back into the scullery. Shouting meant combat, combat meant enemies to fight and...
… he gets to the scullery just as Ilseh bisects the fellow in front of her. Well, he realizes, it used to mean enemies to fight. Certainly going to take note of that. He looks around the room.
Ilseh, hair swept by her erratic movement, eyes wild and piercing, searches her immediate surroundings after pulling her blade out of the limp body. Her breath is deep and steady as if concerted- a practiced, steady flow of fuel for the raging inferno within her. Seeing only her allies, Ilseh draws her shield and bolts towards the illusory wall.
She would have noted that walking into a staircase you can't see is a strange sensation, but right now Ilseh didn't care. Her red gaze needed to find someone- more things to cut down and burn. And as luck would have it, the elf wasn't alone.
At the bottom of the stairs was a human man with a bow at the ready. Ilseh smiles wide, teeth bared eagerly as she practically jumps down the steps to close in on the poor man.
The bowman's eyes widen with astonishment. Did she best him so quickly? He fumbles in his quiver for another arrow and attempts to nock it, but his nerves betray him; hands shaking, he weakly flings both arrow and bow at the woman as she leaves the final step, onto the grub-covered cellar floor. The weapon clatters ominously to the foot of the stairs, just as the furious woman finishes closing the distance between them.
"I think you'll need your sword, mate," sneers Ilseh.
Upstairs, with no further foes, Nicolas moves to Torestorlim, who is lying with an arrow stuck out of his hand. Would it really trouble the rest of the world so much if he just left him there? He was certain the world didn't lack for drunken dwarves, so what would truly be lost?
However, his own desire to help overcomes these terrible thoughts. He kneels down next to Torestorlim. "Come on now, dwarf. No ancestors for you yet...
"Tydir!" he shouts. "I need medical assistance, please!" He stays kneeled beside the dwarf, closely grasping the injury, and providing pressure on the cloth so as to prevent any further bleeding. Hopefully it will keep him alive. He'd follow after Ilseh soon, but dealing with a potential fatality was far more important.
From upstairs there's rapid footfalls on the west wing of the house, crossing to the east. After a momentary pause, there's an enormous thud from the entrance hall, like a man-sized weight being dropped off a balcony-height drop. Cahoots begins hooting loudly.
Combat Round 2
Hearing Nicolas's shout, Tydir turns his sprint into a slide, across the floor, towards the stricken Dwarf. He pulls a potion bottle from his belt and uncorks it with one hand. “You fool! We need you on your feet - but more importantly, we need you to keep your mouth shut!”
He pours the concoction down the monk's gullet, and gives him a quick hard slap to wake him up a bit.
Coming to, Tore tries to push himself to his feet with both arms. The pain in his right arm surges. "AH ****! IT HIT THE BONE, ****!”
Still in the scullery doorway, Zalo looks down the entrance hall with alarm at the hoots of his favorite owl, followed shortly by the slam of a landing on the floor.
"We've got company!" hisses the gnome.
Just then, Alton jumps down the second-to-last upper-floor step with a thud and keeps running, around the corner, into the kitchen. Poking his head into the scullery, he glances left to see Tore lying down, unconscious. He considers helping but sees Nicholas stabilizing him. He instead opts to help end the fight altogether.
He yells out to Ilseh downstairs, “Fight on! Sister of fury and rage! Fight on! Defeat the villain you engage!”
He then exits down the southern hallway, shaking his head. That inspiration started strong but ended a bit flat. Too wordy. Maybe if it rhymed…hey!
Zalo then backs up into the kitchen, staring down the hall and hiding behind the sink, taking careful aim at what might come down the corridor. But he casts a worried glance towards the scullery as he hears the fighting continue downstairs.
Changing his mind, he scampers lightly down the stairs, not perturbed in the least by passing through illusionary brick walls, though still very much rattled from the horrid scream of the trapped step.
Alton’s eyes go wide as he sees a familiar face. His voice shakes as he yells out, “Hey everyone! I found Ned! He’s in the entrance!”
Downstairs, the bowman before Ilseh lowers his brow in determination, draws his sword from his hip while stepping back, and makes a quick thrust. Ilseh doesn't try to evade; she simply locks eyes with him as the tip of the blade sinks into her right shoulder.
"Sanbalet!" the man yells over his shoulder, eyes locked on the maddened woman. Taking another step back, towards the now-wide-open secret door, he grunts desperately, swinging wildly at her, but this time she brings her shield up and stops the blow dead in the air. His sword clatters ringing to the floor.
His second scream is one of pure terror: "Sanballleeeeetttt!"
There's a chilling silence. Ilseh narrows her eyes, shakes the hair out of her face, and moves towards him. The bowman strides backwards, tripping over the scattered pieces of body, and stumbles to the floor, onto his haunches. Without hesitation, Ilseh leaps forward and thrusts, sinking her own sword deep into his right shoulder.
Scrambling to his feet, the man clamps a hand over the wound, and moves to the secret door. He reaches desperately for the leather handle to pull it closed behind him, but the door catches his toe, and he loses his grip on the leather. He stumbles backwards again, into the room behind him, and turns to run.
Just then, Zalo steps into the cellar. With nervous energy, his right hand flings upward immediately with practiced, automatic tones, towards the fleeing man. "Sonoros!"
The air around Ilseh's assailant quivers with barely visible vibrations that thrum faster and faster, escalating into a searing pitch that only he can hear. He claps his hands to his ears in a vain attempt to shut it out, but it is already exacting a horrible toll.
The deep wound Ilseh left bubbles over and turns black with festering putrescence, and he screams and shudders, scratching at his ears in a last-ditch effort, as if desperately trying to dig out the sound itself. Then he slumps to the ground, mercifully dead with grim agony frozen on his face.
Zalo turns three shades greener. "Oh, gods!" he moans shakily, leaning against the cellar wall to steady himself.
Ilseh's body still thrummed and her heart's pounding resounded in her ears, like a war drum calling for battle. Once again, her immediate surroundings were vacant of assailants. But he was running away. Calling a name. More coal to the flame.
Stepping over the fallen man, Ilseh chuckles in glee and enters the chamber. "San-ballet, was it? Is that right? Please do correct me."
Combat Round 3
Bow in-hand, Nicolas emerges into the north hall. There, on the floor near the balcony’s rubble-pile, is Ned. He's now wearing a shirt, though no pants and no shoes. Alton is ahead of him, blocking the front door. Under Ned’s arm is a pair of pants and a single shoe; he’s bending down to retrieve the other one when Cahoots swoops down from above, and begins closely circling the man’s head, flapping their wing violently against his face.
“Yar, ya ****in’ owl! Get lost!” Shoe in hand, he turns to Alton. "And you! Blast you! Go bother someone else!"
With a cold calculus, Nicolas raises his bow from down the hallway, and fires while the man is distracted. The arrow goes deep into the back of Ned’s bare leg.
"Aaaaaarugh!" Ned wails, collapsing and rolling back and forth on the floor while clenching his thigh with both hands. "You! You all! **** you all! What the **** is wrong with you?"
Nicolas begins walking slowly to the scullery.
Current Roles:
GM - Fata Morgana: The Ghosts of Saltmarsh
Returning to Torestorlim's side, Nicolas crouches down and snaps the shaft of the arrow in half before wrapping the insertion point with a rip from his own cloak. He'd have Torestorlim pay him back for it later. With one hard push, the rest of the arrow passes through the wound. Nicolas then goes about wrapping over the injury several times with the cloth to stop any bleeding.
Tydir helps drag Tore into an out-of-the way corner of the kitchen, pulls out his healer’s kit, and kneels down to start work on the monks' wrist.
“Luckily for you, our mercenary friend clearly has experience in field dressing wounds, otherwise you'd be in much worse shape. Let's see if we can't make you a bit more comfortable before you get into any more trouble.”
He carefully cleans and wraps the wound, using the broken shafts of the offending arrow to craft a makeshift splint for the wrist.
“It's not much, but should help a bit with the pain. I'm afraid this arm won't be of much use to you for the next day or two. You'll want to avoid carrying anything with it, and for the love of ale, man, don't hit anyone with it!”
Tore's caretakers stand and take up defensive positions in the scullery. The dwarven monk wordlessly scoots over to the wall for support.
In the basement, Ilseh runs as best as she can back out of the secret chamber, clutching her shoulder with her sword in tow. She sees Zalo still in the wine cellar, reeling over the consequence of his terrible spell.
"Urgh, Zalo," she calls moving over to him. "Zalo, there's more coming from beyond that chamber. I- I don't think they saw me. Agh!" She tucks forward, now holding her stomach. The pain had come back now that the pyre within her had stopped burning.
There was something hot in her mouth, like liquid fire. No, it tasted of iron. She spits up a mouthful of dark blood and it slops onto the floor, splattering in front of her. "Zalo, I- I think we should go- find the others."
Zalo pants, recovering from the momentary exertion, but when he sees Ilseh having difficulty he runs to her side. "Yes, I understand," he says softly. "Let's get you back upstairs. I'd say lean on me, but I don't think that would work very well. Lean on this instead." He unslings his staff and gently helps Ilseh up the stairs together.
With the gnome’s help, Ilseh drags herself up the stairs and stumbles onto the top threshold in front of Torestorlim. The monk looks up at the Tall One, globs of blood spewing from her mouth and splatting on the floor at his feet.
Zalo hurries towards the entrance hall.
Still wincing from his own injury he says, “Tall One, stop. STOP. Yer bout to faint, I see it in yer eyes." He slides his pack off his shoulders and extends a hand out. “’Elp me up and I'll ‘elp ya, I will."
Once Ilseh helps him to his feet, he digs around a bit in his pack to find his remaining healing potion. Removing the cork, he gives it a swirl and hands it to Ilseh. "Drink up, Big One. We'd have trouble seein’ onta countertops if ya croaked, we would."
Knocking back the bottled brew, Ilseh immediately begins feeling its regenerative effects. The savage slash in her torso begins to close, though not completely, but it stops bleeding grievously. The wound in her shoulder seals into a circular white scar. Wiping her mouth, she corrects the dwarf. "It'sTall One- you got it right the first time."
Out in the entrance hall, Alton approaches Ned with his rapier outstretched. He turns his head to the side a bit, but never takes his eyes off Ned. He shouts to his friends, “I got Ned, or whoever he is! Could use some help to tie him back up though!” Alton keeps his hands on his rapier but motions to the rope tied to his pack for someone else to use to restrain Ned.
Alton then places his rapier onto Ned’s neck and threatens, “Stop right there! Now, if you don’t want to bleed out today you’re going to start talking right now! Who are you, for real this time, and what were you all doing here?!”
When Zalo rounds the corner down the hall to Ned and Alton, his hands crackle with latent power. "You'd better listen to my companion here." He traces a circle in the air, and a ring of luminous, sickly gray sigils surround Ned. "And if you don't start telling us something useful, you won't be talking at all, friend."
"Are you daft?” replies Ned, grimacing. “Did you fall on yer ****in' heads?"
He hisses through his teeth in pain. "I told you already, you clumsy berks! I woke up to you bringing the house down around me. Then you held me prisoner like I wronged you somehow. And then you threaten to beat me for the second time in a day's time. You're mad! The raving lot of you!"
Zalo lowers his hands, a little uncertain about Ned's earnest zeal. "Well, there's a simple way to resolve this. If you're being truthful, would you let me read your memories?" He smiles placidly and waves his hands. Each of the runes becomes a menacing picture of a lidless, green, gnomish eye not unlike Zalo's.
Ned swats at the images in anger. "You think I gave myself this goose-egg? Go on, then! Use your little wizardry, you hard-headed dwarven runt! You'll find nothing I ain't already told you! I was ambushed!" Again he hisses, his eyes going to the arrow in his leg. He looks up at Zalo again. "Twice!"
Alton looks at Ned, then back to the kitchen, then Ned again. He shakes his head. "Guys! I don't want to leave Ned alone, even if he is wounded. Zalo, you go help downstairs and I'll guard Ned here. Shout if you need help! Go!"
Back in the scullery, Tydir moves to help Alton and Zalo, but just as he's about to head into the entryway to help restrain their interloper, he hears new voices and footsteps following Ilseh and Zalo out of the darkness.
“We've got company inbound here," he says, pointing to the cellar door. "Prepare yourselves!”
As he says this, he extends his blade to point at the door to the stairs and begins mumbling under his breath, “Procan's light burns through me, burns through my veins, burns my enemies, burns their skin, burns their eyes…”
“When I was down there,” replies Ilseh, “I heard more coming so I ran back upstairs. I couldn't say how many there are, but they’re moving towards us now."
From the cellar, the sound of a refined voice echoes up the stairs into the scullery. "Remove this body at once. It's blocking the door. You! Haley! Where's the other one? What happened to him?"
The voice gets louder. "And where's this brick wall of yours?"
There's a soft response, unintelligible.
Ilseh glances back to the north hallway. She hated this back-and-forth Ned was causing. They were losing precious seconds. The enemy could be on the staircase any moment, now. Knowing she was the most physical capable among the current group, she readies her sword and shield, and faces the stairs, standing just around the corner and out of sight.
"Shut up, you!” she shouts hoarsely down the hallway. “We're wasting time on him!" She composes her tenor before continuing, "whoever these people are, their reinforcements are certainly in the cellar by now. What are we doing? Staying here? Moving on? What?"
The cellar goes immediately quiet.
Ned, who is being dragged towards the kitchen by Alton, looks up the north hallway, startled. "Reinforcements? What the hells have you done? Who's coming!"
Alton stops and looks to Ned. “Whatever you do, don’t die!” He then dashes towards the cellar, mumbling under his breath, “Oh no oh no oh no...”
Zalo pauses a moment, staring at Ned, then follows the halfling to the scullery.
Once free, Ned moves to gather his shoes and pants again. "Gods, oh gods, get me out of here!" As he drags himself away towards the front door, the arrow in his leg bumps the floor, and he screams in pain, dropping the clothes.
The entire party is now in the scullery, waiting and listening in anticipation. Ilseh and Tydir are standing in the doorway of the cellar stairs, staring down into the dimness. Torestorlim is just behind them, still against the scullery wall but on his feet. Tydir, Alton, and Nicolas are well inside the scullery, out of sight and poised for action. Zalo, his face twisted with conflict, stands in the kitchen doorway, his gaze moving between the cellar door before him, and Ned who is some distance behind him. Cahoots wooshes over their heads, and dives down the stairs to scout the enemy.
Current Roles:
GM - Fata Morgana: The Ghosts of Saltmarsh
There is a sizzling sound from downstairs. A man's deep voice echoes back up. It's smooth and flowing, refined and articulate, like a noble’s, or perhaps a scholar's.
"Hark! Wizard!" it calls out, unseen. "I dare say you must be a wizard, unless stonemasons have begun to keep company with spirit owls in recent times."
The voice chuckles softly. "Tell me, why do you disturb the great Sanbalet's studies with such violence and tomfoolery?"
Zalo moves up towards Ilseh and Tydir, and winks. He whispers something into his closed fist, then casts it down the stairs. A raspy, skeletal voice, dripping with malice and evocative of a hideous cross between cobwebs and nails on a chalkboard, echoes from below. It booms against the stone walls.
"The great Sanbalet, is it?" There is a hideous, screeching chuckle. "Well, I am the great Tarzhik, and you are trespassing in my house. And have been for some time, by the looks of it. And with not even the common decency to spruce up the place while I've been gone these many years."
"Such dissssrespect! Such disssscourtesy!" The voice tsk-tsks. "You speak of violence, yet it is you who are in my home. Do not presume to lecture me."
"And yet,” the voice croaks, “I am feeling magnanimous. If you leave at once, no harm will befall you. If not, my associates will dispose of you. You have five minutes to make your decision."
There's a pause, followed by the sound of Ilseh's voice calling from below. "Wizard, please!" she laughs. "Not even the locals of Saltmarsh have uttered that name in two decades."
The voice returns to the suave, smooth one. "Now, would you like to try your introduction again? Who are you? And why do you bother me?"
Ilseh, her eyes and mouth wide in disbelief, looks at everyone around her... absolutely dumbfounded.
"I don't sound like that do I?" She mouths, the slightest of pinks hueing her cheeks.
Nicolas puts a hand to his chin and softly says, "Yes you do though usually more gruff, but their ability to mimic it is troubling.”
Looking at the big one, Tore raises an eyebrow with a smirk and shrugs.
Zalo lays a reassuring hand on Ilseh's knee, shaking his head firmly. "The vilest lies," he whispers.
Tore leans forward towards the stairs and speaks up. “Are ya the alchemist rumored ta have lived here? We didn't mean no harm in the first place, we didn't. I was comin’ ta deliver a warnin' when these idiots blasted me with arrows. We had no choice in defendin' ourselves.”
Again, there's a pause. Nicolas turns harshly to Torestorlim and whispers angrily, "Your frivolous use of your mouth has endangered all of us enough, I suggest you cease."
Tydir scowls at the dwarf. “In other words - keep your fool mouth shut. You’ve caused enough trouble!”
The voice below resumes. "Of what dangers, kind dwarf, does Sanbalet have to fear? Pray, tell me."
Torestorlim replies, “this house causes the town unease, it does. We're adventurers sent ta investigate. The lantern in the window upstairs and the secret tunnel tells me yer smugglers, ta which I have sympathy. The Loyalists won't be turnin’ a blind eye ta yer business, and next time they'll send an army instead of a group a ragtags. That ain't a threat but a warnin’. I lost everything fer my crimes and I'd prefer ta save ya the headache."
Sanbalet laughs again, gently. "First, you invade my domicile and kill my guards. Then you try to threaten me in the name—and the presumed voice—of a sage who's all but forgotten, save by bookworms and pedants. After which you invoke petty Saltmarsh politics. All in the name of helping poor, helpless Sanbalet."
The words “poor” and “helpless” are drawn out, and seething with sarcasm.
Torestorlim’s knuckles turn white around the grip of the paddle. In a low voice he says back at the party, "as stubborn as an old dwarf he is. Guess we're doin it yer way."
Zalo turns and hurries back to the entrance hall. He approaches Ned, who is in the middle of the room, gingerly trying to work the arrow out of his leg. There's blood everywhere. When he notices Zalo, he scoots away, his face wrenching into a scowl.
The gnome simply says, "Who is Sanbalet?"
Across Ned's face is an amalgam of emotion. It starts with fear, moves to confusion, then anger.
"How the **** should I know?" With a grunt of determination, Ned yanks the arrow out of his leg, biting his shoulder to stifle the pain. The teeth marks remain in his skin.
"Just leave me be, for Procan's sake," says Ned. "For anybody's sake! Or ******* kill me! At least the buggers who got me last night had the decency to knock me cold rather than toy with me like some sort of devil dog!"
"You're the one who came back here, friend," says Zalo. "To a place you said was too dangerous to stay in a moment longer. Well, go on and get yourself out if you find it unsafe." Zalo folds his arms and stands in the corridor.
"I was naked, you foot-high dog-knot!" Ned grabs a shoe from the floor next to him. "The place is dangerous because you're knockin' it down around me!" He raises the shoe to throw at the gnome in fury.
Then he stops. His eyes dart to the side, down the west hallway. He pauses, throws the shoe well past Zalo, missing his target by a full yard, and locks eyes with him. His eyes dart again to the west hallway.
Back in the scullery, the rest of the part is treated to another, more lengthy laugh, and Sanbalet continues. "You three—there are at least three of you—are the freshest jest Sanbalet has encountered in a very, very long time."
Alton quietly thinks out loud, ”You three are the best he’s heard in a long time? Ha!” Alton gives a wry smile, “Wait ‘til he gets a load of the rest of us. Let’s try to take him alive. He sounds like he might have a bounty on his head.”
"Still,” the deep voice continues, “you entertain. Sanbalet fears you not. Show yourselves! Introduce yourselves!"
The silence following Sanbalet’s invitation hangs in the air like a toxic fog. Finally, he speaks up again from the cellar. “Very well. I shall come up to meet you, if I must. You can tell me all about this looming threat.”
Nicolas backs up to the entrance of the scullery and indicates with his hands for the others to stack up. Alton steps back and tries to put on a non-threatening smile. He readies his rapier behind his back.
Sanbalet laughs, “I can only imagine the ragtag rabble that awaits up there, given the unsavory task you accepted. So far you’ve revealed a damsel and a dwarf, one of whom is a sophomoric wizard, and the other a fine swordsperson, if one were to judge from this new corpse of mine.”
There’s the sound of a footstep on the bottom stair. “Unless, of course, there are actually four of you in total? I do believe that’s the preferred number meddlesome adventurers flock about the land in.”
The footsteps continue, slowly, accompanied by the occasional thump of a wooden staff. They’re ascending the scullery stairs.
Ilseh and Tydir spot something and brace themselves, peering intently downward. The barbarian nods to her companion, "That's an illusion. Now why would they need tricks such as that?"
“Blades out and eyes up people,” Tydir shouts in warning, spinning and heading back into the kitchen. “We've got an ambush coming!”
As Zalo catches sight of Ned’s eyes, a look of dawning realization sweeps over the gnome's face. "Yes, ahem. Well, if you'll excuse me, I don't need any more footwear thrown at me today." He suddenly turns back towards the kitchen, an extremely concerned expression on his face.
"There's more smugglers in the west hallway, and Ned's a traitor!" he hisses with alarm to his companions. "This whole speech is just a distraction!"
Ned stares incredulously at Zalo, and his face twists into a frustrated rage. "What?" he shouts. "No! No!
"You absolute, bloody..." the man begins, raising his arm to point to the west corridor—but he stop short and begins to scramble to his feet in panic.
Current Roles:
GM - Fata Morgana: The Ghosts of Saltmarsh
Combat Round 1
Alton exhales heavily. He knows Sanbalet is dangerous and needs to be taken out. He turns the corner to the stairs and weaves between the legs of Ilseh and Tydir.
Staring up at him is a wizened old man with long gray hair, a silver cloak. The man is slowly plodding up the stairs, his gnarled staff thumping on the wood with every other step.
Alton charges. Dodging his robes and legs, he slips behind the figure and stabs upwards with his rapier as he shouts, “Sanbalet?! More like Staba-augh!!"
Alton sees his perfectly maneuvered rapier go straight through an illusion! He glances behind him and then runs back upstairs. As he reaches the top step Alton sounds exasperated as he says, “Gah! I just stabbed an illusion of an old man! Clever wizard!”
The halfling stumbles at the top step, and falls to his knees. Quick as lightning, Ilseh reaches down and grabs him by the arm. She drags him back into the scullery, shoves him into the middle of the room, then steps sideways, out of sight of the stairs, drawing her sword.
Alton is sweating profusely at the sudden burst of adrenaline rushing through his system. He looks up to Ilseh and blurts out a quick “Thanks!” before finding a spot next to the door to the scullery, hoping to find partial cover as he peeks around the corner towards the stairs.
“The old man is an illusion," Ilseh whispers back to the rest in the scullery. "Stay back and wait.”
Nearby, Tydir hears Zalo and Ned shouting. With little hesitation, he heads down the hallway towards the entryway. “Ilseh, hold the rear here, I'll help Zalo!”
Watching Tydir move off, Nicolas considers the group’s position. They had two confirmed enemies to the west and nothing more than an illusion of an old man on the other end. For the moment the only rear to hold would be dragging Zalo or Ned from danger.
"Ilseh, I can hold the rear against an illusion just fine, however there seem to be a good number of people that require halving in the west hallway,” he calls out. “Perhaps you can handle that?"
Without turning to Nicolas, Ilseh answers, "You don't trust the rest of 'em? I'm sure they've got it."
Tore nods. “I’ll be right down the hallway, yell if ya need me." Pulling a dart from his belt, he runs through the kitchen down the hallway towards Zalo, elbowing through the crowd of friendlies already gathered there.
Unfazed, Nicolas readies himself in case the enemies’ charge proves too aggressive, and they seek to push into their temporary headquarters. He hopes the front line of a wizard and a traitor could perhaps hold long enough for reinforcements.
The slow footsteps and occasional wood-on-wood clomping sound continue up the stairs. The old man crests the top of the stairs, into the scullery, but thanks to Ilseh's and Alton’s warning, the illusion is clear now; the figure is transparent, like a ghost. It continues ahead until it disappears through the north scullery wall.
A few seconds of silence later, there's the erratic sound of multiple sets of boots rushing up the steps. They stop just short of emerging into the scullery, just on the other side of the wall Ilseh and Alton are pressed against.
In the entrance hall, Ned and Zalo are in trouble. Closing in on them from the west hallway are two stalking figures. In the lead is a woman with a crossbow, wearing a black knit cap and leather armor. Just askew behind her is a large goblinoid with pale green skin, wielding a longbow, clad in plate armor and wearing a purple cloak.
Scrambling to his feet, Ned rushes towards Zalo, a look of unadulterated terror on his face. The woman drops her crossbow, draws her sword, and charges; the large greenish man is close on her heels.
As Ned passes the balcony rubble from Torestorlim's fall earlier this morning, he pauses and stoops down to grab a hefty piece of 2x4. Then, twisting his entire body back, he spins and lunges, flinging the board desperately with both hands towards the two assailants rushing out of the west hallway. He doesn't even wait to see if it lands; he simply resumes his scramble towards the north hall.
The board sails across the room in a low arc, spinning through the air as if on an invisible potter's wheel, and lands square in the face of the advancing swordswoman. She screams and drops her weapon, both hands clamping over her face, blood gushing down her chin from beneath her fingers. The sword and board clatter to the floor—along with what sound to be a few teeth—and the woman stoops forward in pain, stumbling erratically to a halt in the middle of the room.
An arrow suddenly whistles down from the north hall, over Zalo’s and Tydir’s heads, and into the swordswoman’s side. She crumples onto the floor.
Nicolas, who had been waiting patiently in the kitchen door at the far end the north hall, had found his mark. Tydir, just in front of him, is waiting for the next, crossbow held close to his face.
The hobgoblin, already nocking an arrow on the run, veers around his fallen comrade. The movement was enough to foul Tydir's aim; the dwarf’s bolt sizzles down the hall, past his allies, and above the hobgoblin’s head, lodging with a loud thump into the front door of the house.
The creature looks up and sees five people aligned all the way down the north hallway and into the kitchen: Ned, Zalo, Torestorlim, Tydir, and Nicolas. He turns his head towards the west hallway and shouts a single word in goblin. Then, with a sneer that makes his flattened nose appear even flatter, he draws his bow.
Ned flattens himself against the wall as an arrow narrowly misses him and sticks into the floor next to Zalo. The gnome yelps with fright, then scampers back down the hall, pushing past Tydir with some difficulty, and holds his hands up in a strange pose, a few inches apart, as if waiting to clap.
The moment the gnome locks eyes with the hobgoblin, he claps and shouts "Sonoros!" down the hallway. A reverberating hum builds in intensity around the platemail-clad warrior, who screams in agony, clutching at his head. Trickles of brownish-red blood, as if from an old and neglected stain, gush from his ears as he collapses to the ground, the longbow clattering to the moldy floor beside him.
The face twitches briefly for a few moments and then is still.
Combat Round 2
From afar, Nicolas watches the female smuggler to ensure there's no further movement beyond the occasional death twitch. He felt no particular pride in his work, but certainly appeared to be taking things extra cautiously given the circumstances.
Without a word he turns back to the scullery and sweeps his vision to the cellar door, readying another arrow from his quiver. Ilseh is still pressed against the wall, waiting for the unknown assailants on the stairs to make their move. The mercenary positions himself against the kitchen-scullery door, just across from Alton.
Carefully, Alton steps out and mumbles something, then holds a soft note, like a gentle hum. Then he stares at the scullery staircase landing intently, ready to cast at the first enemy he sees.
Impatient as ever, Ilseh peeks her head around the stairway's corner. Immediately, a dark red hobgoblin encompasses much of her view. He lets out a beastly howl. There’s the snap of a crossbow from behind him, and the pale woman ducks back, just in time, out of its deadly trajectory, the bolt thumping loudly into the scullery wall next to the arrow meant for Tore a few minutes ago.
In split-second effort, Ilseh wheels back around the wall and grabs at the hob, attempting to pull him out of the security of the staircase, but there is now an illusory wall in place before her, blocking her sight. It looks very similar to Zalo’s own wall, with one difference: a pattern of yellowed bricks are arranged in the shape of a giant, smiling face.
It seems Sanbalet is trying to best his fellow wizard.
From below, in the cellar, slightly louder than before, comes Sanbalet's voice. "Ah! One of my esteemed guests! Please, feel at home!"
Gentle, calm laughter echoes up from below.
Ilseh reaches blindly through the illusion, but fails to harness a proper hold of the creature. Retreating behind her two allies in the kitchen doorway, she curses under her breath about cocky magic users. She reaches down for her pack and finds what she was looking for immediately- hanging from her dropped gear- a metal, toothy hunting trap. Yup. I'm tossing you down there.
The sound of bootfalls resume on the stairs. Around the corner, into the scullery, comes a six-foot tall, burgundy-skinned hobgoblin wearing a set of scale armor that is engraved with fine blue lines depicting various sea life: starfish, shells, seaweed, and fish. The creature pauses after emerging, trying to get his bearings after passing through the illusory brick wall. Both Nicolas and Alton make their attacks.
Alton shouts, “Hey look a hobgoblin! Soon to be, uh,” panic grips Alton’s face as he struggles to rhyme, “hobblin! Yeah! Um, cause you’re gonna get hurt and...” Alton slowly becomes more quiet, “maybe hobble around because of your injuries...”
The hobgoblin looks towards the halfling and pauses, cocking his head. Just then, Nicolas lets loose his arrow, which glances off the creature's right shoulder, lodges slightly in the wall, hangs a moment, then clatters to the floor.
The goblinoid's face shifts a shade brighter. Drawing his longsword, he charges towards the kitchen.
On the hobgoblin's heels, emerging from the cellar, is another guard, a towering human man with well tended shoulder-length blonde hair, wearing a weathered, black leather armor vest. In his grasp at his side is a drawn and locked crossbow.
As the hobgoblin charges, the man pauses a moment at the top of the stairs, glancing to his left. Seeing the halfling and the human taking cover behind the doorway, he steps backwards into the far corner of the room, raises his weapon, and fires.
Alton quickly pulls himself back behind cover, and the bolt lands with a loud knock, sinking deep into the other side of the wall.
With a primal shout the hobgoblin leaps forward through the doorway, between Nicolas and Alton, bringing the sword down in a vertical arc towards Ilseh. The barbarian steps aside deftly. The blade bites deep into wood planks, sending meaty chunks of centipede flying and tumbling across the floor.
Out in the entrance hall, Ned surveys the two dead bodies, and his eyes fall upon the smashed guard's scimitar. He scurries with a limp out of the doorway and leans down to grab it. When he begins to stand, his eyes move quickly to the west hallway, and he immediately moving in that direction.
"Watch it!" he shouts to Tydir, scrambling low to the left. "There's another one down there!"
Still wearing only a long-sleeved shirt and underwear, Ned pins himself against the wall to the left of the doorway, his sword raised in preparation for attack.
A few moments later a tawny-skinned bowman creeps carefully to the end of the west hallway. Tydir, catching a glimpse of the man, fires his crossbow, but the shot is just barely wide of its mark, and the bolt hits the doorway molding, splintering wood across the floor at the bowman's feet.
The enemy carefully lines up a shot of his own against the dwarf and returns fire, then ducks back down the hallway, out of sight. The arrow drives into Tydir's midsection, knocking the wind from him and spinning him on his heel, to the flooor.
Up the scullery, there's the sound of lighter footfalls coming up the stairs. From around the corner emerges a young-looking elf with short-cut black hair and a nauseatingly handsome face. He wears a gaudy, red, cavalier hat with three peacock feathers in, an intricately-stitched purple vest, and poof-legged black pantaloons.
He looks very much like an elvish dancer.
Without hesitation he sweeps his gaze to the left, directly towards the kitchen, and smiles. "Ah! We meet at last!"
It's Sanbalet.
With a saccharine smile he surveys the scene: a cowering halfling and human in the doorway, and his personal hobgoblin bodyguard in the middle of the kitchen, engaged with at least one unseen enemy.
Sneering arrogantly, Sanbalet raises his left hand in the air with three digits outstretched, and swings them forward, towards the doorway.
"Wrath!" he shouts loudly, and a purple point of light erupts from each finger, careening erratically towards the doorway.
Two veer towards Nicolas, taking him by surprise as they smash him hard into the wall behind him. He remains on his feet but can already feel a bloodiness to his exhale as he composes himself.
Alton attempts to duck back behind cover, but the magic missile hooks around the corner of the wall, and slams into the halfling's right shoulder, sending him staggering, the leather on his shoulder smoldering.
With another laugh, Sanbalet steps back behind the wall, onto the cellar stairs.
At the far end of the north hallway, Zalo clambers to his feet, sweating profusely and unsure which direction to go. But seeing the magic missiles sail into the kitchen from the scullery, he judges this the greater threat and hopes to buy them a little more time—and cover.
He keeps his distance, briefly making eye contact with Alton and Nicolas. "Keshertoo!" he intones, and points at the distant scullery doorway, holding his closed fists together, and then stretching them apart diagonally the way one might with a ball of dough.
The spell sounds a bit like the arcane version of a sneeze, but the effect is unmistakeable: a pane of frosted glass materializes in the doorway between Nicolas and Alton, leaving a narrow gap between it and the floor that blocks sight from the scullery into the kitchen melee. The still image of a roaring lion's face with ravenous fangs is etched onto both sides, its magnificent and flowing mane comprised entirely of shadowy flames. Its eyes are not eyes at all, but pools of total darkness, the glass smoothed into a flat surface and dyed opaque. Around the edge of the pane, mystic runes flare into existence. He slyly winks at his companions as he inclines his head toward the pane.
"Several of your companions are quite dead!” Zalo muses aloud to the stoic hobgoblin as he retreats into the hallway. “Might you be next, I wonder?"
Combat Round 3
"Or, might you?" retorts Sanbalet, unseen behind the illusory pane of glass.
The hobgoblin seems to take no notice of Zalo’s taunt, and instead squares up with Ilseh for a second attack.
Emboldened by the cover of the illusion, Alton lunges at the creature from behind like a small child tackling a loving father in a friendly game, the only difference being that Alton is trying to stab much taller hobgoblin to death. The results are the same though. In both cases the larger figure is left unhurt and possibly laughing at the smaller one's vain attempts. In this case, Alton curses as his rapier deflects off the hobgoblin's armor.
From down the north hallway Tydir sees the onslaught in the kitchen. Still on one knee, grimacing in pain at the arrow in his gut, he pushes himself upright and stumbles further up the corridor. There he draws a bead on the foul creature with his crossbow, and calls upon Procan's blessing to drive his bolt home.
As soon as he squeezes the release, Tydir knows his strike will find it's mark. His bolt whizzes past the melee and into the hobgoblin's back, sending it sprawling dead onto the floor next to Ilseh.
Tydir feels the last of his strength begin to seep from his wound. Collapsing to the ground, he fumbles and loads another bolt into his crossbow, hoping against hope that they survive this ambush.
Alton looks up from the fallen foe at his feet, and sees Tydir in great pain. The halfling sends him a healing word: "Injured you are, my friend Tydir! May these words of healing not be the last that you hear!"
After a short pause, Tydir gets to his feet.
From behind the illusion, in the scullery, a voice shouts out: "Lion! There's a- a- a lion-thingy in the door!"
"Nitwit!" replies Sanbalet with a hint of irritation in his voice. “Look closer! It's an illusion!"
With the hobgoblin assailant defeated, Nicolas was given another clear shot into the room, and hopefully at that Sanbalet fellow. He steps quickly through the illusion. Disappointingly, he only could see another smuggler pointing a bow back at him. But Nicolas’s fingers were faster and he loosed an arrow toward the man, piercing his outer arm. The enemy grasps the arrow and tears is quickly from his flesh.
Barely waiting for the results he puts his back fully against the wall a few steps away from the doorframe, hoping to stay out of sight and out of mind of any further attacks from the scullery. Turning back to the kitchen, though, he saw his companions pretty majorly exposed to more attacks. "Get to cover!" He shouts, "or else you're going to end up pincushions!"
With a final click, Ilseh completes her task. With an armed hunting trap in hand, she turns around to face the remaining foe in the scullery. She whips the metal contraption in a sharp circle for good measure, and lets it fly through the scullery door- only it heads straight up to the ceiling, the trap's jagged teeth biting into the wood.
Ilseh brings her shield arm above her head to cover her from the falling debris, as well as her face from the slight embarrassment, stepping slightly backward as the trap falls back down before her.
Damnit! She thinks as she coughs the dust and splinters a few times. Nonetheless, she procures her blade and readies it in front of her body. She's already proven what she can do with a good sword in her hand- she may have to do it again.
Tore, who had been too late to help in the entrance hall, finally returns to the kitchen. He immediately springs through Zalo’s illusion, and into the scullery.
Seeing the guard at the landing, the dwarf jumps, left leg extended, the other tucked under himself. The guard shoves the incoming foot aside, sending Tore into a spin. He untucks his leg, makes purchase with the floor boards, and spins on his ball of his foot while blindly extending his arm with a clenched fist. The spin stops abruptly as the fist slams into the cheek of the guard.
Looking down the stairs behind him, the drunken dwarf yells, "E's right here he is! Sanbalet’s at the top of the stairs!"
Sanbalet furrows his brow and booms, "Downstairs! Now!"
The guard next to Torestorlim lowers his bow, grabs the dwarf and flings him aside, then runs down the stairs. Sanbalet spins around and storms after him. Both men pause at the bottom, the guard taking up a defensive position, and Sanbalet reaching for his pouch.
With Tore’s warning, Zalo scampers into the scullery and towards the stairwell, his feet pitter-pattering on the boards of the ancient and crumbling house. Peeking from behind Tore, he makes a crushing motion with his left fist and sweeps it out down the stairwell. "Somnolescur!" A cloud of glittering teal and purple sparkles briefly appears at the base of the stairs. The particles waft on an invisible wind, engulfing the cellar in a surreal and dreamlike quality as they swirl around Sanbalet and the guard. Then just as quickly, they vanish. Zalo blinks, slightly disoriented from his proximity to the effect.
The gnome watches with mixed emotions as the guard immediately keels over, unconscious and snoring loudly, but Sanbalet remains standing as he digs for something in his pack. "One more of them down!" he squeaks up the stairwell in a strained voice.
Combat Round 4
Emboldened, Alton charges after Zalo and Tore, hoping to catch up with the friends. As he reaches the cellar his eyes go wide, and he gasps out in surprise.
Sanbalet jerks his hand out of his satchel. It's clenched into a fist and pulsing with energy. Crooking the fingers of his opposite hand into an arcane symbol, he raises it backwards and into the air like a dancer's flourish.
"You! Will! Burn!" he shouts, flinging his clenched fist towards the top of the stairs with each word. Each time, a searing beam of flame and heat roars from his knuckles: one at Alton, one at Zalo, and one at Torestorlim.
Alton tries to cover his face as the blast of fire scorches his skin. He yells in pain as the flames lick him, burning off arm hair and a few layers of skin. After the localized inferno dies down Alton lowers his arm and stumbles a bit, but catches himself on the wall.
Zalo and Torestorlim are no better off. The tiny gnome, who had just finished a spell of his own, is sent flying backwards, through the pottery shards, and into the scullery wall. Miraculously, he is still standing. The dwarf, too, is sent reeling back, but catches the doorjamb with his un-maimed hand, steadying himself.
With Sanbalet likely too far away to reach this turn for a melee strike, Alton raises his chin and shouts with all his fury, "You are a sickening man, Sanbalet! Your evil plans have seen their last day!"
He then turns to see Zalo and Tore, also still standing from the scorching blast, and gives the dwarf a little bardic inspiration, "Tore! Get this guy! Get him fast! Any longer and we won't last!"
With no room to the left or right on the staircase, Torestorlim crouches down at the top and rips a dart between Alton's legs, the fletching whistling just past the head of Sanbalet. The force of the throw dropping him to his belly, he rolls behind the cover stairwell and makes his way back to his feet.
The cacophony of explosions at the top of the scullery steps gives Nicolas a particular sense of dread. Ned and Tydir were engaging with another foe to the west, but the wizard was proving a tenacious foe that needed exterminating. He nocks another arrow into place and made it halfway down the stairs quickly before taking aim at the half-elf. He knew aiming to kneecap a wizard would be difficult, the angle was wrong and his clothing too loose to ensure the shot would hit. He sent an arrow singing toward the center of mass of the wizard, and finding a nice home in his side.
Back in the entrance hall, barefoot and pantsless Ned carefully peeks around the corner of the west hallway, then snaps back against the safety of the wall. He waves at Tydir.
With slow, careful hand signals, Ned points at Tydir, then to the middle of the entrance hall. He raises a make-believe crossbow, pretending to shoot down the west hallway. Then he points at himself, making a running-fingers motion, and points down the hallway, towards the enemy.
After he's finished, he lowers his sword and steps away from the wall slightly, settling halfway into a runner's stance.
“Ned is moving!” Tydir shouts as he moves into the entrance hall. “I'm covering. Watch my back.”
As soon as the dwarf takes his first step, Ned steps out into the west hallway and charges down the corridor. The archer, waiting with his bow drawn, releases the string. Ned grunts in pain as the arrow finds his bloodied leg, sinking deep into the thigh. But the half-naked man continues on, flattening himself against the door of the north room, giving Tydir a clear shot down the hallway.
Tydir lifts his cocked crossbow and takes aim down the long hallway, watching as the half-naked stranger sprints towards near certain death. When Ned clears his line of sight, Tydir lets loose his prepared shot, skewering the bowmen at the other end of the hallway.
In a rushed panic, Ned steps back out into the corridor, and flings his sword madly at the swordsman. The enemy easily ducks it, however, and the weapon clangs to the floor and against the west wall of the room.
Turning for the safety of the room behind him, Ned opens the door to the north and steps inside.
The bowman moves to nock another arrow, but thinks twice when he sees Tydir turning the crank of his crossbow. Instead, he retreats into the trap door, and pulls the hatch shut behind him.
Ilseh, still in the scullery, sees that the center of combat has moved elsewhere. She barges her way down through the densely crowded stairway. "Move! Get out of the way!"
Re-equipping her shield, she stands over the sleeping guard, at Sanbalet's flank, and readies herself for any incoming attack. "I can take the heat!"
In the cellar, Sanbalet is all but surrounded. His last guard is asleep before him, and the pale, crazed woman is standing over the figure, sword and shield at the ready. Nicolas and Alton are on the stairs, a stone's throw away, with the drunken dwarf leering down from above.
With a panicked expression, he reaches into his satchel and procures a small pinch of something. "Razzle!" he shouts, and flings something up the stairs in an underhand motion, wiggling his fingers afterwards. Suddenly a strobing rainbow erupts from his digits, blasting Alton and Nicolas with light while sending eerily colored shadows up onto the scullery wall.
As Nicolas rubs his eyes helplessly, Alton yells in surprise. He blinks and covers his eyes with one hand, but after the assault he sees nothing but white, even in this dark cellar.
He does, however, hear Sanbalet step away and strikes back at the offending wizard. He thrusts the rapier towards where he remembered Sanbalet standing, and feels some resistance as it skewers some part of him.
Sanbalet screams in pain, and turns to flee; Ilseh, who was unaffected by the spell, steps in and lands an attack of her own on the retreating wizard.
Alton does his best little halfling duck and weave, hoping to present a harder target for anyone trying to strike him. He says to those around him, “Augh! I’m blind! Oh gods I’m blind! Help me! Don’t let them escape!”
The wizard staggers away and disappears through the secret door, and his footsteps pause. "Where are the others?" his voice echoes authoritatively. There's a muffled, distant reply. "What? By two of them!? Imbeciles!"
There's a silence, and then the hollow sound of metal, like a cooking pot being thrown across the room, followed by a few more rapid footsteps.
Again Sanbalet's voice, this time cordial and refined, comes crooning from the secret door, towards the party. "Right! Stop it! Stop, I say! Cease fire! Sanbalet surrenders!"
Current Roles:
GM - Fata Morgana: The Ghosts of Saltmarsh