Despite the need to find and help the prisoner quickly, Boyd insists on scouting out some of the surrounding passageways first so that the group isn't ambushed while they tend to the prisoner. He heads south and east, taking a look down the long, dark hallways that disappear even deeper into this subterranean temple. Down the southern hallway, he announces that he's found a locked door, but doesn't try the key on it yet.
"Okay... I don't see anything else down this way for now. Let's head back and see if we can help."
Retracing their steps, our intrepid adventurers head towards the dimly lit cells on the west side of the temple. Approaching the cell, they bear witness to a disturbing scene – the cadaver's visage bears the cruel marks of violence, beaten beyond recognition. Blood weaves an eerie tapestry with the stagnant water and muck, painting the cobbled stone floor in morbid hues. Within the shadowed cell, the veil of darkness conceals the elusive presence they know lurks within. All is eerily quiet until an unsettling tutting sound emerges from the far corner.
Emerging into the flickering candlelight steps a figure both curious and enigmatic. Standing no taller than three feet, a halfling man appears before the group. Clad in an opulent red robe adorned with golden cuffs, his face is etched with the lines of time's passage, while his long, slicked-back black hair lends an air of sophistication. Despite his stature, he exudes an aura of a life lived long and hard. His gaze, sharp and scrutinising, falls upon the group with an air of expectancy.
"Oh, why looky here?" he exclaims, his voice a resonant baritone that defies his diminutive frame. "Could it be that my eyes play tricks? Or perhaps the lizardfolk have elevated their shapeshifting talents?"Casting a thorough assessment of each member, his expression conveys a level of indifference, as if their presence fails to meet his expectations. "Alas, no, I daresay you are not my captors,"his tone carries an air of mild disappointment. "A missed opportunity, I gather,"his gaze locks on Nikita. "Would you, by chance, consider the courtesy of freeing me from this cage? It tends to hinder my productivity, you see, and that, my dear, is quite the inconvenience. Quite the inconvenience, indeed."
The halfling man emanates an aura of erudition, his speech marked by eloquence and a strangely composed demeanour, given his confined circumstances. His gaze shifts from Nikita to Thumbtack, a measured curiosity playing across his features. "Ah, yes, the creature I had the fleeting fortune of glimpsing earlier,"he muses. "I must confess, the presence of an avian entity in this dank and subterranean abode had me momentarily bemused. A curious choice of dwelling, unless, of course, we are referring to those of the feathered variety who strut on two legs—of which we do happen to have a few in these parts."
Boyd - Can I have stealth and investigation checks, please? As you set about exploring the subterranean temple.
Boyd has a quick look around the immediate area before reconvening with his allies and heading to see what they can do for the figure they saw in the prison cell. As the group approaches the cell, Boyd frowns at the flayed corpse. "Yeah... figured this poor sod would be out of luck." he says, pointing to the body with his toe.
The big man jumps in surprise as the Halfling steps out from the shadows of the cell. He lets the man finish speaking and then pulls out his lockpicks and the key from the blobby evil, moving toward the cell door. He looks back at his group to make sure the others are okay with him unlocking the cell. ((if it sounds like everyone else is okay with it, I'll try to unlock the cell with the key first, then lockpicks)). "How'd you end up in here, friend?" He asks, as he takes position in front of the lock.
Faila, slinking in the shadows behind the group as they approach the cell, tenses noticeably not at the body--though her wide, numb gaze shows her appreciation of the horror of it somewhere deep inside---but at the halfling man. She reaches out a slim arm to grab Boyd's arm. "Don't you let him loose," she whispers. "Who else do you think killed that man?"
NikitaInsight: 8 ThumbtackInsight: 17 (custom d20 roll of 16 + 1)
Her owl partner had prepared her for the gruesome corpse, but the enigmatic halfling comes as a surprise to Nikita and she stares. This is no ordinary prisoner, is all she can manage inside her startled mind, occluded like the fetid hallways of these darkened under-halls. She too moves to deter Boyd.
"Hold, friend. I lack the druid'scertainty on the matter, but perhaps it is best we exchange bona fides first. Not least because our newly-met halfling acquaintance does not seem to mind talking." She turns to the prisoner. "I am Nikita and my avian companion you glimpsed earlier is Thumbtack."
Nikita pauses, hoping her companions can discern the halfling's intentions through his loquacious speech better than she can. "I am sure you agree that the following questions are reasonable in an uncertain place such as this. Who are you? Why are you here? How did your neighbor in the next cell come to meet their grisly fate? And what is it that you are endeavoring which requires your productivity to be unhindered?"
Both Nikita and Thumbtack look directly at the prisoner, the elf unblinking, while the owl's eyes close slowly once before dawning again like moons.
The halfling man's gaze remains keen as Boyd approaches the cell door, yet a fleeting shadow passes over his features as the lockpicker's efforts are thwarted. A chuckle emerges from his lips in response to Boyd's inquiry. "Ah," he begins with a hint of mischief, "I'm afraid the fault lies squarely with me. You see, I had heard whispers of a potent..."His sentence trails off, a shrewd smile lingering on his lips.
"Greetings, Nikita,"the man addresses, his bow accompanied by a sly flourish. Warmth and hospitality infuse his demeanour, though beneath it simmers a trace of impatience.
"Who am I?" the halfling beams. "I am Oscar, and my path led me to this very place. As for the 'why' of it all, I was about to elucidate to your companion. I embarked on this journey in search of a sacred relic, which I surmised might be held within these walls. Alas, I was unprepared for the obstacles that awaited me."His gaze drifts toward the lifeless figure within the cell, and a wince of regret betrays his demeanour. "Please understand, I beseech you, this may colour your perception of me, but I am the one responsible for the demise of that unfortunate soul there."
A sombre sigh escapes Oscar's lips. "He was known as Jobe. His story, however, eluded me, for it mattered little. It appears some malady had taken his sanity, driving him to brandish a makeshift weapon against me when he perceived my attention to be elsewhere. The confines of this place, they warp the mind, you see. It was a lamentable affair all around, and you must know that I harbour genuine remorse for having to take his life. But my hand was forced; I had to defend myself." Oscar's visage bears the weight of his melancholy confession.
"Ah, productivity," he intones as if recapturing his thoughts. "Indeed, I had—or rather, have—a purpose. A quest to retrieve an artefact that rumour suggested was secreted within these very walls. Alas, one's pursuits are severely hindered when confined behind iron bars."
Nikita's Checks:
Nikita's Insight
Oscar remains an enigma, his motives shrouded in uncertainty. The truth of his past or present purpose seems elusive, a tapestry woven with threads of doubt. Yet amidst this intrigue, his confession of slaying his cellmate rings true to your senses.
Thumbtack's Insight
"There's an unsettling air about this Oscar,"Thumbtack's telepathic message weaves its way into your thoughts. "Deciding his fate is a tangled decision. If he's set free, his actions afterwards could unfold in unpredictable ways. Keeping him under watch might be wise, for I can't quite read his intentions—friend or foe, or something beyond. One thing's certain: Oscar is no stranger to bloodshed." The mental image of the battered body sprawled on the cell's cold floor accompanies the owl's words. "His hands seem more accustomed to brutality than erudition."
I wish we had rather continued to the locked door rather than come to this cell. You are right, Thumbtack. Something lurks behind his eloquence. Though he may be an enemy to the Unseelie Queen, he is unlikely to prove a true friend to us. Yet if we leave him confined, he may become a true foe instead.
"You slew Jobe in self-defense." She pauses for a moment after repeating Oscar's words back. "Yet his corpse is beaten brutally beyond recognition."
"Let us try a different tack, Oscar. Describe the artefact you seek in this corrupted temple and why you seek it. Do you serve one of the Fey Courts?"
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Turning back from the front of the column at the dead end, the Lord of Autumn lets the others take the lead as the crew strides down the parallel corridor. Though his demeanor remained positive, his gaze began to focus in on the surroundings, ever searching for advantages to upcoming threats.
Arriving at the dank cells, the firbolg continued to remain silent, taking in both the surroundings as well as studying how the crew questioned the captive. His expression softened to that of curiosity, seeing how each member of the party took turns interacting with this denizen of the feywild. He politely held his tongue as he listened intently to the conversation while taking in the situation.
"Who am I?" the halfling beams. "I am Oscar, and my path led me to this very place. As for the 'why' of it all, I was about to elucidate to your companion. I embarked on this journey in search of a sacred relic, which I surmised might be held within these walls. Alas, I was unprepared for the obstacles that awaited me." His gaze drifts toward the lifeless figure within the cell, and a wince of regret betrays his demeanour. "Please understand, I beseech you, this may colour your perception of me, but I am the one responsible for the demise of that unfortunate soul there."
Staying in the shadows, the Lord of Autumn's hand begins to quiver as he takes in the statement from the individual. Hanging on every word spoken, the firbolg scratches his chin to calm his trembling paw. [Guidance]
Insight Check - Regarding the truth of the statements about his circumstances and what happened to Jobe: 22
"You slew Jobe in self-defense." She pauses for a moment after repeating Oscar's words back. "Yet his corpse is beaten brutally beyond recognition."
The Lord of Autumn raises his hand and gives a quick snap, causing a bonfire to spring to life in the cramped corridors. It's warm light casts away the shadows, bringing the firbolg into full view of the halfing. [Create Bonfire]
Regardless of whether the prisoner's attention is drawn, the Lord of Autumn instead gazes into the cell, hoping to get a better view of the unfortunate cellmate of Jobe.
Medicine Check - To determine probable cause of death for the corpse as best he can from outside the cell: 22
Nikita - An eerie shiver runs down your spine in response to Oscar's unsettling demeanour. As you mention Jobe, a disconcerting smile curls across the halfling's features. "Ah, the fickle strength of survival," he muses, a touch of nonchalance in his voice. "In the heat of that moment, the fate of others often seems but a distant concern, does it not?"
His gaze pierces through you as if unravelling the layers of your thoughts. "The artefact in question,"Oscar's words weave a tapestry of intrigue, "holds an irreplaceable significance within my order. A mask, deceptively simple in its craftsmanship, yet brimming with religious meaning and history, it holds immense sentimental weight." His pause carries an undercurrent of uncertainty. "Rest assured, its purpose is to be reunited with its rightful guardians."
Oscar adjusts his robes, and you catch glimpses of small bones intricately adorning the fabric. "I do not pledge allegiance to any of the grand Fey Courts. My path treads among the shadows of the lesser-known Summerheart, a sect woven within the tapestry of the Summer Fey."
Nikita - Please make Religion check with advantage.
Lord of Autumn - With an uncanny awareness, it's almost as if Oscar has been attuned to your presence all along. His perceptive acuity stands as an enigma—whether an innate gift or a harbinger of something more arcane. He meets your gaze as you illuminate the room, his acknowledgement marked by a subtle nod. "A member of the esteemed Autumn Court, if my senses do not deceive me,"Oscar's voice dances with a playful intonation. A knowing smirk graces his lips. "Your cloak, a vivid flourish of colour amidst this realm of stagnation, offers a welcome respite, my newfound friend." A subtle weight lies beneath his words as if Oscar possesses an intrinsic comprehension of the purpose that propels your journey.
Lord of Autumn's checks:
((I shall split this a little - dealing with Oscar himself and then what you notice about Jobe's body. I shall take both checks you rolled into account.))
Oscar
The halfling's words stir an uneasy tempest within your mind. A torrent of disquiet crashes against the shores of your consciousness as his mellifluous tones resonate, yet they echo with an eerie dissonance that chills your very core. Doubt mingles with trepidation, casting a shroud of uncertainty over the authenticity of his narrative. There's a lurking suspicion that what he imparts is a web spun from half-truths, but the threads of conviction that tangle your thoughts thwart any attempt to disentangle the truth from the lies. It's as if his words are tendrils of mist, obscuring your reason and veiling your judgment.
Jobe
A mingling of disgust and fear seizes your heart. The mangled corpse is a nightmarish sight, flesh brutally torn, chunks missing. Something's devoured the poor soul, the remnants of a grisly feast hidden in plain sight. Disturbing teeth marks, once unnoticed, are now gruesomely revealed by the light of your bonfire, whispering of unspeakable cannibalistic horrors.
((Additional information due to high roll))
Worse yet, you realise that the jaw responsible for those bite marks is far larger than that of a halfling. But how can that be? If Oscar is the sole inhabitant of the cell, then who or what could possess such a monstrous maw?
Nikita's mind, off balance from Oscar's treacherous tapestry of words, touches on her now familiar regret at not diligently learning fey lore in Celene, impatient youngest daughter that she had been. Nevertheless, she recalls hearing something about the shadowy Summerheart sect...
The realisation hits you like a dark omen. A memory of bone-adorned spellcasters surfaces from your mind's depths. The term "Summerheart" unravels before your eyes, exposing Oscar's deceit. Could he truly be a part of the Boneheart, that shadowy council that rules in Iuz's name? Your thoughts cascade into a torrent of suspicion. Rumours of Boneheart agents scouring the land for relics that could fuel their malevolent purposes echo in your ears.
Your hope quivers, a fragile thing, wishing for Oscar's affiliation to be with the Lesser Boneheart rather than the Greater. But it matters little; a sense of absolute power emanates from him, as palpable as the cold wind preceding a storm. The cell bars are but whispers against his might, a fact that chills you to your core. At this moment, he chooses to be imprisoned. A puppet master orchestrating his own narrative, and you, unwittingly, are players in his dark performance.
Oscar's casual demeanour belies a hidden message, a whisper carried on a breeze that sends shivers down your spine. He takes his seat on a nearby bunk, eyes fixed upon you. "Nikita, my dear,"he purrs, his voice dripping like honey. "The weariness you carry, it clings to you like a shadow. A shadow that follows, no matter how fast you flee."His gaze locks onto yours, a twinkle of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Running may grant you a moment's respite, but true escape? It often remains elusive." His words carry an eerie resonance, an echo of pursuit that sends a chill through the air. "Problems, my dear, have a way of finding you, no matter how far you wander."The faintest smile tugs at his lips, a smile that holds secrets darker than the night.
There was a time, merely days ago now that she thinks on it, that Nikita would have quailed utterly at the realization of what Oscar is and who he serves. Turned tail, literally or figuratively she would. Drawn in on herself or fled as she had south from Iuz's lands, through the Vesve Forest, her dearest friends being picked off one by one amidst blood and tears, hiding and running through Veluna, the Lortmil Mountains, Ulek, all of Keoland until finally arriving at...
Saltmarsh where the land meets the Azure Sea. And now the Fey Realm. There is nowhere left to run...
"Tell the Fiend of the North. Tell your master, I know his power and I know his wrath. But I will no longer run from it. Not in Saltmarsh where we slew his lackey Sedgewick, and certainly not here in the Fey Realm. You may weave your web of words, but they shall find no purchase on my soul."
Nikita turns to her companions. "Oscar is both far more and far less than he describes. He serves a dread cambion lord in my home world of Oerth, far to the north. Boneheart, not Summerheart, he is, and power he has, but nothing good will come from treating with him. Our path lies elsewhere."
Boyd leans against the solid wall where Oscar's cell abuts the next cell over, key in one hand and lockpicks in the other, in case Nikitaor Faila change their minds about freeing the halfling.
Boyd listens to the conversation intently; he tries to uncover the hidden undertone that everyone seems to understand but him, but fails until Nikita lays it out plainly.
"Another one of them?" He says incredulously, looking at the Halfling in the bonfire light, and then down at his mangled victim. "How many people worship this guy?" Boyd looks the cell doors over, then looks down the dark hallways. "Can we just leave him here?" he asks, implying if it would be safer to kill the Halfling while he's locked up. "Can't have him getting out and becoming another blobby tentacle monster, can we?"
Nikita gives the slightest shake of her head and simply repeats to Boyd, not taking her eyes from the apparent halfling. "Our path lies elsewhere."
She switches to a language she thinks Boyd knows, but perhapsOscar does not? (In dwarvish): "I am not certain we can kill him. These bars will not hold him, true, but we have different goals now, and he may too. Though if he also seeks an artefact..." She trails off uncertainly, then adds: "Just remember, Sedgewick only became a blobby tentacle monster by feeding, then draining Sagacitas. Not all of the cambion lord's servants are so."
Still, Nikita waits for the others to voice their opinions, objecting adamantly only to freeing the Boneheart. He did seem eager to be set free immediately...
Oscar's grin widens, revealing a sinister mirth as he regards the ragtag assembly before him. "Wise are those who heed Nikita Tantsora's counsel,"he utters with eerie politeness. In the flickering firelight, the intricate bone jewellery that adorns his robes gleams menacingly. "My master, you see, holds a peculiar fascination with your talents, Nikita. And when the time comes, your pleas for salvation shall be met with his dark benevolence."
Boyd's mention of a 'blobby tentacle monster' briefly rattles Oscar. "Sedgewick was but a pawn, a minor piece in our grand design. His demise holds little significance. He was never of the Boneheart."Oscar's tone carries a calculated calmness. "Nikita's assessment was astute; an attempt on my life would prove futile. But by all means, you are welcome to try." His fingers trace along his chin as he speaks in Dwarvish, "The draining of Sagacitas had the desired effect? Perhaps Sedgewick was right in his pursuit and harvest of the creatures."
As Oscar closes his eyes, a chilling silence falls upon the scene. "Our conversation has been enlightening," he murmurs with a glimmer of malevolence. "Yet, my time here wanes. There is an artefact to retrieve, and we would not want you getting your hands on that now, would we?" His presence seems to waver and ripple within the dim firelight, a grotesque spectacle unfolding. Blood stains his chin, and his teeth elongate, resembling cruel fangs — grotesque evidence of an unsettling transformation. The very air seems to quiver with malevolence. When he reopens his eyes, they blaze a deep crimson, a sinister gleam that reveals the shocking truth—'Oscar' is no halfling but a creature of darkness, something far more sinister.
"This will not be the final chapter of our intertwining, Nikita Tantsora. That much is certain,"Oscar's voice seems to linger in the air even as his form dissipates into the shadows, leaving no trace of his existence behind in the cell. The flickering bonfire dances and crackles, casting eerie shadows that dance upon the damp walls. The incessant dripping of water and the occasional creaking of vegetation outside create an unsettling symphony, rendering the corrupted temple a desolate and forsaken place. Amidst this eerie ambience, the party is left to grapple with the enigma of their encounter with Oscar—what was real, and what was fabricated? Could it be that the Boneheart's sinister grasp extends even to the fey artefacts that hold the fate of Oerth and the Fey Realm?
Nikita slowly lets out a breath she had not realized she was holding, while Thumbtack turns her head repeatedly to try to look in all directions at once.
"I will never be free of... him. The Fiend of the North whose true name I will no longer speak. Not even here, crossed over into a different world with different rules than Oerth. My closest friends and I sought to undermine him once, in our folly, not realizing his strength. His cunning and his reach. Only I am left. So now his powerful servants and lackeys, fiends and arch-mages all, may hound me to the end of my days and beyond. And yet..."
The young elf holds her head up high and regards her companions with sorrow and determination intermingled on her scarred face.
"I am done running. I only regret that I endanger you all by my very presence. Aye, and by my past failures. Nevertheless, for now, I think we must move on. Perhaps back to the locked door to which we may have the keys. We may yet succeed in our task. I am thankful to have you as my companions. All of you. Thumbtack and Boyd and Meresaa. Faila and Aruum and my Lord of Autumn."
Faila stands partly behind Boyd, her eyes narrowed, never taking her gaze from the halfling as he waxes eloquent to her companions. Not one ruffle of surprise crosses her face or demeanor at Nikita's revelation of his nature nor at his transformation. She just continues staring at him with the same suspicious, defensive posture, as if ready to run or attack the moment it becomes necessary.
After Oscar disappears, Faila slowly, cautiously, relaxes a little, looking around. She wanders around a little between her companions, touching Meresaa's robe, handing Aruum another gold piece, as if these small acts of connection give her something to hold onto in the face of the shifting and unpredictable world in which they find themselves. Finally, she stands next to the Lord of Autumn's bonfire, gazing solemnly into the flames. After a minute, she looks at Nikita. "There are stronger powers. Fiends are liars. They want you to believe there's no escape. But it isn't true. Even I have heard enough stories to know that."
Boyd smiles at Nikita's rallying. "Wonder what would have happened if I hadn't been scooped up into Saltmarsh and here... Wonder if I would have gotten away from the Scarlet Brotherhood." He sighs. "But we're here now. Glad I'm facing all this with you lot as well. Couldn't ask for a better crew."
"We're not so bad off, though, I don't think. I reckon Faila's right about that fella." Boyd says, less certainly than the young girl. "He was bluffing. Just because he can turn into air don't mean he's strong. He didn't even know what was happening in Prospect..."He shakes his head to clear it of the Halfling's strange appearance and disappearance.
"We should... we ought to just move on. If we've gotta clear this place, we've gotta clear it."He straightens his equipment and wipes a few beads of sweat forming on his forehead. "Let's try to find where this key goes; damn near died for it, so I hope it's useful."
Nikita inclines her head at her friends' comments and observes simply, "It matters little to me whether there is an escape from this cambion lord in particular, because as I said, I am done running from him. I am truly thankful for all of you and have already taken too much time with my story."
With Boyd, she and Thumbtack (on her shoulder) scout the way back to the locked door in the south central passageway, remaining on high alert.
Despite the need to find and help the prisoner quickly, Boyd insists on scouting out some of the surrounding passageways first so that the group isn't ambushed while they tend to the prisoner. He heads south and east, taking a look down the long, dark hallways that disappear even deeper into this subterranean temple. Down the southern hallway, he announces that he's found a locked door, but doesn't try the key on it yet.
"Okay... I don't see anything else down this way for now. Let's head back and see if we can help."
Nikita nods and follows Boyd, but whispers to the group:
"Careful. Thumbtack warned that just because they are a prisoner of a seeming enemy does not make them a friend. Something is very wrong here."
Tanis(Ranger1): Shiverquill's Tempest City | Xarian(Fighter2): NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(TwilightCleric4): Vos' Beyond the Veil | Soren(ShepherdDruid5): Bartjeebus' Ravenloft | Ophelia(WildMagicSorcerer4): Ashen_Age's Risen from the Sands
Joren(EchoKnightFighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Sabetha(MercyMonk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court | Seri(NatureCleric3/DivineSoulSorcerer1): Bartjeebus' Greyhawk
Early Evening - Day 1 - Unveiling the Unfamiliar
Retracing their steps, our intrepid adventurers head towards the dimly lit cells on the west side of the temple. Approaching the cell, they bear witness to a disturbing scene – the cadaver's visage bears the cruel marks of violence, beaten beyond recognition. Blood weaves an eerie tapestry with the stagnant water and muck, painting the cobbled stone floor in morbid hues. Within the shadowed cell, the veil of darkness conceals the elusive presence they know lurks within. All is eerily quiet until an unsettling tutting sound emerges from the far corner.
Emerging into the flickering candlelight steps a figure both curious and enigmatic. Standing no taller than three feet, a halfling man appears before the group. Clad in an opulent red robe adorned with golden cuffs, his face is etched with the lines of time's passage, while his long, slicked-back black hair lends an air of sophistication. Despite his stature, he exudes an aura of a life lived long and hard. His gaze, sharp and scrutinising, falls upon the group with an air of expectancy.
"Oh, why looky here?" he exclaims, his voice a resonant baritone that defies his diminutive frame. "Could it be that my eyes play tricks? Or perhaps the lizardfolk have elevated their shapeshifting talents?" Casting a thorough assessment of each member, his expression conveys a level of indifference, as if their presence fails to meet his expectations. "Alas, no, I daresay you are not my captors," his tone carries an air of mild disappointment. "A missed opportunity, I gather," his gaze locks on Nikita. "Would you, by chance, consider the courtesy of freeing me from this cage? It tends to hinder my productivity, you see, and that, my dear, is quite the inconvenience. Quite the inconvenience, indeed."
The halfling man emanates an aura of erudition, his speech marked by eloquence and a strangely composed demeanour, given his confined circumstances. His gaze shifts from Nikita to Thumbtack, a measured curiosity playing across his features. "Ah, yes, the creature I had the fleeting fortune of glimpsing earlier," he muses. "I must confess, the presence of an avian entity in this dank and subterranean abode had me momentarily bemused. A curious choice of dwelling, unless, of course, we are referring to those of the feathered variety who strut on two legs—of which we do happen to have a few in these parts."
Boyd - Can I have stealth and investigation checks, please? As you set about exploring the subterranean temple.
DM - The Call of Strahd (CoS); Feyrealm Campaign, Chapter 0 - Bleak Prospect (BP), Chapter 1 - Destination Unknown (DU)
Stealth: 10
Investigation: 14
Boyd has a quick look around the immediate area before reconvening with his allies and heading to see what they can do for the figure they saw in the prison cell. As the group approaches the cell, Boyd frowns at the flayed corpse. "Yeah... figured this poor sod would be out of luck." he says, pointing to the body with his toe.
The big man jumps in surprise as the Halfling steps out from the shadows of the cell. He lets the man finish speaking and then pulls out his lockpicks and the key from the blobby evil, moving toward the cell door. He looks back at his group to make sure the others are okay with him unlocking the cell. ((if it sounds like everyone else is okay with it, I'll try to unlock the cell with the key first, then lockpicks)). "How'd you end up in here, friend?" He asks, as he takes position in front of the lock.
Faila, slinking in the shadows behind the group as they approach the cell, tenses noticeably not at the body--though her wide, numb gaze shows her appreciation of the horror of it somewhere deep inside---but at the halfling man. She reaches out a slim arm to grab Boyd's arm. "Don't you let him loose," she whispers. "Who else do you think killed that man?"
Nikita Insight: 8
Thumbtack Insight: 17 (custom d20 roll of 16 + 1)
Her owl partner had prepared her for the gruesome corpse, but the enigmatic halfling comes as a surprise to Nikita and she stares. This is no ordinary prisoner, is all she can manage inside her startled mind, occluded like the fetid hallways of these darkened under-halls. She too moves to deter Boyd.
"Hold, friend. I lack the druid's certainty on the matter, but perhaps it is best we exchange bona fides first. Not least because our newly-met halfling acquaintance does not seem to mind talking." She turns to the prisoner. "I am Nikita and my avian companion you glimpsed earlier is Thumbtack."
Nikita pauses, hoping her companions can discern the halfling's intentions through his loquacious speech better than she can. "I am sure you agree that the following questions are reasonable in an uncertain place such as this. Who are you? Why are you here? How did your neighbor in the next cell come to meet their grisly fate? And what is it that you are endeavoring which requires your productivity to be unhindered?"
Both Nikita and Thumbtack look directly at the prisoner, the elf unblinking, while the owl's eyes close slowly once before dawning again like moons.
Tanis(Ranger1): Shiverquill's Tempest City | Xarian(Fighter2): NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(TwilightCleric4): Vos' Beyond the Veil | Soren(ShepherdDruid5): Bartjeebus' Ravenloft | Ophelia(WildMagicSorcerer4): Ashen_Age's Risen from the Sands
Joren(EchoKnightFighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Sabetha(MercyMonk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court | Seri(NatureCleric3/DivineSoulSorcerer1): Bartjeebus' Greyhawk
Early Evening - Day 1
The halfling man's gaze remains keen as Boyd approaches the cell door, yet a fleeting shadow passes over his features as the lockpicker's efforts are thwarted. A chuckle emerges from his lips in response to Boyd's inquiry. "Ah," he begins with a hint of mischief, "I'm afraid the fault lies squarely with me. You see, I had heard whispers of a potent..." His sentence trails off, a shrewd smile lingering on his lips.
"Greetings, Nikita," the man addresses, his bow accompanied by a sly flourish. Warmth and hospitality infuse his demeanour, though beneath it simmers a trace of impatience.
"Who am I?" the halfling beams. "I am Oscar, and my path led me to this very place. As for the 'why' of it all, I was about to elucidate to your companion. I embarked on this journey in search of a sacred relic, which I surmised might be held within these walls. Alas, I was unprepared for the obstacles that awaited me." His gaze drifts toward the lifeless figure within the cell, and a wince of regret betrays his demeanour. "Please understand, I beseech you, this may colour your perception of me, but I am the one responsible for the demise of that unfortunate soul there."
A sombre sigh escapes Oscar's lips. "He was known as Jobe. His story, however, eluded me, for it mattered little. It appears some malady had taken his sanity, driving him to brandish a makeshift weapon against me when he perceived my attention to be elsewhere. The confines of this place, they warp the mind, you see. It was a lamentable affair all around, and you must know that I harbour genuine remorse for having to take his life. But my hand was forced; I had to defend myself." Oscar's visage bears the weight of his melancholy confession.
"Ah, productivity," he intones as if recapturing his thoughts. "Indeed, I had—or rather, have—a purpose. A quest to retrieve an artefact that rumour suggested was secreted within these very walls. Alas, one's pursuits are severely hindered when confined behind iron bars."
Nikita's Checks:
Nikita's Insight
Oscar remains an enigma, his motives shrouded in uncertainty. The truth of his past or present purpose seems elusive, a tapestry woven with threads of doubt. Yet amidst this intrigue, his confession of slaying his cellmate rings true to your senses.
Thumbtack's Insight
"There's an unsettling air about this Oscar," Thumbtack's telepathic message weaves its way into your thoughts. "Deciding his fate is a tangled decision. If he's set free, his actions afterwards could unfold in unpredictable ways. Keeping him under watch might be wise, for I can't quite read his intentions—friend or foe, or something beyond. One thing's certain: Oscar is no stranger to bloodshed." The mental image of the battered body sprawled on the cell's cold floor accompanies the owl's words. "His hands seem more accustomed to brutality than erudition."
DM - The Call of Strahd (CoS); Feyrealm Campaign, Chapter 0 - Bleak Prospect (BP), Chapter 1 - Destination Unknown (DU)
Nikita swallows.
I wish we had rather continued to the locked door rather than come to this cell. You are right, Thumbtack. Something lurks behind his eloquence. Though he may be an enemy to the Unseelie Queen, he is unlikely to prove a true friend to us. Yet if we leave him confined, he may become a true foe instead.
"You slew Jobe in self-defense." She pauses for a moment after repeating Oscar's words back. "Yet his corpse is beaten brutally beyond recognition."
"Let us try a different tack, Oscar. Describe the artefact you seek in this corrupted temple and why you seek it. Do you serve one of the Fey Courts?"
Tanis(Ranger1): Shiverquill's Tempest City | Xarian(Fighter2): NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(TwilightCleric4): Vos' Beyond the Veil | Soren(ShepherdDruid5): Bartjeebus' Ravenloft | Ophelia(WildMagicSorcerer4): Ashen_Age's Risen from the Sands
Joren(EchoKnightFighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Sabetha(MercyMonk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court | Seri(NatureCleric3/DivineSoulSorcerer1): Bartjeebus' Greyhawk
Turning back from the front of the column at the dead end, the Lord of Autumn lets the others take the lead as the crew strides down the parallel corridor. Though his demeanor remained positive, his gaze began to focus in on the surroundings, ever searching for advantages to upcoming threats.
Arriving at the dank cells, the firbolg continued to remain silent, taking in both the surroundings as well as studying how the crew questioned the captive. His expression softened to that of curiosity, seeing how each member of the party took turns interacting with this denizen of the feywild. He politely held his tongue as he listened intently to the conversation while taking in the situation.
Staying in the shadows, the Lord of Autumn's hand begins to quiver as he takes in the statement from the individual. Hanging on every word spoken, the firbolg scratches his chin to calm his trembling paw. [Guidance]
Insight Check - Regarding the truth of the statements about his circumstances and what happened to Jobe: 22
The Lord of Autumn raises his hand and gives a quick snap, causing a bonfire to spring to life in the cramped corridors. It's warm light casts away the shadows, bringing the firbolg into full view of the halfing. [Create Bonfire]
Regardless of whether the prisoner's attention is drawn, the Lord of Autumn instead gazes into the cell, hoping to get a better view of the unfortunate cellmate of Jobe.
Medicine Check - To determine probable cause of death for the corpse as best he can from outside the cell: 22
Nikita - An eerie shiver runs down your spine in response to Oscar's unsettling demeanour. As you mention Jobe, a disconcerting smile curls across the halfling's features. "Ah, the fickle strength of survival," he muses, a touch of nonchalance in his voice. "In the heat of that moment, the fate of others often seems but a distant concern, does it not?"
His gaze pierces through you as if unravelling the layers of your thoughts. "The artefact in question," Oscar's words weave a tapestry of intrigue, "holds an irreplaceable significance within my order. A mask, deceptively simple in its craftsmanship, yet brimming with religious meaning and history, it holds immense sentimental weight." His pause carries an undercurrent of uncertainty. "Rest assured, its purpose is to be reunited with its rightful guardians."
Oscar adjusts his robes, and you catch glimpses of small bones intricately adorning the fabric. "I do not pledge allegiance to any of the grand Fey Courts. My path treads among the shadows of the lesser-known Summerheart, a sect woven within the tapestry of the Summer Fey."
Nikita - Please make Religion check with advantage.
Lord of Autumn - With an uncanny awareness, it's almost as if Oscar has been attuned to your presence all along. His perceptive acuity stands as an enigma—whether an innate gift or a harbinger of something more arcane. He meets your gaze as you illuminate the room, his acknowledgement marked by a subtle nod. "A member of the esteemed Autumn Court, if my senses do not deceive me," Oscar's voice dances with a playful intonation. A knowing smirk graces his lips. "Your cloak, a vivid flourish of colour amidst this realm of stagnation, offers a welcome respite, my newfound friend." A subtle weight lies beneath his words as if Oscar possesses an intrinsic comprehension of the purpose that propels your journey.
Lord of Autumn's checks:
((I shall split this a little - dealing with Oscar himself and then what you notice about Jobe's body. I shall take both checks you rolled into account.))
Oscar
The halfling's words stir an uneasy tempest within your mind. A torrent of disquiet crashes against the shores of your consciousness as his mellifluous tones resonate, yet they echo with an eerie dissonance that chills your very core. Doubt mingles with trepidation, casting a shroud of uncertainty over the authenticity of his narrative. There's a lurking suspicion that what he imparts is a web spun from half-truths, but the threads of conviction that tangle your thoughts thwart any attempt to disentangle the truth from the lies. It's as if his words are tendrils of mist, obscuring your reason and veiling your judgment.
Jobe
A mingling of disgust and fear seizes your heart. The mangled corpse is a nightmarish sight, flesh brutally torn, chunks missing. Something's devoured the poor soul, the remnants of a grisly feast hidden in plain sight. Disturbing teeth marks, once unnoticed, are now gruesomely revealed by the light of your bonfire, whispering of unspeakable cannibalistic horrors.
((Additional information due to high roll))
Worse yet, you realise that the jaw responsible for those bite marks is far larger than that of a halfling. But how can that be? If Oscar is the sole inhabitant of the cell, then who or what could possess such a monstrous maw?
DM - The Call of Strahd (CoS); Feyrealm Campaign, Chapter 0 - Bleak Prospect (BP), Chapter 1 - Destination Unknown (DU)
Nikita's mind, off balance from Oscar's treacherous tapestry of words, touches on her now familiar regret at not diligently learning fey lore in Celene, impatient youngest daughter that she had been. Nevertheless, she recalls hearing something about the shadowy Summerheart sect...
Religion check at advantage: 23
Her relief is nearly palpable once the Lord of Autumn steps to the fore, yet not enough to diminish her unease.
Tanis(Ranger1): Shiverquill's Tempest City | Xarian(Fighter2): NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(TwilightCleric4): Vos' Beyond the Veil | Soren(ShepherdDruid5): Bartjeebus' Ravenloft | Ophelia(WildMagicSorcerer4): Ashen_Age's Risen from the Sands
Joren(EchoKnightFighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Sabetha(MercyMonk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court | Seri(NatureCleric3/DivineSoulSorcerer1): Bartjeebus' Greyhawk
Nikita's religion check:
The realisation hits you like a dark omen. A memory of bone-adorned spellcasters surfaces from your mind's depths. The term "Summerheart" unravels before your eyes, exposing Oscar's deceit. Could he truly be a part of the Boneheart, that shadowy council that rules in Iuz's name? Your thoughts cascade into a torrent of suspicion. Rumours of Boneheart agents scouring the land for relics that could fuel their malevolent purposes echo in your ears.
Your hope quivers, a fragile thing, wishing for Oscar's affiliation to be with the Lesser Boneheart rather than the Greater. But it matters little; a sense of absolute power emanates from him, as palpable as the cold wind preceding a storm. The cell bars are but whispers against his might, a fact that chills you to your core. At this moment, he chooses to be imprisoned. A puppet master orchestrating his own narrative, and you, unwittingly, are players in his dark performance.
Oscar's casual demeanour belies a hidden message, a whisper carried on a breeze that sends shivers down your spine. He takes his seat on a nearby bunk, eyes fixed upon you. "Nikita, my dear," he purrs, his voice dripping like honey. "The weariness you carry, it clings to you like a shadow. A shadow that follows, no matter how fast you flee." His gaze locks onto yours, a twinkle of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Running may grant you a moment's respite, but true escape? It often remains elusive." His words carry an eerie resonance, an echo of pursuit that sends a chill through the air. "Problems, my dear, have a way of finding you, no matter how far you wander." The faintest smile tugs at his lips, a smile that holds secrets darker than the night.
DM - The Call of Strahd (CoS); Feyrealm Campaign, Chapter 0 - Bleak Prospect (BP), Chapter 1 - Destination Unknown (DU)
There was a time, merely days ago now that she thinks on it, that Nikita would have quailed utterly at the realization of what Oscar is and who he serves. Turned tail, literally or figuratively she would. Drawn in on herself or fled as she had south from Iuz's lands, through the Vesve Forest, her dearest friends being picked off one by one amidst blood and tears, hiding and running through Veluna, the Lortmil Mountains, Ulek, all of Keoland until finally arriving at...
Saltmarsh where the land meets the Azure Sea. And now the Fey Realm. There is nowhere left to run...
"Tell the Fiend of the North. Tell your master, I know his power and I know his wrath. But I will no longer run from it. Not in Saltmarsh where we slew his lackey Sedgewick, and certainly not here in the Fey Realm. You may weave your web of words, but they shall find no purchase on my soul."
Nikita turns to her companions. "Oscar is both far more and far less than he describes. He serves a dread cambion lord in my home world of Oerth, far to the north. Boneheart, not Summerheart, he is, and power he has, but nothing good will come from treating with him. Our path lies elsewhere."
Tanis(Ranger1): Shiverquill's Tempest City | Xarian(Fighter2): NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(TwilightCleric4): Vos' Beyond the Veil | Soren(ShepherdDruid5): Bartjeebus' Ravenloft | Ophelia(WildMagicSorcerer4): Ashen_Age's Risen from the Sands
Joren(EchoKnightFighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Sabetha(MercyMonk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court | Seri(NatureCleric3/DivineSoulSorcerer1): Bartjeebus' Greyhawk
Boyd leans against the solid wall where Oscar's cell abuts the next cell over, key in one hand and lockpicks in the other, in case Nikita or Faila change their minds about freeing the halfling.
Boyd listens to the conversation intently; he tries to uncover the hidden undertone that everyone seems to understand but him, but fails until Nikita lays it out plainly.
"Another one of them?" He says incredulously, looking at the Halfling in the bonfire light, and then down at his mangled victim. "How many people worship this guy?" Boyd looks the cell doors over, then looks down the dark hallways. "Can we just leave him here?" he asks, implying if it would be safer to kill the Halfling while he's locked up. "Can't have him getting out and becoming another blobby tentacle monster, can we?"
Nikita gives the slightest shake of her head and simply repeats to Boyd, not taking her eyes from the apparent halfling. "Our path lies elsewhere."
She switches to a language she thinks Boyd knows, but perhaps Oscar does not? (In dwarvish): "I am not certain we can kill him. These bars will not hold him, true, but we have different goals now, and he may too. Though if he also seeks an artefact..." She trails off uncertainly, then adds: "Just remember, Sedgewick only became a blobby tentacle monster by feeding, then draining Sagacitas. Not all of the cambion lord's servants are so."
Still, Nikita waits for the others to voice their opinions, objecting adamantly only to freeing the Boneheart. He did seem eager to be set free immediately...
Tanis(Ranger1): Shiverquill's Tempest City | Xarian(Fighter2): NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(TwilightCleric4): Vos' Beyond the Veil | Soren(ShepherdDruid5): Bartjeebus' Ravenloft | Ophelia(WildMagicSorcerer4): Ashen_Age's Risen from the Sands
Joren(EchoKnightFighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Sabetha(MercyMonk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court | Seri(NatureCleric3/DivineSoulSorcerer1): Bartjeebus' Greyhawk
Early Evening - Day 1 - Ch-ch-changes
Oscar's grin widens, revealing a sinister mirth as he regards the ragtag assembly before him. "Wise are those who heed Nikita Tantsora's counsel," he utters with eerie politeness. In the flickering firelight, the intricate bone jewellery that adorns his robes gleams menacingly. "My master, you see, holds a peculiar fascination with your talents, Nikita. And when the time comes, your pleas for salvation shall be met with his dark benevolence."
Boyd's mention of a 'blobby tentacle monster' briefly rattles Oscar. "Sedgewick was but a pawn, a minor piece in our grand design. His demise holds little significance. He was never of the Boneheart." Oscar's tone carries a calculated calmness. "Nikita's assessment was astute; an attempt on my life would prove futile. But by all means, you are welcome to try." His fingers trace along his chin as he speaks in Dwarvish, "The draining of Sagacitas had the desired effect? Perhaps Sedgewick was right in his pursuit and harvest of the creatures."
As Oscar closes his eyes, a chilling silence falls upon the scene. "Our conversation has been enlightening," he murmurs with a glimmer of malevolence. "Yet, my time here wanes. There is an artefact to retrieve, and we would not want you getting your hands on that now, would we?" His presence seems to waver and ripple within the dim firelight, a grotesque spectacle unfolding. Blood stains his chin, and his teeth elongate, resembling cruel fangs — grotesque evidence of an unsettling transformation. The very air seems to quiver with malevolence. When he reopens his eyes, they blaze a deep crimson, a sinister gleam that reveals the shocking truth—'Oscar' is no halfling but a creature of darkness, something far more sinister.
DM - The Call of Strahd (CoS); Feyrealm Campaign, Chapter 0 - Bleak Prospect (BP), Chapter 1 - Destination Unknown (DU)
Nikita slowly lets out a breath she had not realized she was holding, while Thumbtack turns her head repeatedly to try to look in all directions at once.
"I will never be free of... him. The Fiend of the North whose true name I will no longer speak. Not even here, crossed over into a different world with different rules than Oerth. My closest friends and I sought to undermine him once, in our folly, not realizing his strength. His cunning and his reach. Only I am left. So now his powerful servants and lackeys, fiends and arch-mages all, may hound me to the end of my days and beyond. And yet..."
The young elf holds her head up high and regards her companions with sorrow and determination intermingled on her scarred face.
"I am done running. I only regret that I endanger you all by my very presence. Aye, and by my past failures. Nevertheless, for now, I think we must move on. Perhaps back to the locked door to which we may have the keys. We may yet succeed in our task. I am thankful to have you as my companions. All of you. Thumbtack and Boyd and Meresaa. Faila and Aruum and my Lord of Autumn."
Tanis(Ranger1): Shiverquill's Tempest City | Xarian(Fighter2): NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(TwilightCleric4): Vos' Beyond the Veil | Soren(ShepherdDruid5): Bartjeebus' Ravenloft | Ophelia(WildMagicSorcerer4): Ashen_Age's Risen from the Sands
Joren(EchoKnightFighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Sabetha(MercyMonk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court | Seri(NatureCleric3/DivineSoulSorcerer1): Bartjeebus' Greyhawk
Faila stands partly behind Boyd, her eyes narrowed, never taking her gaze from the halfling as he waxes eloquent to her companions. Not one ruffle of surprise crosses her face or demeanor at Nikita's revelation of his nature nor at his transformation. She just continues staring at him with the same suspicious, defensive posture, as if ready to run or attack the moment it becomes necessary.
After Oscar disappears, Faila slowly, cautiously, relaxes a little, looking around. She wanders around a little between her companions, touching Meresaa's robe, handing Aruum another gold piece, as if these small acts of connection give her something to hold onto in the face of the shifting and unpredictable world in which they find themselves. Finally, she stands next to the Lord of Autumn's bonfire, gazing solemnly into the flames. After a minute, she looks at Nikita. "There are stronger powers. Fiends are liars. They want you to believe there's no escape. But it isn't true. Even I have heard enough stories to know that."
Boyd smiles at Nikita's rallying. "Wonder what would have happened if I hadn't been scooped up into Saltmarsh and here... Wonder if I would have gotten away from the Scarlet Brotherhood." He sighs. "But we're here now. Glad I'm facing all this with you lot as well. Couldn't ask for a better crew."
"We're not so bad off, though, I don't think. I reckon Faila's right about that fella." Boyd says, less certainly than the young girl. "He was bluffing. Just because he can turn into air don't mean he's strong. He didn't even know what was happening in Prospect..." He shakes his head to clear it of the Halfling's strange appearance and disappearance.
"We should... we ought to just move on. If we've gotta clear this place, we've gotta clear it." He straightens his equipment and wipes a few beads of sweat forming on his forehead. "Let's try to find where this key goes; damn near died for it, so I hope it's useful."
Nikita inclines her head at her friends' comments and observes simply, "It matters little to me whether there is an escape from this cambion lord in particular, because as I said, I am done running from him. I am truly thankful for all of you and have already taken too much time with my story."
With Boyd, she and Thumbtack (on her shoulder) scout the way back to the locked door in the south central passageway, remaining on high alert.
Tanis(Ranger1): Shiverquill's Tempest City | Xarian(Fighter2): NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(TwilightCleric4): Vos' Beyond the Veil | Soren(ShepherdDruid5): Bartjeebus' Ravenloft | Ophelia(WildMagicSorcerer4): Ashen_Age's Risen from the Sands
Joren(EchoKnightFighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Sabetha(MercyMonk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court | Seri(NatureCleric3/DivineSoulSorcerer1): Bartjeebus' Greyhawk