((Okay, let's let her rest, it's more about talking to the group, but since Ella is also gone already, I guess it'll keep. If Ella (or all of us) get eaten by a shapeshifting Lich, don't tell me not to tell you "I told you so." ;-P))
Corryn, apparently finished with writing in his journal, though still making a note every now and then, speaks up as Joviar finishes ((or after Horrence asks a follow up question, obviously, just as soon as the Purifier subject is "closed"):
Joviar, I suppose you would not know any more about what they are accusing the child of, and how much of it is potentially warranted?
When we arrived at their treehouse, its surroundings were protected by magic and, as we approached, the girl, presumably thinking us Purifiers, screamed that "Grinfor" would protect her by ripping us apart. And it was mere breaths after that, that the tree became a living abomination which attacked us relentlessly until we were able to subdue it.
I don't know what to think of this; I do not sympathise with the Purifiers, but other than the child being in league or under the protection of some powerful, if not necessarily evil, eldritch force, I do not know what could explain what we saw tonight.
Joviar's eyes widen slightly at your matter of fact relaying of the night's events, Corryn. He takes another sip of his tea before replying, eyes involuntarily darting upward to where Mika and Ella's room would be if he could see through the ceiling.
An evil spirit? A possessed tree?
He pauses for a long time, deep in thought.
Demons, devils and spirits of possession prey on the desperate or power hungry, often both. They want access to our plane of existence from the foul realms in which they reside and are prepared to convince, hire, bribe, bully or trick mortals into opening the way through. Sometimes, the mortals are accomplices, sometimes pawns.
If this "Grinfor" was able to possess a tree and operate independently of the young lady so soon after being summoned, than either it is powerful indeed or, more alarmingly, she has been in partnership with it for long enough for it to establish a foothold in this realm.
This is not my field, you must understand. Merely the recollections of an old man with his ear to the ground...
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Corryn nods understandingly,
Of course; I should perhaps have spoken up sooner, but since neither Miss Redstone, nor Mister Fireforge seemed to perceive any evil about her, or at least did not share any concerns, I felt it would have been an unkindness to subject the little girl to more questioning. Still, it might be worthwhile to inquire with those more learned on the ways of demons and fiends.
Not wanting to inconvenience, Corryn takes a small sip from the water flask in his backpack while fetching a few writing utensils and clears his throat.
Oh, and something else that has been bugging me, Professor Mattiford, how did Miss Redstone and you know to come to the treehouse; what did your inquiry reveal?
---
Aside, is there anything I might be able to recall, given my knowledge of Arcana and Religion isn't completely terrible, either?
From your own knowledge of the arcane, Joviar's account seems broadly credible. As a general rule demonic, devilish and other extra-planar entities of similar bent do not so much enter through a gate as squeeze slowly into our world, tethered to their own plane of existence by an elastic connection. Banishing a devil moments after it has been summoned is far simpler than doing so to one of equal power which has been operating on the Prime Material Plane for some time.
On another note, with some additional time to reflect on the fear inducing ward-dolls in the forest you come to the conclusion that if nothing else Mika did have at least some magical ability irrespective of any possession. While playing host to a demonic force might grant even a completely mundane host significant destructive powers, the more subtle enchantments required to bind a fear spell to dolls requires a host with ability. The assistance of an extra-planar ally might guide or enhance such activity, but it couldn't supplement complete ignorance.
Corryn's Religion Check:
There's little you can add to what's already been said. The Purifier religion is obviously resurgent, and your knowledge of faith generally (and how sects rise and fall) certainly comports with what Joviar has just explained to Horrence. What tickles at the back of your mind however is the dragging away of children. Typically racial supremacy or purity cults have no interest in spending a single extra second in the company of the "unclean" than they are obliged to. While at their most extreme such sects might be almost amoral in disposing of those they consider to be impure, they are rarely deliberately cruel for its own sake.
As a rule, groups like the Purifiers consider themselves to be righteous, doing the hard cleansing work of defending a society too week willed or corrupt to defend itself. The kidnapping of children is out of character for a group that, if it follows the general patterns of others like it, should see violence against non-humans as a distasteful but sometimes necessary obligation.
Horrence smiles warmly at her and say: "There is nothing to apologise for my child. If Xaja is alive I can promise we will do everything we can to find her. Now, go rest. I doubt very much that one night's sleep will be enough to undo the pain you have been caused, but as my Margaret used to say to our own boys: 'The new day looks all the better when you greet it well rested.'"
After listening to Joviar's analysis, he sights and leans back in his chair, taking a sip of the brandy and smiling appreciatively to Elin. "You're right of course, nothing breeds anger at those among us like failure from those above us. I just cannot understand how this happened under all our noses, and how we failed that poor girl and her friends, her parent! We must find a way to make amends, or we are no better than those who sent our loves ones off to die."
"As to your question young Master Corryn, the rather unpleasant soul that led the mob to our door this evening also greeted us at the Leanin'. He spun us a talk that the frightened lamb we have just been speaking to was some great and powerful sorceress who killed her friends in pursuit of a dark ritual and that the situation you faced at the tree house could be darker than even the reality we encountered.
"While I do not doubt, as Joviar says, that she has some power, I find it hard to believe that she is anything but a poor girl playing with magic as an escape from the horrors she faced at home, who perhaps bit off more than she could chew.
"The one thing I do know is that this Father Shiroq has got the Leanin under his thumb. We could not even get in the door, much less discover the true nature of what is inside..."
He leans in closer to Corryn and Joviar, as though about to whisper, though speaks in only slightly more hushed tones, "which leads to be a thought. Tomorrow they will be back for a trial. I wonder whether this might be our best chance to get inside the Leanin- when they are distracted elsewhere. I know we have to also deal with the situation at the well, but perhaps if Joviar feels able to stall the trial, we can find out what is really going on behind that barred door..."
Corryn nods, and begins packing his backpack back up.
It will likely mean splitting up our group again, but I agree Professor; I think we should adjourn for now so some of us can still get some sleep. I will need to get a few things in order in my room, but will be happy to take second watch.
“I think you are right my friend. Whatever we face tomorrow we will all need out wits about us. So I must say goodnight.”
With that he will drain the last of his brandy, nod to both Corryn and Joviar and head up to his room.
He will quickly get himself ready for bed, wash his face in whatever basin has been provided and fold his clothes neatly on a chair.
Just before going to sleep he will reach into the pocket of his coat, hung across the back of the chair, and pull out three pictures. He smiles, kisses each one in turn, places them next to his bed and drifts off to sleep.
With these words, Horrence and Corryn disappear up the stairs into their rooms. Joviar considers doing the same, but instead simply settles back into his armchair and within moments, his snores fill the air in counterpoint to those of Ragnor across the room.
Elin moves quietly about the place, tidying, collecting discarded cups, and doing the other hundred chores required to prepare the tavern for another working day. He is careful not to disturb either of the two sleeping men, though the odds of their hearing him over the sounds of their own cacophony seems marginal indeed.
Fodd, settling into a chair Elin thoughtfully provides, keeps his eye glued to the keyhole to watch the street for danger. He is youthful and dedicated enough that this mind-numbing task does not lull him into sleep, though the comfortable position does allow him to rest and recover.
(( DM Note: You have allnow long-rested. ))
As the various members of the party sleep, dreams flit across their minds, most immediately forgotten. Some however, linger.
Ella's dream:
Your mother's face is as you remember it from before the illness took her. Poised and beautiful, with a stern exterior hiding the occasional flashes of mischief she revealed only to you. She reclines, robed and in prayer in a circle of stone around which lies a meadow of greenest grass and wildflowers. She raises her eyes and offers you one of her rare smiles, the kind that transforms her face entirely and makes you feel like the center of her world. The expression flickers, as wavers, as one of the stones that make up the stone circle upon which she stands wobbles, shakes, and falls. Revealing a chasm beneath.
A second stone falls away from another part of the circle, and then a third. Your mother rises, fear written plain across her face and moves toward you, aiming to step out of the circle and onto the rolling grasses beyond. As her foot crosses the threshold, a figure materializes before her. Tall, faceless and of indeterminate gender, it is clad in the priestly vestments of the Moonbow priesthood. It raises a thick tome of religious dogma and thrusts it directly into your mother's stomach, hurling her backward into the crumbling circle.
Panicking, Ellarian runs in the opposite direction, skipping over the gaps in the stones as they disappear beneath her. Another figure appears, blocking her path, a vicious swing of another bound tome sending her flying backward, arms flailing wildly as her feet narrowly avoid absent stones. Tome waving figures materialize one after the other, of different heights and builds but all identically faceless, all similarly cruel. Stones fall like rain and soon there are but two remaining, on which your mother now balances.
She turns to you, somehow able to stare directly into your face despite the intervening robed figures and her face is one of purest desperation and terror. Unable to move, you stare, only to realize your mother's face is flickering, as if another were appearing atop it. Every heartbeat, it shifts between your mother's visage and another you recognize almost as well. The terrified, pleading face of your goddess, Sehanine Moonbow, is the last thing you recall before the final stones wobble and you shoot bolt upright and awake to the sound of owls outside your window.
Ragnor's dream:
Dwarves dream rarely, and when they do it is an ordered, ponderous sort of dream. Slow and without the flourishes of whimsy humans experience, a Dwarven dream is a period of reflection and consideration as the thoughts most pressing are weighed, judged and examined from every angle. It is therefore a source of some disquiet for you when your dream takes on a strange, organic flow. A shifting kaleidoscope of scenes, tinted green play across your mind without seeming order or sequence in a bewildering gallery.
In each, you find yourself staring through the eyes of a different beast as each approaches a placid lake. Your viewpoint changes each time, from the soaring descent of a kestrel to the lumbering gate of a mighty brown bear. In each scene however, irrespective of whether you wear the flesh of predator or beast of prey, a mixed sense of horror and attraction strikes your mind with warring but brutal strengths. You feel revulsion and fear, and yet at the same time a compulsion strong enough to overcome either.
As each of your dream-selves approaches the lake you gaze upon its waters, only to find them black and unreflective. For some reason, this scares you on some deep, animalistic level and each time you turn to flee, only to find yourself surrounded by darkness on every side. You whirl back toward the lake and find its dark surface marred by two malevolently glowing eyes. The darkness around you rushes in, and in the next moment you are in another form, approaching the lake afresh.
Horrence's dream:
Your dreams have been troubled of late, but tonight proves an exception. You are back in your workshop, standing against a wall and watching, chest bursting with paternal pride, as little Orion stares in fierce concentration at a small metal soldier of his own design. Little taller than a hands-breadth, the toy has been made in the image of an armored dwarf, bearing towering shield and spiked warhammer. With the certainty only possible in dreams, you immediately know that this is the first creation on which Orion can claim true autonomy.
With his tongue poking out of his mouth slightly at the left corner, as it always does when he's focusing most intently, Orion gently lowers a single magically infused coin into the slot on the back of his creation. You hold your breath, and can sense Egbert and Margaret by your sides doing the same thing. For long moments nothing happens, and a look of intense disappointment plays across the face of your youngest son.
"It moved! Dad it moved!" Egbert's voice breaks the silence, and for some reason the sound of it fills you with a profound sadness even as you are caught up in its enthusiasm. He's right, clanking and whirring, Orion's little champion takes two strides forward and settles into a combat stance, tiny metal knees flexing and head tucking in behind his metal shield. You rush forward, half a step ahead of Egbert and your wife to envelop the lad and the whole family is again, in your dreams, united in a single embrace. If only for a moment.
Corryn's dream:
You twist and turn, sweating into your sheets as a nightmare grips you. You are seated once more in your father's shop, playing illusory magic over objects as they are presented to you. Your father entreats you as he brings you each object, cajoling you to make it more attractive, more apparently deadly or inversely, to obscure its true value or create the perception of flaws where none exist. In the dream, as likely in your childhood, you want to comply. You want to serve and to be helpful. Yet, nothing seems to go right.
Every illusion you craft seems to twist and turn, as if under some malign influence. Blades you have enchanted to appear gleaming and sharp begin to sweat foul slime, armor plates rust and rot beneath your illusions when they should shine and gleam. When you attempt to obscure the value of a powerfully enchanted mace, your spell instead seems to multiply its magnificence, making it glow from hilt to head in a fiery cornucopia of light that must triple its value.
With every inexplicably failed illusion you grow more desperate, and your father seems to wane before your eyes. He grows weaker, his cheeks grow hollow. A hungry gleam appears behind his exhausted eyes as sores open on his face and body. You throw everything you can into the illusion-craft but nothing seems to help, your failures only growing more dramatic, your father's deterioration becoming more pronounced. Yet still he brings you item after item, thrusting them before you and pleading with you to work your magic, as if the litany of your failures did not lie around him. As if it were not written on his very flesh.
Unable to bear it any more you stand, jumping up from the table, only to find there is nothing behind it. With a hideous twisting sensation of vertigo you find yourself falling backward and do not even have time to scream before the dream ends, just as abruptly as it began.
Fodd, the first hour of your vigil flows into the second and from there the third and eventually the forth. You see little via the peephole, the street directly before the inn remaining free from torch bearing mobs or arsonists. You allow your mind to drift somewhat, observing the street even as you daydream.
Fodd's imaginings:
You picture what it would have been like to share a dark night's watch with your father. In your mind's eye, the two of you sit at a campfire deep in some twisted forest. You would be sat facing away from the flames, of course, so as not to ruin your nightvision. You smile widely for a second, filled with pride at imagining the short not of acknowledgement your father would have offered upon seeing this sensible choice, worthy of a veteran. You feel pride as well that your companions sleep soundly in their beds, knowing Sirs Gillmary and Gillmary guard their rest.
As always in your visions, your father's face remains obscured by a knightly helm. He never removes it, in your imagination, forever prepared for battle and impossible to catch by surprise. You stare out into the forest, watching for any hint of threat. In a rare moment of self-awareness, you concede you wouldn't at all be disappointed if one were to appear, if only you were the first one to see it. The notion of perhaps spotting a threat and thus saving your father's life seems worth any amount of bloody combat.
Yet in your daydream, there are only the sounds of the crackling fire behind you and the sound of owls hooting in the trees around your imagined campsite.
Ella, you blink awake still partially submerged in the intensity of your last dream. Owl calls sound, close by and urgent, seeming to come from just beyond the heavy curtains you have drawn over your window. You marvel at this, for a moment, having never heard the birds so loud or so numerous in all your time living in the city. A heartbeat later, the window explodes inward in an explosion of glass as a dark humanoid shape barrels through it, somersaulting in mid-air to land somewhere in the pitch-black room.
Glass rains over you, largely deflected by the covers (1 piercing damage) and Mika's piercing scream fills the air. The figure pivots on one foot and a blurring kick flashes toward the young girl's midriff, crumpling her even as it hurls her into the wall with a powerful impact. Before her scream finishes echoing, a second figure moves, with less grace, in throw the window and you believe you can see a third hanging by a rope or hook beyond.
Fodd:
It takes you a moment to recognize what you're seeing. One moment the street in front of the tavern is empty, the next three humanoid figures in flowing robes emerge from the shadows to stand directly before it, one carrying a wooden stake. The figure embeds the stake into the ground directly opposite the tavern's front door, perhaps 30 feet away. The pole rises about five feet and culminates in a small stand, like something a painter might use to hold their artwork in progress.
Squinting, you can just about make out a sheet of parchment attached to this stand. The three figures kneel for a moment, and suddenly they stand in the confluence of three candles in a circle around themselves, a forth lit atop the stand itself in a special sconce from where it casts flickering light over the paper.
Corryn, Horrence and Ragnor, you are jerked from your slumber by the sound of breaking glass and a female scream, horrified and then abruptly cut off.
Corryn, Horrence, the sound appears to come from somewhere on your floor. Ragnor, it came from above you.
Everyone, roll initiative. Ella and Fodd, you can take some immediate non combat actions before the initiative order starts.
Fodd tries to determine exactly what is being done outside for a moment, before he decides valour is more important than discretion and yells: " FRIENDS AWAKE!" before yanking the door open and drawing his sword. "What are you doing?" he squeaks at roved figures, sword pointed at them warily (Initiviative: 13)
Ella will also scream in surprise, and plunges her hands instinctively into the mattress, the largest object she can reach, to imbue the bed with the white glow of moon light, lighting up the room and the figures within.
As your scream takes up from where Mika's broke off, you reach down and infuse the bed beneath you with the moon's glow. The pale radiance shines forth immediately, illuminating a thin but lithely muscled figure in grey robes and a cloak of feathers just as it completes a spinning kick into Mika's midriff.
The glowing bed's light also reveals a brutish woman of middle years, her nose broken multiple times in the past and now sitting crooked beneath a narrow brow, as she drags herself into the room via the window. The sudden illumination startles her for a moment and she trips slightly, stumbling into the room instead of charging through. She reaches into her belt and draws a heavy mace, menacing you with it as a further companion, this one an equally muscled man in his early twenties begins navigating the window.
The figure in the center of the room barks an order, his tones clipped and emotionless.
"I will finish this quickly, do not permit interference."
With that, he blurs forward and falls upon Mika in a flurry of flashing fists. The winded girl has barely a moment to react before he's upon her. She raises her hands, attempting to shield her head but it avails her little as thundering blows rain down on her, eliciting screams of pain as she reels back from each hit. Snarling around a split lip, she manages to choke out an incantation and reaches to grab him, her hand suddenly wreathed in energy which seems to drain the magical moonlight from the air immediately around it. An inch before the blackened hand can touch his skin, the man flips backward, skidding into a halt out of her reach as the swipe swings past and the energy in it dissipates. Still without emotion, he shifts his stance into a more cautious one, arms blurring in defensive arcs.
Ella, what do you do?
Horrence's Room:
Horrence, you are startled awake by two screams in rapid succession from the adjacent room, followed immediately by the sound of a something heavy crashing into the wall that separates your room from that of Ella and Mika. From somewhere below, you hear Fodd's mighty lungs exhorting you to awaken.
Horrence, what do you do?
Front of the tavern, where Fodd is:
Fodd, as you wrench open the door and step outside you find yourself standing in the darkened street, dawn still hours away. Directly ahead of you, the three robed figures stand around the impaled paper, chanting aloud somewhat haltingly in a language you don't recognize but which has the unmistakable flavor of the arcane. In response to your emergence, a heavy set figure emerges from the shadows and positions itself between you and the chanters in a defensive stance, heavy shield upraised and improvised spear held ready.
Fodd, What do you do?
(( Things happening on 3 different levels, so I'll ask you to do things in an order that makes sense for the narrative flow but doesn't necessarily reflect initiative order exactly how you rolled it. The initiative is still being followed, in that you're acting before things in your room that rolled lower than you, and after those that rolled higher. If I haven't asked you for actions yet, it means there's enough stuff between now and your next action that you might want to hold off and be reactive.))
Horrence, still startled instinctively looks to his side towards the empty space in his bed before his mind brings him back up to date.
He leaps up and makes for the door. Stops, turns and grabs his many pocketed coat from over the chair, and turns for the door again. Stops, grabs the photos off the nightstand and finally leaves the room, heading towards Ella and Mika’s room.
As he does he will take three screws from one of his pockets, mutter some words over them and cast Magic Stone. He will shove them back into a separate pocket.
If he gets to the room on his turn he will break in shouting “What the bloody hell is going on?! Is everyone alright?”
Still panicking, Ella will throw off her glass covered blankets to fully reveal the light of the bed, and in the same motion thrust her hands towards the man who attacked Mika, whispering "Goddess, help us" and attempt to cast Hold Person. Then very loudly yell, "Corryn, Ragnor, anyone - help us!"
Ella, thrusting your hands forward you call upon your goddess and beseech her assistance. The bands of moonlight from your now fully revealed bend seem to shift at your exhortation, coalescing into liquid ropes that flow over the whirling warrior from behind, taking him by surprise. They seep into his muscles, attempting to sever the connection between them and the mind driving them into action. It is clearly a close run thing but the enchantment holds, at least momentarily. Frozen rigid and [status]paralyzed[/status] for the moment, his face remains emotionless and his eyes close as he focused on regathering his willpower to cast off your moonlit hold.
Horrence, you throw open the door to Ella and Mika's room and have to squint against the sudden bright moonlight emanating from the former's bed. Directly before you, no more than 5 feet away, a figure in grey robes and a cloak of feathers stands rigid, moonbeams shimmering like a skintight sleeve over his body from hair to toes, flexing as they strain to keep him from exploding into violent action once more. Behind him, a brawny thug menaces the still prone Ella with a mace while a second prepares to climb through the window.
Corryn's Room:
Corryn, you awaken to feathers repeatedly slapping your face as your familiar, in a frenzy, struggles to wake you. Two heartbeats later, screams ring out from somewhere across the hall, and you believe you discern the sound of smashing glass. Fodd's cry of "Awaken!" rings out immediately thereafter from below, and the impact of his throwing the tavern's front door open rings throughout the building.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Fearing a thrill of fear at the unholy chanting, Fodd feels compelled to end whatever sinister ritual is being conducted. "Stop! Stop this!" he yells at the top of his lung, voice breaking, intent on waking his companions, and the whole street if he can. Then, ignoring the heavy in front of him, he draws a javelin and hurls it at the nearest chanting figure. (8 to hit, for 9piercing dmg)
Fodd, shouting your lungs out you pull a javelin into your hands and take aim, sidestepping at the last moment to send the projectile flashing toward the circle of three chanting figures behind the shielded foe before you. Snarling, he attempts to intercept the missile with his shield but the heavy banded wooded proves too ponderous and the missile flashes past to strike home in the thigh of the nearest chanter. She snarls a curse, concentration broken and twists slightly, the Javelin still embedded, as she struggles to right herself.
Seeing his attempt to screen his casters fail, the armored fighter before you snarls a curse and charges directly at you, attempting to slam his shield into you and hurl you back through the open door of the tavern.
You see him coming and brace yourself, placing your entire weight behind your smaller shield and preparing to thrust outward at the exact moment of contact. Unfortunately you misjudge the timing and shove forward a heartbeat early. Caught off balance, you are hurled backward by the impact, flying backward through the door of the tavern with him charging in after you.
Ragnor, you hear Fodd's cry of "Stop! Stop! Stop!" followed by a scream of pain from outside. A few moments later, Fodd comes flying backward through the door, stumbling as some powerful shove sends him careening wildly into the tavern. An armored figure strides in after him, cheap chainmail covering muscular arms and a pot helmet protecting his skull. He seems to be moving to engage Fodd, a crude pick upraised when Joviar intercepts him with a roar so loud it shakes the windows.
Stepping out from behind an armchair he unleashes a two handed blow with the maul you saw earlier. Unable to get his shield around in time, the attacking fighter attempts to parry with his pick only to have the maul smash through the weak defense and crash into an armored shoulder, staggering the man and potentially snapping bones. Joviar visibly heaves with the exertion of the swing but attempts to gather himself to stay in the fight.
What do you do?
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((Okay, let's let her rest, it's more about talking to the group, but since Ella is also gone already, I guess it'll keep. If Ella (or all of us) get eaten by a shapeshifting Lich, don't tell me not to tell you "I told you so." ;-P))
Corryn, apparently finished with writing in his journal, though still making a note every now and then, speaks up as Joviar finishes ((or after Horrence asks a follow up question, obviously, just as soon as the Purifier subject is "closed"):
Joviar's eyes widen slightly at your matter of fact relaying of the night's events, Corryn. He takes another sip of his tea before replying, eyes involuntarily darting upward to where Mika and Ella's room would be if he could see through the ceiling.
He pauses for a long time, deep in thought.
Corryn nods understandingly,
Not wanting to inconvenience, Corryn takes a small sip from the water flask in his backpack while fetching a few writing utensils and clears his throat.
---
Aside, is there anything I might be able to recall, given my knowledge of Arcana and Religion isn't completely terrible, either?
Arcana: 5
Religion: 17
Corryn's Arcana Check:
From your own knowledge of the arcane, Joviar's account seems broadly credible. As a general rule demonic, devilish and other extra-planar entities of similar bent do not so much enter through a gate as squeeze slowly into our world, tethered to their own plane of existence by an elastic connection. Banishing a devil moments after it has been summoned is far simpler than doing so to one of equal power which has been operating on the Prime Material Plane for some time.
On another note, with some additional time to reflect on the fear inducing ward-dolls in the forest you come to the conclusion that if nothing else Mika did have at least some magical ability irrespective of any possession. While playing host to a demonic force might grant even a completely mundane host significant destructive powers, the more subtle enchantments required to bind a fear spell to dolls requires a host with ability. The assistance of an extra-planar ally might guide or enhance such activity, but it couldn't supplement complete ignorance.
Corryn's Religion Check:
There's little you can add to what's already been said. The Purifier religion is obviously resurgent, and your knowledge of faith generally (and how sects rise and fall) certainly comports with what Joviar has just explained to Horrence. What tickles at the back of your mind however is the dragging away of children. Typically racial supremacy or purity cults have no interest in spending a single extra second in the company of the "unclean" than they are obliged to. While at their most extreme such sects might be almost amoral in disposing of those they consider to be impure, they are rarely deliberately cruel for its own sake.
As a rule, groups like the Purifiers consider themselves to be righteous, doing the hard cleansing work of defending a society too week willed or corrupt to defend itself. The kidnapping of children is out of character for a group that, if it follows the general patterns of others like it, should see violence against non-humans as a distasteful but sometimes necessary obligation.
Just before Mika goes to bed:
Horrence smiles warmly at her and say: "There is nothing to apologise for my child. If Xaja is alive I can promise we will do everything we can to find her. Now, go rest. I doubt very much that one night's sleep will be enough to undo the pain you have been caused, but as my Margaret used to say to our own boys: 'The new day looks all the better when you greet it well rested.'"
After listening to Joviar's analysis, he sights and leans back in his chair, taking a sip of the brandy and smiling appreciatively to Elin. "You're right of course, nothing breeds anger at those among us like failure from those above us. I just cannot understand how this happened under all our noses, and how we failed that poor girl and her friends, her parent! We must find a way to make amends, or we are no better than those who sent our loves ones off to die."
"As to your question young Master Corryn, the rather unpleasant soul that led the mob to our door this evening also greeted us at the Leanin'. He spun us a talk that the frightened lamb we have just been speaking to was some great and powerful sorceress who killed her friends in pursuit of a dark ritual and that the situation you faced at the tree house could be darker than even the reality we encountered.
"While I do not doubt, as Joviar says, that she has some power, I find it hard to believe that she is anything but a poor girl playing with magic as an escape from the horrors she faced at home, who perhaps bit off more than she could chew.
"The one thing I do know is that this Father Shiroq has got the Leanin under his thumb. We could not even get in the door, much less discover the true nature of what is inside..."
He leans in closer to Corryn and Joviar, as though about to whisper, though speaks in only slightly more hushed tones, "which leads to be a thought. Tomorrow they will be back for a trial. I wonder whether this might be our best chance to get inside the Leanin- when they are distracted elsewhere. I know we have to also deal with the situation at the well, but perhaps if Joviar feels able to stall the trial, we can find out what is really going on behind that barred door..."
Corryn nods, and begins packing his backpack back up.
“I think you are right my friend. Whatever we face tomorrow we will all need out wits about us. So I must say goodnight.”
With that he will drain the last of his brandy, nod to both Corryn and Joviar and head up to his room.
He will quickly get himself ready for bed, wash his face in whatever basin has been provided and fold his clothes neatly on a chair.
Just before going to sleep he will reach into the pocket of his coat, hung across the back of the chair, and pull out three pictures. He smiles, kisses each one in turn, places them next to his bed and drifts off to sleep.
LONG REST!!! (Please!)
With these words, Horrence and Corryn disappear up the stairs into their rooms. Joviar considers doing the same, but instead simply settles back into his armchair and within moments, his snores fill the air in counterpoint to those of Ragnor across the room.
Elin moves quietly about the place, tidying, collecting discarded cups, and doing the other hundred chores required to prepare the tavern for another working day. He is careful not to disturb either of the two sleeping men, though the odds of their hearing him over the sounds of their own cacophony seems marginal indeed.
Fodd, settling into a chair Elin thoughtfully provides, keeps his eye glued to the keyhole to watch the street for danger. He is youthful and dedicated enough that this mind-numbing task does not lull him into sleep, though the comfortable position does allow him to rest and recover.
(( DM Note: You have all now long-rested. ))
As the various members of the party sleep, dreams flit across their minds, most immediately forgotten. Some however, linger.
Ella's dream:
Your mother's face is as you remember it from before the illness took her. Poised and beautiful, with a stern exterior hiding the occasional flashes of mischief she revealed only to you. She reclines, robed and in prayer in a circle of stone around which lies a meadow of greenest grass and wildflowers. She raises her eyes and offers you one of her rare smiles, the kind that transforms her face entirely and makes you feel like the center of her world. The expression flickers, as wavers, as one of the stones that make up the stone circle upon which she stands wobbles, shakes, and falls. Revealing a chasm beneath.
A second stone falls away from another part of the circle, and then a third. Your mother rises, fear written plain across her face and moves toward you, aiming to step out of the circle and onto the rolling grasses beyond. As her foot crosses the threshold, a figure materializes before her. Tall, faceless and of indeterminate gender, it is clad in the priestly vestments of the Moonbow priesthood. It raises a thick tome of religious dogma and thrusts it directly into your mother's stomach, hurling her backward into the crumbling circle.
Panicking, Ellarian runs in the opposite direction, skipping over the gaps in the stones as they disappear beneath her. Another figure appears, blocking her path, a vicious swing of another bound tome sending her flying backward, arms flailing wildly as her feet narrowly avoid absent stones. Tome waving figures materialize one after the other, of different heights and builds but all identically faceless, all similarly cruel. Stones fall like rain and soon there are but two remaining, on which your mother now balances.
She turns to you, somehow able to stare directly into your face despite the intervening robed figures and her face is one of purest desperation and terror. Unable to move, you stare, only to realize your mother's face is flickering, as if another were appearing atop it. Every heartbeat, it shifts between your mother's visage and another you recognize almost as well. The terrified, pleading face of your goddess, Sehanine Moonbow, is the last thing you recall before the final stones wobble and you shoot bolt upright and awake to the sound of owls outside your window.
Ragnor's dream:
Dwarves dream rarely, and when they do it is an ordered, ponderous sort of dream. Slow and without the flourishes of whimsy humans experience, a Dwarven dream is a period of reflection and consideration as the thoughts most pressing are weighed, judged and examined from every angle. It is therefore a source of some disquiet for you when your dream takes on a strange, organic flow. A shifting kaleidoscope of scenes, tinted green play across your mind without seeming order or sequence in a bewildering gallery.
In each, you find yourself staring through the eyes of a different beast as each approaches a placid lake. Your viewpoint changes each time, from the soaring descent of a kestrel to the lumbering gate of a mighty brown bear. In each scene however, irrespective of whether you wear the flesh of predator or beast of prey, a mixed sense of horror and attraction strikes your mind with warring but brutal strengths. You feel revulsion and fear, and yet at the same time a compulsion strong enough to overcome either.
As each of your dream-selves approaches the lake you gaze upon its waters, only to find them black and unreflective. For some reason, this scares you on some deep, animalistic level and each time you turn to flee, only to find yourself surrounded by darkness on every side. You whirl back toward the lake and find its dark surface marred by two malevolently glowing eyes. The darkness around you rushes in, and in the next moment you are in another form, approaching the lake afresh.
Horrence's dream:
Your dreams have been troubled of late, but tonight proves an exception. You are back in your workshop, standing against a wall and watching, chest bursting with paternal pride, as little Orion stares in fierce concentration at a small metal soldier of his own design. Little taller than a hands-breadth, the toy has been made in the image of an armored dwarf, bearing towering shield and spiked warhammer. With the certainty only possible in dreams, you immediately know that this is the first creation on which Orion can claim true autonomy.
With his tongue poking out of his mouth slightly at the left corner, as it always does when he's focusing most intently, Orion gently lowers a single magically infused coin into the slot on the back of his creation. You hold your breath, and can sense Egbert and Margaret by your sides doing the same thing. For long moments nothing happens, and a look of intense disappointment plays across the face of your youngest son.
"It moved! Dad it moved!" Egbert's voice breaks the silence, and for some reason the sound of it fills you with a profound sadness even as you are caught up in its enthusiasm. He's right, clanking and whirring, Orion's little champion takes two strides forward and settles into a combat stance, tiny metal knees flexing and head tucking in behind his metal shield. You rush forward, half a step ahead of Egbert and your wife to envelop the lad and the whole family is again, in your dreams, united in a single embrace. If only for a moment.
Corryn's dream:
You twist and turn, sweating into your sheets as a nightmare grips you. You are seated once more in your father's shop, playing illusory magic over objects as they are presented to you. Your father entreats you as he brings you each object, cajoling you to make it more attractive, more apparently deadly or inversely, to obscure its true value or create the perception of flaws where none exist. In the dream, as likely in your childhood, you want to comply. You want to serve and to be helpful. Yet, nothing seems to go right.
Every illusion you craft seems to twist and turn, as if under some malign influence. Blades you have enchanted to appear gleaming and sharp begin to sweat foul slime, armor plates rust and rot beneath your illusions when they should shine and gleam. When you attempt to obscure the value of a powerfully enchanted mace, your spell instead seems to multiply its magnificence, making it glow from hilt to head in a fiery cornucopia of light that must triple its value.
With every inexplicably failed illusion you grow more desperate, and your father seems to wane before your eyes. He grows weaker, his cheeks grow hollow. A hungry gleam appears behind his exhausted eyes as sores open on his face and body. You throw everything you can into the illusion-craft but nothing seems to help, your failures only growing more dramatic, your father's deterioration becoming more pronounced. Yet still he brings you item after item, thrusting them before you and pleading with you to work your magic, as if the litany of your failures did not lie around him. As if it were not written on his very flesh.
Unable to bear it any more you stand, jumping up from the table, only to find there is nothing behind it. With a hideous twisting sensation of vertigo you find yourself falling backward and do not even have time to scream before the dream ends, just as abruptly as it began.
Fodd, the first hour of your vigil flows into the second and from there the third and eventually the forth. You see little via the peephole, the street directly before the inn remaining free from torch bearing mobs or arsonists. You allow your mind to drift somewhat, observing the street even as you daydream.
Fodd's imaginings:
You picture what it would have been like to share a dark night's watch with your father. In your mind's eye, the two of you sit at a campfire deep in some twisted forest. You would be sat facing away from the flames, of course, so as not to ruin your nightvision. You smile widely for a second, filled with pride at imagining the short not of acknowledgement your father would have offered upon seeing this sensible choice, worthy of a veteran. You feel pride as well that your companions sleep soundly in their beds, knowing Sirs Gillmary and Gillmary guard their rest.
As always in your visions, your father's face remains obscured by a knightly helm. He never removes it, in your imagination, forever prepared for battle and impossible to catch by surprise. You stare out into the forest, watching for any hint of threat. In a rare moment of self-awareness, you concede you wouldn't at all be disappointed if one were to appear, if only you were the first one to see it. The notion of perhaps spotting a threat and thus saving your father's life seems worth any amount of bloody combat.
Yet in your daydream, there are only the sounds of the crackling fire behind you and the sound of owls hooting in the trees around your imagined campsite.
Ella:
Ella, you blink awake still partially submerged in the intensity of your last dream. Owl calls sound, close by and urgent, seeming to come from just beyond the heavy curtains you have drawn over your window. You marvel at this, for a moment, having never heard the birds so loud or so numerous in all your time living in the city. A heartbeat later, the window explodes inward in an explosion of glass as a dark humanoid shape barrels through it, somersaulting in mid-air to land somewhere in the pitch-black room.
Glass rains over you, largely deflected by the covers (1 piercing damage) and Mika's piercing scream fills the air. The figure pivots on one foot and a blurring kick flashes toward the young girl's midriff, crumpling her even as it hurls her into the wall with a powerful impact. Before her scream finishes echoing, a second figure moves, with less grace, in throw the window and you believe you can see a third hanging by a rope or hook beyond.
Fodd:
It takes you a moment to recognize what you're seeing. One moment the street in front of the tavern is empty, the next three humanoid figures in flowing robes emerge from the shadows to stand directly before it, one carrying a wooden stake. The figure embeds the stake into the ground directly opposite the tavern's front door, perhaps 30 feet away. The pole rises about five feet and culminates in a small stand, like something a painter might use to hold their artwork in progress.
Squinting, you can just about make out a sheet of parchment attached to this stand. The three figures kneel for a moment, and suddenly they stand in the confluence of three candles in a circle around themselves, a forth lit atop the stand itself in a special sconce from where it casts flickering light over the paper.
Corryn, Horrence and Ragnor, you are jerked from your slumber by the sound of breaking glass and a female scream, horrified and then abruptly cut off.
Corryn, Horrence, the sound appears to come from somewhere on your floor. Ragnor, it came from above you.
Everyone, roll initiative. Ella and Fodd, you can take some immediate non combat actions before the initiative order starts.
Initiative: 8
Initiative: 2
Edit: ****
Fodd tries to determine exactly what is being done outside for a moment, before he decides valour is more important than discretion and yells: " FRIENDS AWAKE!" before yanking the door open and drawing his sword. "What are you doing?" he squeaks at roved figures, sword pointed at them warily (Initiviative: 13)
Ella will also scream in surprise, and plunges her hands instinctively into the mattress, the largest object she can reach, to imbue the bed with the white glow of moon light, lighting up the room and the figures within.
Initiative: 10
Initiative (Corryn): 14
Initiative (Owl): 7
Ella's Room:
As your scream takes up from where Mika's broke off, you reach down and infuse the bed beneath you with the moon's glow. The pale radiance shines forth immediately, illuminating a thin but lithely muscled figure in grey robes and a cloak of feathers just as it completes a spinning kick into Mika's midriff.
The glowing bed's light also reveals a brutish woman of middle years, her nose broken multiple times in the past and now sitting crooked beneath a narrow brow, as she drags herself into the room via the window. The sudden illumination startles her for a moment and she trips slightly, stumbling into the room instead of charging through. She reaches into her belt and draws a heavy mace, menacing you with it as a further companion, this one an equally muscled man in his early twenties begins navigating the window.
The figure in the center of the room barks an order, his tones clipped and emotionless.
With that, he blurs forward and falls upon Mika in a flurry of flashing fists. The winded girl has barely a moment to react before he's upon her. She raises her hands, attempting to shield her head but it avails her little as thundering blows rain down on her, eliciting screams of pain as she reels back from each hit. Snarling around a split lip, she manages to choke out an incantation and reaches to grab him, her hand suddenly wreathed in energy which seems to drain the magical moonlight from the air immediately around it. An inch before the blackened hand can touch his skin, the man flips backward, skidding into a halt out of her reach as the swipe swings past and the energy in it dissipates. Still without emotion, he shifts his stance into a more cautious one, arms blurring in defensive arcs.
Ella, what do you do?
Horrence's Room:
Horrence, you are startled awake by two screams in rapid succession from the adjacent room, followed immediately by the sound of a something heavy crashing into the wall that separates your room from that of Ella and Mika. From somewhere below, you hear Fodd's mighty lungs exhorting you to awaken.
Horrence, what do you do?
Front of the tavern, where Fodd is:
Fodd, as you wrench open the door and step outside you find yourself standing in the darkened street, dawn still hours away. Directly ahead of you, the three robed figures stand around the impaled paper, chanting aloud somewhat haltingly in a language you don't recognize but which has the unmistakable flavor of the arcane. In response to your emergence, a heavy set figure emerges from the shadows and positions itself between you and the chanters in a defensive stance, heavy shield upraised and improvised spear held ready.
Fodd, What do you do?
(( Things happening on 3 different levels, so I'll ask you to do things in an order that makes sense for the narrative flow but doesn't necessarily reflect initiative order exactly how you rolled it. The initiative is still being followed, in that you're acting before things in your room that rolled lower than you, and after those that rolled higher. If I haven't asked you for actions yet, it means there's enough stuff between now and your next action that you might want to hold off and be reactive.))
Horrence, still startled instinctively looks to his side towards the empty space in his bed before his mind brings him back up to date.
He leaps up and makes for the door. Stops, turns and grabs his many pocketed coat from over the chair, and turns for the door again. Stops, grabs the photos off the nightstand and finally leaves the room, heading towards Ella and Mika’s room.
As he does he will take three screws from one of his pockets, mutter some words over them and cast Magic Stone. He will shove them back into a separate pocket.
If he gets to the room on his turn he will break in shouting “What the bloody hell is going on?! Is everyone alright?”
Still panicking, Ella will throw off her glass covered blankets to fully reveal the light of the bed, and in the same motion thrust her hands towards the man who attacked Mika, whispering "Goddess, help us" and attempt to cast Hold Person. Then very loudly yell, "Corryn, Ragnor, anyone - help us!"
Ella's Room (Ella and Horrence):
Ella, thrusting your hands forward you call upon your goddess and beseech her assistance. The bands of moonlight from your now fully revealed bend seem to shift at your exhortation, coalescing into liquid ropes that flow over the whirling warrior from behind, taking him by surprise. They seep into his muscles, attempting to sever the connection between them and the mind driving them into action. It is clearly a close run thing but the enchantment holds, at least momentarily. Frozen rigid and [status]paralyzed[/status] for the moment, his face remains emotionless and his eyes close as he focused on regathering his willpower to cast off your moonlit hold.
Horrence, you throw open the door to Ella and Mika's room and have to squint against the sudden bright moonlight emanating from the former's bed. Directly before you, no more than 5 feet away, a figure in grey robes and a cloak of feathers stands rigid, moonbeams shimmering like a skintight sleeve over his body from hair to toes, flexing as they strain to keep him from exploding into violent action once more. Behind him, a brawny thug menaces the still prone Ella with a mace while a second prepares to climb through the window.
Corryn's Room:
Corryn, you awaken to feathers repeatedly slapping your face as your familiar, in a frenzy, struggles to wake you. Two heartbeats later, screams ring out from somewhere across the hall, and you believe you discern the sound of smashing glass. Fodd's cry of "Awaken!" rings out immediately thereafter from below, and the impact of his throwing the tavern's front door open rings throughout the building.
What do you do?
Fearing a thrill of fear at the unholy chanting, Fodd feels compelled to end whatever sinister ritual is being conducted. "Stop! Stop this!" he yells at the top of his lung, voice breaking, intent on waking his companions, and the whole street if he can. Then, ignoring the heavy in front of him, he draws a javelin and hurls it at the nearest chanting figure. (8 to hit, for 9piercing dmg)
Ground Floor (Fodd and Ragnor):
Fodd, shouting your lungs out you pull a javelin into your hands and take aim, sidestepping at the last moment to send the projectile flashing toward the circle of three chanting figures behind the shielded foe before you. Snarling, he attempts to intercept the missile with his shield but the heavy banded wooded proves too ponderous and the missile flashes past to strike home in the thigh of the nearest chanter. She snarls a curse, concentration broken and twists slightly, the Javelin still embedded, as she struggles to right herself.
Seeing his attempt to screen his casters fail, the armored fighter before you snarls a curse and charges directly at you, attempting to slam his shield into you and hurl you back through the open door of the tavern.
You see him coming and brace yourself, placing your entire weight behind your smaller shield and preparing to thrust outward at the exact moment of contact. Unfortunately you misjudge the timing and shove forward a heartbeat early. Caught off balance, you are hurled backward by the impact, flying backward through the door of the tavern with him charging in after you.
Ragnor, you hear Fodd's cry of "Stop! Stop! Stop!" followed by a scream of pain from outside. A few moments later, Fodd comes flying backward through the door, stumbling as some powerful shove sends him careening wildly into the tavern. An armored figure strides in after him, cheap chainmail covering muscular arms and a pot helmet protecting his skull. He seems to be moving to engage Fodd, a crude pick upraised when Joviar intercepts him with a roar so loud it shakes the windows.
Stepping out from behind an armchair he unleashes a two handed blow with the maul you saw earlier. Unable to get his shield around in time, the attacking fighter attempts to parry with his pick only to have the maul smash through the weak defense and crash into an armored shoulder, staggering the man and potentially snapping bones. Joviar visibly heaves with the exertion of the swing but attempts to gather himself to stay in the fight.
What do you do?