Waterdeep: Dragon Heist

Quote from RoxxStar34 >>

Investigation check: 20

 

Looking around, Irma is fairly certain there is nobody nearby. The funeral procession has moved further into the City of the Dead, and he no longer hears the gardener's shears - the commotion in the mausoleum is the only matter of note at the moment. 

It is now Ian's turn. 

The red man vanishes. His voice echoing up the steps, Gregor and Irma hear Ian call out, 

“RED MEANS STOP/DANGER”

An irate voice is heard from inside the crypt, "Ey! Who this one think he is? Interferer or helper? You all plan on flapping jaws much longer, or must Akai bring dragon's fire to play?"

Immediately following this, Falshen's voice rings out in a friendly - though sardonic - and somewhat sing-song tone, "Oh, friends! Might you be kind enough to join our very odd party?" 

Gregor heads into the mausoleum.

Irma follows Gregor into the mausoleum.

The party now all see the following:

You stand in a low-ceilinged, roughly hexagonal crypt. The walls are lined with about a dozen stone caskets arranged along two levels, and at the wall opposite stands an altar, on which an oil lamp flickers, giving the room a dim blue glow. The place smells of dust and oil and beeswax and faded flowers and decay.

A dark-haired man in elegant robes stands before the altar, his long, wrinkled, corpse-pale face staring at you with lowering brows and dead black eyes. One hand holds some small object, the other rests on the top of the stone table. The robe falls back from the arm holding the object, revealing a gilded metal limb covered in arcane runes.

Looking over each of you in turn, he suddenly says,

"I - we - I know you. Urstul...Urstul...he spoke of..." the dark head cocks to one side, then the other, the black eyes snapping, "...uninvited guests in the house of traitors. Now you are uninvited guests in the house of the dead. Which are you? Traitors? Or corpses?" The man's tongue runs over his ashen lips, and he shudders slightly.  "Whoever you are, you are...unwelcome. You are...interrupting." His voice is flat, hard, and terribly cold. 

Though his eyes never leave the dark man, Falshen listens as his companions approach. Satisfied that everyone is assembled*, Falshen addresses the stranger. "Here we are, assembled and curious as to the nature of the help you have in mind."

*[ooc: though spread out? Not sure who's where.]

The dark eyes narrow. 

"You will...serve?" the cold voice asks. "You will...pledge yourselves?" 

[There is about 30 feet from the bottom of the steps to the altar, and about 30 feet from side to side. Most of the party is clustered at the foot of the steps. Falshen is roughly halfway into the room, about 15 feet in and standing close to a wall on one side, halfway between the rest of the party and the stranger.] 

Gregor looks confused, "Falshen, what is this gentleman talking about?"

With a shrug seemily directed toward Gregor, Falshen addresses the man, "Perhaps my companion's question would best be put to you: What are you talking about? Pledge ourselves to what or to whom? For what purpose?"

"Pledge yourselves...to me - to US - to me - to US!" 

The man's head twists to one side and he bites at the air, as though snapping at flies. Then his face swivels back toward the party, totally composed. 

"Pledge yourselves to our will. To the service of Manshoon." 

[Any party member may PM me a History check.] 

Gregor goes pale, "Ah."

Cocking his head slightly without shifting his gaze, Falshen inquires of his companion, "Ah? Gregor, would you care to elaborate for our collective benefit?"

Gregor swallows, "It is perhaps enough for now to know this man by his enemies, with the Blackstaff and Elminster among them. He is not to be trifled with, and his words are not to be dismissed lightly."

The man's black eyes widen. 

"Yes. YES. You know my - our - MY enemies. You must know how well I can reward my friends. Will you serve?" 

"In what capacity would you have us serve you, Great Manshoon?"

Irma nods and pats Ian in the back and casts Protection from Good and Evil,

Until the spell ends, one willing creature Irma touches is protected against certain types of creatures: aberrations, celestials, elementals, fey, fiends, and undead.

The protection grants several benefits. Creatures of those types have disadvantage on attack rolls against the target. The target also can't be charmed, frightened, or possessed by them. If the target is already charmed, frightened, or possessed by such a creature, the target has advantage on any new saving throw against the relevant effect.

The figure steps toward Gregor, his gaze fixed on the wizard. 

"You must - " he begins, and then a violent shudder runs through the man's entire body. One arm goes slack, hanging lifelessly at his side. The other, the gilded metal limb with something in its grasp, spasms briefly, though its grip remains firm. The pale mouth opens - and opens wider, and no sound comes out, and then one side of the face sags, melting and running together like tallow, one eye and one side of the mouth disappearing in folds of crumpled flesh. 

With an effort he yet speaks, the cold voice now muffled and hollow. 

“This - I - this - we - this simulacrum is becoming...unstable. I - we - I am out of...time. My servants are...hindered. There is no TIME. You must SERVE. You will bring me - bring us - bring ME…” the gilded arm extends, the fingers uncurl, the palm held up. “The stone. The STONE.”

In the hand of steel and gold lies an oblong stone, green and smooth but for three dark beads that glimmer dully in the lamplight.