Gone Fishing
Alexandros coastline, afternoon
Winter is here, and it's chasing a lot of people indoors. But there's always a need for coin -- whether you're a fisherman, or an adventurer. Which is why you're out here in the first snow of the winter season, with a guide.
"Considerin' all the things that might move into an empty cave, I figured it might be best to call in some folks first." Karl the Boatsmith is a craggy faced older fellow, deep lines in his face and a scraggly beard and mustache, wrapped in a heavy cloak over canvas garments, The scent of the sea hangs around him even away from his ship, and his gait has that rolling quality seen among old-salt sailors.
"An' maybe I'm just an old superstitious fart," he drawls, as he leads you towards the landward side. "But the closer I got, the more nervous I got. That little voice back here," he taps his skull, "that warns ye when you're about to put your oar in something you want no part of." As the quartet pauses near a rock outcropping, he points out further ahead where an opening can be seen into rising earth and stone. "That's where I'd come out, if'n I needed to get off my ship for a bit. Leads right into the cavern."
If there was one thing Warrick was thankful for this time of season, it was being fairly comfortable under several layers of clothes, padded armors, a gambeson, skull cap, and helmet. Usually its toasty any other time of the year, but right now, he was thankful for it.
But water screws all of that up. "That's prime insight, Mister Karl," he informs, visor raised on this helmet. He pulls at some of his armor where the sea air got between him and his clothes. "Better to trust your gut feeling and be safe. I know that well. Anything around here as of late you think might be shacking up in your cave?" he inquires looking off to the outcropping as a hand idly counts how many bolts are in his quiver.
The little Gnome is dressed for the weather also, wrapped in her fur cloak, snuggled close to her form. Black woolen mittens cover her hands, and a black scarf is wrappad around her neck and face, the ends trailing behind her in the breeze.
"Well, if it is giving you a reason to pause, sir, then that is warning enough I would wager. Have you heard or seen anything that might give you reason to suspect /something/ untoward is in the cave?"
"With luck, it is just some animal looking for a place to stay warm in Winter. Hopefully we don't run into a bear."
Carver hunkers beneath her oiled cloak, the spray of water given a sour look when it comes too close. She is already holding her bow, since it is most common she needs the weapon on every single on of the jobs she takes. "Just to be clear, we are here to clean out its occupants righ'?" She peers toward the cave, blowing her breath into her hands. "Hopefully not too nasty a brute been lairin'. A bit squirrely in dank, dark caves innit?"
The old fisherman shakes his head. "Beasts don't usually have lights. And it's a bit too big an' drafty for a den, less'n it's something -really- big." Karl scratches his beard. "But I tell ye, the whole thing feels a mite sketchy. Like there's somethin' bad 'bout to happen there. Maybe the gods are tellin' me 'get help, stay away' -- and I once fell overboard and had to fight off a shark with a knife."
He pauses, looking thoughtful. "Ye ever feel that way? Like, you're not scared, but ye get the impression this might be a bit more than ye could handle, and it's time to get some help?"
Carver says, “Nope! Nothin' I aint's been up to snuff for.”
Warrick glances to his companions, giving them each a nod before his visor is flicked down. "Rada kept you safe, it seems, or at least gave you a good bout and is telling you now to back off."
A small sigh echoes in the helmet. "All the time, sir. All the damn time," he murmurs, glancing to Carver. "Not yet, kid."
Zelany stays huddled behind the others, following in their footsteps carefully. "Oh, lights you say? Hmm. Have you had trouble with smugglers or raiders before? Any old rumours about the cave, ghost stories or things of the like?"
She leans on her staff, pausing a moment to look around, squinting. "While beautiful, snow is really a pain in the behind. And yes, it's always a good idea to listen to your hunches. Better to be cautious and alive, then ignore the feeling, and die."
Karl furrows his bushy brows. "Well...lookin' as it is, ye might want to get a move on. Ain't gonna get no warmer. I'll hunker down here, build a small fire, and... well, hopefully I won't have to run in and save the day." The old fisherman offers a grin. "No offense, but that thing with the shark was a few summers past."
"Well, if you hear wailin', maybe don't come in." Carver admits, shaking her head at just how cynical everyone is. Her breath frosts out of chapped lips, but she ignores her discomfort to consider the cave, and give a whistle. Her steed trots up and she gives a short, fond command in Dranic. "She'll keep you company, Old Fella."
The mare tosses out her mane, no doubt pleased to be closer to the fire than the danger. Carver gives Lambchop one last scritch before she turns and starts for the cave.
"A few summers ago? Impressive. But- you're right. Let's get going," Warrick grunts, winding his crossbow winch and shouldering the empty weapon. He cant help but lightly smile at Carver's gesture behind the helmet. He gives a wave, and sets off after Carver, bolt in hand. Thinking of their small team and how to best go about this.
"Keep warm, keep safe.", Zel says with a smile, before glancing at the other two. "So, any thoughts towards a plan of action?", she wonders of them, as she begins to move towards the cave. "Other than hey diddle diddle, straight up the middle?"
<OOC> Telamon says, "Survival checks, please." GAME: Warrick rolls survival: (6)+7: 13 GAME: Zelany rolls survival: (5)+4: 9 GAME: Carver rolls survival: (19)+11: 30
As you trek towards the cave, Carver picks it out easily. Tracks, leading towards the cave entrance. Not animal tracks, either, but what look like the tracks of two smaller bipedal creatures, dragging a third. A dark splatter further on is cold, dried blood half hidden by falling snow.
"Here, here, annnnnd..... here." Carver points out her findings, with a low simmering sense of satisfied smugness. "They didn't even really try to hide their tracks, looks like they don't much care if people fin' out thats folks might learn they there. Funny, innit? Mos' likely it's some sort of humanoid, but only one real way to find out for sure."
A bit to occupied watching the outcropping approaching, Warrick makes up his mind and loosens the shield strapped under his cloak and shifts a few straps around to make it easy if things need to be dropped and pulled free.
But his focuses back to what Carver is pointing out. He raises a brow. "Humanoid... narrows it a bit. But probably should take care if is might. Might be crafty." His attention drifts over the dragging. And the blood. "... this may end up being a rescue mission."
The bolt slides into place. "I can take point. But I'm noisy."
"Hmm, well, we can't assume that they were or are up to no good. It could be they've fallen overboard, or were travelling, and something happened to one of them. They were looking for shelter, and in that sort of pickle, you're not going to take time to hide your tracks."
Zelany looks at the blood again, and sighs, letting out a stream of vapor from her nose. "You are right, only one way to find out for certain."
The Gnome looks to Warrick. "We've got your back."
<OOC> Telamon says, "Need Stealth and Perception checks :)" GAME: Warrick rolls stealth: (11)+2: 13 GAME: Warrick rolls perception: (2)+6: 8 GAME: Carver rolls stealth: (7)+10: 17 GAME: Carver rolls perception: (17)+11: 28 GAME: Zelany rolls stealth: (1)+7: 8 (EPIC FAIL) GAME: Zelany rolls perception: (8)+3: 11
The cave entrance is a welcome break from the blowing wind, and it actually feels a little warmer. You can smell the sea-salt further ahead. Soon enough, it opens up into a cavern, open at the far end to the tides that wash endlessly back and forth. There's nothing moving, nothing out there... but then there's a soft, muffled sound from deeper in the cave, like someone trying to speak through a muzzle.
The Gnome inhales and exhales, "Oh, you can smell the salt already. The sea is so close!" Her inside voice is more quiet than her inside-a-cave voice, honest. But at least she is making good on her promise, keeping a careful eye on things around them while Warrick looms on ahead.
Warrick steps along quietly, his scale mail clacking in muffled clicks against the underpadding. Weapon pointed forward, he clears the way through the cave. And like promised, it opens back up. Almost textbook, he sweeps his crossbow left, right, and up. Way too many things like to cling to the ceiling.
He blinks at the sound. "I hear something ahead," he gestures with a hand, before pointing to the side of his head and forward if no one got it. Warrick presses forward with more purpose. <Handspeech>
Though, Warrick's frame stiffens from Zelany's comment. Which only redoubles his purpose.
Carver does speak with her hands, but only as tools of emphasis and not a coherent language. Still, despite a smirk at the gnome's exuberance, she does seem to at least track that Warwick is trying to tell them something and has enough clues put together to understand the scenario. She draws back on her bow, following third in line near the rear.
Further into the cave, the light from the outside is augmented by a couple torches planted into the natural pillars that run floor to ceiling in this cove. It is fairly large, as the fisherman noted, and there's signs of past habitation here and there -- a burned spot where a campfire was built, some scuffed, dried vegetation piled into a kind of bed.
Sprawled in one corner is a small man, about the same height as Zelany, with unkempt red hair and torn clothes that might've been a shade of green. He's bound and gagged, and surrounding him is a circle of dark, powdered metal. When he catches sight of you, he heaves himself up as best he can, and screams through his gag something that sounds like, "LOOK OUT!"
And it's well he did, because this means you see the two grinning, dark-skinned creatures come around two of the pillars. Each one looks like a small, four-foot tall fiend, with dark skin, short horns, and holding a wicked-looking knife!
<OOC> Telamon says, "MAP: https://www.mipui.net/app/index.html?mid=m45gcq4r2si" <OOC> Telamon says, "Bowman: Carver. Rabbit with top hat: Zelany. Crossbow: Warrick. Goblin faces: enemies. Hat: redheaded guy." GAME: Warrick rolls weapon20+1-2: (1)+10+1+-2: 10 (EPIC FAIL) GAME: Warrick rolls weapon20+1-2: (14)+10+1+-2: 23 GAME: Warrick rolls xbowdamage+1: aliased to 1d10+1+1: (10)+1+1: 12 GAME: Carver rolls knowledge/nature: (4)+8: 12 GAME: Carver rolls knowledge/nature: (10)+8: 18 GAME: Carver rolls 11-1: (12)+11+-1: 22 GAME: Carver rolls 11-1: (5)+11+-1: 15 GAME: Carver rolls 1d8+3: (6)+3: 9
Warrick's crossbow drifts about the cavern as they draw closer, the torches inside making his anxiety spike. Lit torches- people are here in an extended stay-- His eyes widen at the small figure screaming at them through a gag, and he spins around, crossbow aimed at the hip. "Serriel's- contact!" he shouts, two bolts flying out. One is misloaded, flying off to the ceiling, but the other hits true in a leg. "One of you, check the hostage!"
"Spring Jacks, Fey." Carver gives out in warning. "Mind your feets and your cheeks for tricks!" Her bow sings right after Warwick, peppering.
GAME: Zelany rolls knowledge/nature: (15)+8: 23 GAME: Zelany rolls knowledge/arcana: (14)+8: 22 GAME: Warrick rolls reflex: (17)+5: 22 GAME: Carver rolls reflex: (14)+8: 22 GAME: Telamon rolls 2d6: (6): 6
The Gnome looks around anxiously, and as Carver and Warrick begin to fire, she sprints for the man in green. She halts when she gets to the dark circle around him, and inspects it with a sniff. "Cold iron...?" Zelany looks over her shoulder. "There's someone else! This is cold iron shavings, no Jack would be able to touch..." She looks to the leprechaun, "It's the fisherman, isn't it?"
GAME: Carver rolls will: (6)+4: 10 GAME: Telamon rolls 1d6: (6): 6
The spring-heeled jacks are taken aback at the savage response from the adventurers. But then the malevolent fey dart into action. The first bounces forward, and belches out a gout of flames that spews across Warrick and Carver. However, their insulation from the cold helps ward off the worst of the flames as well, though it leaves a few smoking spots.
The other evil fey stalks towards Carver, meeting her eyes with his. "Yesssss..." it hisses, holding up the knife. "You've got cute ears, girly, they'll look good on my belt." Abject fear blossoms in the ranger's heart, as the magical terror takes hold.
GAME: Warrick rolls weapon20-2+1: (4)+10+-2+1: 13 GAME: Warrick rolls weapon20-2+1: (18)+10+-2+1: 27 GAME: Warrick rolls xbowdamage+1: aliased to 1d10+1+1: (6)+1+1: 8 GAME: Telamon rolls 1d8: (1): 1 GAME: Telamon rolls 1d5: (1): 1
Warrick's head snaps over towards Zelany at the information. "... are you kidding- Serriel damn it!"
He's almost ungulfed in flames, but manages to shield his face with his plated arm. Hearing one of the Jack's threat to Carver gets him to swivel around briskly. A dark metaled bolt being jammed into the large crossbow "Hey! Leave the kid alone! he snarls, one bolt missing, but another impales into their throat.
Carver blushes, a dark flutter of darker eyelashes. She does not recieve compliments often. This one struck like a cold iron arrow to the heart even if it did come from a leering, fiendishly red dwarf. "Thank you!" She's so star struck by the attention that it takes her another moment to realize that it wasn't a come on.
"Wait, what was that second part?" The twist of a dagger has her dropping her bow and clasping her ears as she realizes what he said. "SIR! IMPROPER!" She scampers off with a twitter of laughter, half between panicked fleeing of terror and half shy girlish desire to hide from the source of embarrassment.
GAME: Zelany casts Sleep. Caster Level: 3 DC: 14 GAME: Telamon rolls 1d20+4: (2)+4: 6
Zelany blinks, looking up in time to see Carver run off into a small outcropping in the cave. She eyes Warrick nervously, her too-long fingers beginning to delicately trace a pattern in the air. "Elsep ot OG!", she practically yells, blowing a puff of rose petals into the air. The Gnome lets out the breath she was holding, and begins to crouch down, pulling at the gag and binding of the poor fey on the ground.
"I'll get the circle once I've got you untied, sir."
The surviving jack stops, puzzled. The knife falls from his hand, and he collapses in a heap, snoring. Well, that was anticlimactic. It takes a minute for Carver to recover her senses and return, while Zelany unties the leprechaun, and pulls the gag off.
"Bloody vicious little shites," he growls at the jacks, before turning a friendly -- if bruised -- smile at Zelany and the others. "Ne'er been so glad to see mortals in me life. Caanan O'Winter, at your service." As Zelany breaks the binding circle, he groans. "Ach, don't relax just yet, friends -- there was a third, a mortal man. He was the one that put the circle down."
He gestures for the party to be quiet, before pointing at part of the wall -- which is actually a cunningly painted and patterned curtain. "I'm a bit surprised he hasn't come out at the ruckus," he says grimly. "But he looked to be a strange sort. The type who deals wi' Those Below."
"I hate Fey," Carver grumbles as she collects her bow, a pounding headache right behind her eyes. She rubs at her forehead as if to ward off the lingering bemusement that came from the fiend's enchanted threat. "No offense, Green Guy."
The white-haired Gnome smiles beatifically, and offers a hand to the Leprechaun. "A pleasure, Caanan. I am called Zelany, that gentleman over there is called Warrick, and the woman there is called Carver. Wish we were meeting in better circumstances, but we're pleased to see you mostly unharmed."
The curtain is squinted at, and she nods. "Can ye describe what the man looks like, to us?"
Warrick gasps as Carver laughs and runs in terror. "Rally- bah!" he huffs turning around to engage the-- oh. He looks back to Zelany, giving her a thankful nod at the support. Loading another bolt, the heavy crossbow aims down towards the jack's skull. "Me too, kid," he sighs.
The trigger is pulled with a click and wet crunch.
Dirty work done, Warrick joins the others. Nodding along. "Another? Great. I was hoping it was just these guys. Men tend to be the real monsters," he mutters, loading another bolt.
The leprechaun limps a bit, as he moves out of the broken binding circle. "Ah, no worries, lass. Deal with that shite, I wouldn't blame you for holdin' a grudge." He watches as Warrick disposes of the other jack, unflinching. "Fookers were trying to get me to cough up me gold. Who's laughin' now, ye shites?"
He furrows his brows at Zelany's question. "He had scars on his face. Steel hooks in his ears. Said somethin' about needing money for supplies, was trying to contact some fiend." Caanan rubs his chin. "He was damned excited about it, seemed to think he'd be rewarded. Said somethin' about how they'd be ready to catch someone this time. Didn't sound good."
Carver listens in with a thoughtful expression, glancing back the way they came. Hmmm... "Sounds like fiend-locks, or one of them weirdo wizards what always be bending rules and breaking laws for the sake of being weird, innit? Have to look into it until the job is done."
"Well, Mister O'Winter, you hang on a moment, we'll go see to that man. Then we can ... uhm, do you live nearby? We could walk you home, if you don't feel like going alone. But I understand if you're wary about showing people your home." Zelany eyes the curtain, and then the other two.
"Shall we?"
"Gods... damn it. Can people just stop talking to these creatures already. Do we need a PSA in the Tribune or something?"" Warrick grumbles. Patting off the char marks from the fire, he rolls his shoulders. "Alexandrian Common Law, Section three, subsection two, citizen's detainment."
Another bolt slots in. "Let's get this moron in jail."
Carver fist pumps for stomping out weird wizards in caves.
Caanan smiles at Zelany. "I'll be fine, lass. Not all the fey are arseholes. I'll catch my breath, then amble down Alexandria way, find a good tavern, a good drink, and a good meal. There's a reason I'm 'O'Winter', ye know? This is when I pay the realm a visit."
The leprechaun makes himself comfortable in the cavern, as the party cautiously pushes the curtain open, and moves down the narrow passage. It's quiet... in fact, it almost feels too quiet. The passage soon opens up into a rough chamber, squared off with magic. A bed, a desk, a couple lamps, a rack for torture implements -- wait, what? Indeed, there are chains imbedded in the wall, and a neat toolrack with implements for causing torment -- meticulously cleaned and polished and sharpened. Someone took pride in his work.
Indeed, the past tense is appropriate, as there is a body on the floor. A man dressed in fine traveling robes, his ears pierced with steel hooks and his cheeks scarred intricately. His expression is one of absolute terror, face frozen in a silent, empty scream. Blank eyes staring emptily at the ceiling. Painted across one wall is writing in a strange language...
"Yeah, that's about how it always is, innit?" Carver asks rhetorically as they all gaze on the macabre sight. "Weird Cave Wizards always en' up like this, somehow, even when their plan works." She wrinkles her nose, "I'm nervous at the thought but should we look aroun'?"
"Uhm. Well... not what I expected.", the Gnome says softly. She squints at the writing on the wall. "Uhm, anyone know what that says? Eh, probably exulting some foul being, about his arrival here and triumph over good, blah blah blah." Zelany sighs. "Poor bugger. Fucked around and found out."
GAME: Warrick rolls heal: (13)+2: 15 GAME: Zelany rolls knowledge/arcana: (4)+8: 12 GAME: Carver rolls heal: (4)+8: 12
Warrick gives Caanan a tilt of the head. "I'll buy you a drink once this is with," the armored man inclines his head towards the leprechaun as he steps into the passage slowly. Holding up a hand near the entrance, he gives a quiet countdown from three. Two. One.
The arbalest spills out crossbow raised and sweeping the room. "HANDS UP, MOUTH SHUT, YOU'RE UNDE- oh." His helmet tilts down. Then around the room. "... uh. Clear." He coughs.
The man quietly paces the room. "... Pretty much, Carver. I hated clearing out cult places when I was on the force. Always the creepiest stuff." He stops to check the man's pulse, kneeling next to him after pulling off a glove to feel their neck. A sigh escapes him, and he passes his a hand over their eyes to close them. "Man's gone. Hrmm? No, can't read that. Let the mages take care of whatever that is. Check for anything dangerous remaining, but someone else can clear it proper."
He takes a second glance at the body. Lifts his visor and squints. "... cause of death, strangulation. Far too strong. Long and thin fingers, not natural. Maybe he pissed off the person he was contacting and left that message?"
Carver nods in agreeement, having noticed the same strange signs as cause of death. She will move to the torture racks to further examine them, to see signs when they were last used. "I am bewildered. If he summoned somethin' here, maybe it's... gone now?"
GAME: Warrick rolls perception: (19)+6: 25 GAME: Zelany rolls perception: (15)+3: 18 GAME: Carver rolls perception: (13)+11: 24
The Gnome shudders, and sniffs at the man, staring at his neck. She makes a kind of croaking sound, and shudders again. "T... these marks. He was strangled by an undead creature. Negative energy, at the very least, but I'll bet you a lunch at the Fernwood Pub it was undead."
A sweep of the room reveals little signs of struggle. A half-completed diagram in the back of the room suggests the start of a summoning, but one not completed. The torture implements are well worn and used, but kept clean and sharp -- the sign of a craftsman who tends to his tools.
It seems someone rummaged through the cultist's belongings, as there are several books apparently missing from the bookshelf. A scrap of paper lying under the desk has notes on it:
'The blessed ones have an eternal foe, one who does not fear their blades or touch. They have contended for more than a century. What could possibly strive against the blessed kytons?'
A second line: 'He has roused! I must warn the Flayed Prince. With luck, perhaps we might strike and bring the archfoe down! And I will be rewarded!'
Warrick stills at that notion. "I really, really hope it was temporary, like most spells are," he mutters, looking around the space. "I was tired of the demon outbreaks during my time, and I'm tired of them now."
"Undead?" he echoes, pausing his poking around the room, peering under the bed, lifting up random things. A shudder escapes him. "Anything but that- hrm? What's this?"
Warrick reads the paper aloud. Scratches his beard. "... what in Serriel's good graces is a Kyton?"
GAME: Zelany rolls knowledge/religion: (14)+7: 21 GAME: Carver rolls knowledge/religion+4: Trained Use Only: 0
Zelany sniffles and dabs at her eyes a little. "It could have been a necromantic spell, but it really looks like he was strangled by ... hands, doesn't it? I do not know of a spell that could do that, but it is possible. I think it more likely that it was undead. Perhaps something he summoned? Or, maybe something was waiting for him?"
She lets out a muffled moan, her mouth having been covered by her sleeved hand. "Let us hurry here and be gone quickly, let the Temples come and clean this up thoroughly."
"A kyton is a form of fiend, generally found on the plane of Shadow. They are disliked even by other fiends, for they are indiscriminate in the extremes of sensation and emotion they're willing to go to. They are fond of mutilation in their... 'work'."
Carver spits on the ground at the mention of the shadow plane, and further undead shenanigans. Feels personal for her. She about faces and goes to leave.
Warrick shrugs. "I'm not sure, I'm not a mage at all." She glances to Zelany, opening a journal and putting the paper way for evidence. "I... shadow magic, necromancy. I really hope that kyton isn't running amok in the country side."
He looks to the room, and makes a holy gesture for Serriel. "This place needs religion," he huffs, spitting after Carver. "Let's report back."
Zelany does not tarry long after Warrick moves to leave.
The trio depart the unholy sanctuary with more questions than answers. Caanan sees them return, questions in the leprechaun's eyes, but judging their expressions, he holds off for the moment.
The party steps outside, walking back to the campsite to find Karl and Lambchop beside a stout fire, staying warm. The fisherman looks a bit worried, and keeps making folk warding gestures behind Caanan's back. Caanan, for his part, seems just happy to have gotten away from the murderous spring-heeled jacks and their cultist accomplice.
A victory, to be sure, as the party turns back towards Alexandria. But there will be questions. And investigations to come.