What Lies Below II: (IC):

[Hattish Thing]

County Roads/The Splatter Path - Evening:

A cold wind blows over the bleak Ustalavic landscape, it's howl like the mourn of some unfortunate widower through the marshes, bogs, and creaking, ruined houses. Though each of the thirteen Counties of Ustalav carry with them a morbid history, the Ustalavic County of Versex is known for it's unsettling past and unwelcoming atmosphere. The rainy County of Versex is a particularly desolate, blasted area, devoid of pleasant tourist attractions or enjoyable weather. It's haunted hills meander from mountain to coast, their rocky slopes gradually shrouded by a mixture of stunted grasses and dense mosses strewn with eerie spiraling fairy rings.

Here, the very land itself seems to rot, and decay. The earth proves ill suited to farming, with most crops growing stunted or crooked. What few vegetables grow with any reliable success in Versex soil possess bloated, maggot-ridden shapes when finally wrested from the spongy earth. The beasts of Versex have long suffered from similar unwholesomeness, with wild animals and livestock alike falling victim to “phage,” a starving affliction distinguished by unnatural paleness, starved appearances, erratic violence, and horrifyingly deformed progeny— tumorous bodies, limbs akin to other species, and multiple heads proving most common.

Despite Versex's discouraging nature, the dozens of ancient ruins dotting the land's godsforsaken countryside manage to attract the bravest, or most foolish of adventurers, nevertheless. It is here, within this corrupted land that you find yourselves travelling upon one of the many county roads which pass through the County.

--

The journey has been long and hard on each of you, for the constant, biting rain made travel through the countless, haunted hamlets that dot the gothic countryside a dangerous and highly exhaustive process. The gray skies had steadily grown darker and darker the deeper into Ustalav you traveled, and with each day spent navigating the countryside, encounters with the local wildlife grew less and less frequent, until simply being lucky enough to witness some frightened, half-starved animal rush through the underbrush had been the highlight of your day. The journey had been lonely and quite melancholic, for there'd been only the ancient and dying trees lining the beaten path to keep you company, visages of malice seemingly carved into their twisted bark.

Perhaps the cruel faces seen in the bark, the malevolent whispers barely audible in the howling wind, or the eerie reddish eyes staring out of the darkness from time to time were mere tricks of the mind, the results of an overactive imagination, but other feelings were less easily explained...

The very land itself seems to have had a negative effect upon your minds, darkening your moods and leaving each of you prone to lonely, sad thoughts as you travel along the muddy road. Rain continues to fall in bitter-cold curtains as each of you draw closer to the lakeside city of Thrushmoor, travelling along the cracked and battered road through the many murky, haunted marshlands that the fog-shrouded nation of Ustalav is known for. Thirty more minutes pass before the dim light of civilization becomes just barely visible through the cold rain and thick fog, far in the distance. The heavy rain obstructs vision beyond fifteen feet, and the thick gray fog causes the lights visible in the distance to appear muted and eerie, merely adding to the unsettling atmosphere native to the Ustalavic County of Versex.

As you each proceed down your winding roads, you eventually come to a crossing where several roads merge into one large, mud-splattered cobblestone path. The path leads directly ahead, towards the city of Thrushmoor. It was immediately recognizable. You've finally reached the Splatter Path, a haunted road of local legend.

Thrushmoor wasn't far now.


Knowledge History: "The eerie cobblestone road that leads into the city of Thrushmoor has been the focus of a plethora of ghost stories for decades due to it's particularly morbid history. Long ago, during the Whispering Tyrant's invasion of Ustalav, the lich was met in battle atop the cobblestone path by a powerful servant of Iomadae who's name has been lost to history. The knight and her allies were slaughtered horrifically by the lich, who with a foul incantation, caused their bodies to violently burst, splattering the charnel path with their blood and broken bits of blessed flesh. Following their defeat, The Whispering Tyrant proceeded to utterly level the city at the end of the path, brick by brick."

"Modern day Thrushmoor lies built atop the ruins of that very city."

--

[OOC]: Feel free to introduce yourselves IC now, as your characters meet at the mist-covered crossing, the Splatter Path before them.

[Eldest]

Lavana is an exceptionally tall woman, dressed in weather-worn traveling robes, with a light, well-made pack slung over one shoulder. She wears a rain-soaked cloak on her back with the hood up, and scowls at the rain, a skull pendant barely visible under the cloak, before peering around at each of the other travelers arriving at the same time. Most auspicious, it seems.

[Biabri]

From the side of the road, a strange woman, wearing significantly less than Lavana stomps onto the road, sandals smacking noisily against the floor as she walks. She is drenched completely, river-water soaks her lower body, which is still covered in the sand of her homeland, while her hair and upper body is affected only by the rain, her hair damp and heavy on her bare shoulders and back. She is adorned with very little. There are no pockets to carry supplies or a backpack to carry anything else on her person.

Ayanyetei pauses, stopping to look at the others that seemed to have popped up around her. If it weren't for them, perhaps she would have withdrawn from reality for a little time, at least until the rain had let up. She was hungry, unsurprisingly. It had been a very long time since she'd last eaten, if she was right in her hypothesis. She hates this place already. It is cold, damp, dark, lonely. The spooky nature and wooded-ness of Ustalav was getting to her just a little. She crosses her arms and forces a smile.

"Blessings of the sands, what do you seek on this road?" Her speech is strange, foreign, even more so than those versed in her culture would expect, as if her accent is thicker and less diluted. Her eyes glimmer with the glow of a powerful, self-affirmed personality.

"I seem to have found myself lost in this dark and damp place... Could you point me towards Thrushmoor, by any chance?"

[TheFederalist]

Even the decades of living in Ustalav had not changed much of how the pale woman brought her sweeping vision over the dead landscapes of her country, as her eyes sharply shaved through her surroundings like knives through the dark. One pale, uncovered arm hung at her side, while the sleeved other gripped one of the sickles that hung from the loops at her belt, giving others the impression that they were not for farming. A chain-linked corset of black covered her torso, differentiating between the shades of the abyss along the stripes, and an ornate set of stockings ran down her legs until they arrived at two leather and metal greaves. Every moment she spent acknowledging the mess that she was traveling in was every moment she tapped her boot, as the group collected themselves in the battering rain.

The woman was Lexi Caesh'mir, agent of Pharasma and the Murderer of Courtaud, who would raise her nose up high, allowing herself a single sniff of the rain drenched land, know quite well that she would be unlikely to smell much in the downpour, but the cautioned instincts of a slayer made her do it out of a force of habit. However, unlike the expected result of an overwhelming petrichor, there was that and the smell of a fairly dim source of magic. Her conditioned sense of smell could not pick out anything else other than the fact that someone under the influence of magic was around. She turned around to find a most certainly foreign woman, Osirian or Katapeshi even, to have crawled out of.... wherever. The way she was clad was impressively minimalist, almost definitely causing her trouble in this rain, and the way she was covered in mud made her incredibly out of place amongst the similarly wet but not nearly as dirty group of travelers.

Her idle arm found its way to the second sickle at her belt, ready to go into action, but her instincts allowed her to judge the newly appeared attractive woman as ... non-threatening for the moment. However, it was the way with which she spoke that fully intrigued Lexi. It was almost Osirian, but most of the accent seemed absurd in nature. She stared the woman in the eyes whenever she could meet them, and said "Awfully inconvenient for you to be dressed like that in this weather. You'd find yourself at Thrushmoor not before long along this road, but more likely would be you finding yourself at an illness before then. You are in contagion country, you know?"


A.) Used detect magic, my at will.
B.) I study our new friend

[IZ42]

The redhead peered out from under her cowl. She had not seen this place before, but the dreary downpour and cool wind reminded her of her home on the border of the witch country, even as a corrupted tendril of thought bubbled to the surface of her mind, reminding her that there was more than that familiar to this place. She silenced it, glancing about at her sudden company. She noted that her performer's ensemble, gifted to her from her time amongst the Varisians, muted as it was, still stood out in glacial blues and autumnal reds from the bleak dress of the others.

She smiles at the rest, and spoke, conscious of her lilting Ulfen accent betraying her fluent Varisian, "We are on the same path, yes? I would think it safer if we stay together, even if for this final distance into Thrushmoor."

[Biabri]

Just on cue, the woman sneezes, her head shooting up when the movement ends. That was new. She did feel a little worse for wear, that was right... She didn't feel very warm at all in these clothes, and she supposed that this wasn't going to get any better on her travels. Lexi recieves her own stare in return, before the woman lifts her hand, raising the ring upwards and declaring in a firm and commanding tone, as if trying to convince the world itself to see things in the way that she wants them to be:

I am perfectly healthy!

Ayanyetei's bared skin flushes with vitality and momentary warmth as she speaks the words, which dance across the perception of the others gathered here. These are whispering words, words that comfort. At the same time, they are somewhat reminiscent of a breath of wind rushing across the desert sands, a feeling that those here can feel now, even if they've never experienced such a thing before. As if to announce the departure of the power invoked, a soft, comfortingly warm breeze passes through the area, before the chill begins to set in again.

"I, will be just fine. You too, will be, if you decide to stick close by my side on this cold night... We should travel together, I like the company of others normally." She flicks her fingers, and some of the sand sloughs off of her.

"Shall we push on, then, to see if we can arrive before this gets worse? I very much want to arrive at that place as soon as I possibly can, there is something that I need in Thrushmoor to help me."

She grabs up some of her hair and squeezes the wet out of it, as if that will help, before drenched once more.

[Ilena]

Walking along with her wife, in this massive downpour, the barbarian woman trudges along. Grumbling a little at the rain, and wishes she was in a nice bed , beside the fire all snuggled under the covers ... mmm she loves the rain, just doesnt love WALKING in it. The sound it makes on the roof, rose does wish that they were back home right now. But her wife has work to do here, and no way in hell shes going alone. So here we are, covered head to toe in rain gear, a large cloak covering her, oil slicked to keep all the water off, large pack carrying all their gear, her large warhammer sitting easily behind her, nicely under the cloak and hidden. Under all that is nice good quality leather skins, warm and fluffy, with a nice good warm coat over it. Herself though, she is beautiful, stunning with a few scars from her tough life, her dark hair, hidden for now, is usually kept braided but always neat and tidy. Her vivid blue eyes can be seen under the cloaks hood, as well as her pert lips, usually for outsiders drawn in a firm resting dont mess with me, though whenever her gaze spread to her wife a small smile can usually be seen.

Speaking of her wife, as they walk she cant help but glance at her smiling, as always happy to have her, and be with her. Though as well keeping an eye out for danger, she IS the alpha of the pack, and responsible for keeping them safe. She of course notices the other people on the track, careful with them,unknown as they are. Though when the strange woman comes out , wearing ... clearly nothing suitable for this weather, she tisks in her mind. "Foolish pup, will surely die out here. Did her parents not teach her how to survive? Mmm though from her speech, she is not from around here ... and dress, definately not. She is clearly lost. Though .. asking for this place ... so not SO lost ... just ... unprepared. Mmm yes foolish pup indeed."

When she speaks up, saying she is indeed lost ... yes , clearly in that case she was not prepared, the others speak as well, suggesting to go on with each other, but the strange woman starts ... doing ... something, definately magical in nature, and it instantly puts rose on edge, she steps forward a little ahead of her wife and puts her hand on the warhammer, ready to smash should she prove dangerous. But she doesnt, it seems to help herself ... alright, no danger yet from her. But spell caster for sure. Rose then slips her pack off her back, pulling out a spare cloak, and speaking for the first time, "You look to not be from around here, you may borrow this until we get to town. As for travelling together, i dont see a problem with it. You may walk with us if you want."

Shaking her head just a little at how one could be so foolish, she then continues on, expecting everyone else to fall in line with her. Even claiming to be protective if they stick with her, silly strange pup. "Mmm i think when we arrive there, i shall get us a room, you know how many inns there are to pick from?" Rose says to her companion, her wife beside her.

[Rendel Nep]

The subtle tinking of water on metal echoes in the gloomy mist and a fair looking man with a suit of armour steps out the haze.

'Heellloooo' he greets the group in long drawn out greasy manner.

Look like I have found a veritable feast of womanhood on the road to Thrustmore. He says saucily with a waggle of his eyebrows.

Wait a minute, Silly me I meant Thrush-moor He corrects himself with Icy deadpan at the end.

Anyway my name is Oridim and I am here bring Thrushmoor (ugh) into the Glooorius embrace within the bosom of Her Lady, the lustrous Iomodae AND scrub this place clean if alllll of it's wretchedness in due time. He says with a expression that expects praise and nods of agreement.

[Hattish Thing]

County Roads/The Splatter Path - Evening:

The brief introduction taking place between the strangers gathered at the Splatter Path crossing is abruptly interrupted by the cacophonous noise of several hooves clattering against a mud-spattered cobblestone path, some ways away from the crossing. The cruel, high-pitched crack of a serrated whip biting into wet flesh pierces the air, audible even above the cacophony. A sickening squelch follows the cracking of the whip, which itself is accompanied by a tortured shriek, clearly equine in nature. The pained screech echoes for several seconds, yet is quickly drowned out by the noise produced by the approaching creature's hooves.

Following the screech, the revoltingly wet, sadistic cackle of a diseased man can be heard off in the distance, far enough to not be of immediate concern but growing steadily closer. Despite it's distance from you, the loathsome laugh causes a chill to run up your spines, and a disgusted expression to appear upon your wet faces.

Suddenly, from out of the mists behind the small gathering standing about the crossing, a ramschackle horse-drawn stagecoach storms ahead at a dangerous speed, bursting from the fog. Four half-starved beasts lead the dillapidated coach, their mottled flesh all torn and lacerated, their matted fur caked with blood and pus. Panic and fear is evident in their jaundiced eyes as the diseased steeds continue to rush forward, their mouths frothing as they're spurred ahead by their maniacal driver and his cruel whip. The mud-spattered stagecoach itself appears to be fairly rundown, it's once elegant yellow paint now crusted and faded, the ornate patterns carved into the wood now cracked and weathered by time. The yellow curtains visible through grimy glass windows are worn and threadbare as well, yet remain whole enough to hide the passenger or passengers within.

While the shabby yellow stagecoach possess an air of faded luxury and decadence, it's delirious driver certainly does not. The whip-wielding man is clad in a filthy vest and a squalid, sopping longcoat covered in stains and drenched in cold rain. A tall, wide-brimmed hat shrouds the foul man's face in shadows, and a bottle of brownish alcohol can be seen in the stranger's other hand. The horse-drawn carriage rushes forward violently, threatening to run each of you down as the carriage storms through the crossing and down the Splatter Path. As the stagecoach draws near, the madman cracks his whip and shouts down towards each of you, bloody phlegm and sour spit flying through the air.

"Gerroff the road, bleedin' rats! Lousy offsiders!"

--

OOC 1: Everyone, make a Reflex Save to avoid being run over by the horse-drawn carriage.

OOC 2: Everyone, make a Perception Check.

--

"Just as the delirious coach driver shouts, lightning strikes, ripping through the air as deafening thunder rolls overhead. Despite the noise, you can just barely make out an unsettling, ear-piercing sound halfway between a humanoid scream and an animalistic howl, coming from far down the Splatter Path, from exactly the direction where the stagecoach was heading. The horrific noise fills you with dread, and a chill runs up your spine. This was a strange sound, sick and supernatural. It filled you with an unnatural sense of dread..."

(If you succeeded, you gain the Spooked Condition, which inflicts a -2 to Perception, but grants a +1 to Initiative).

[Ilena]

Seeing it suddenly come out of the mist, Roses first reaction is to get her wife out of danger, and she shoves her hopefully just enough as the damn thing rams into her shoulder, and spinning her into the muck. Cursing she jumps to her feet as quickly as she can, growling , a deep and guttural growl of anger. Forcing down her wolf side, the side that is telling her to run off after that bastard and rip his throat out and turn to look at her wife, make sure shes ok. **** her shoulder hurts like a b... female dog .. that one ... that one is going to have some explaining to do. Before now, rose was just along for the ride, now ... now she has a mission. Very much her wife will know what is going on in her head now. "Sweetie, are you ok?" She asks though, concern for her mate is first and foremost.

[IZ42]

Ada calmly steps out of the way, a slight flourish in her hips as the carriage sails past her. She furrpws her brow at the quickly retreating figure. Kill him. Crush his mind. Lacerate his body. More unwanted thoughts bubbled forth. She sighs and shakes her head to remove the whispers.

The sound in the distance sets her entire body on edge. Werewolf? Witch? Something worse? She didn't know, but it was dangerous. "This road is not to dawdle on. Let's find an inn before we catch cold in this rain, yes?"

[Eldest]

Lavana watches as her wife gives away her spare cloak, and smiles. It's why she loved her after all, she cared about people in her own way.


"Mmm i think when we arrive there, i shall get us a room, you know how many inns there are to pick from?" Rose says to her companion, her wife beside her.

Aye, I'd love a room. She says, picking a sopping wet strand of hair out of her face, only to have it blown right back by the wind. A nice roaring fireplace,
a warm bed, some hot stew, and you. Perfect night. She smiles softly thinking about it.


'Heellloooo' he greets the group in long drawn out greasy manner.

Look like I have found a veritable feast of womanhood on the road to Thrustmore. He says saucily with a waggle of his eyebrows.

The happy look is gone as abruptly as it came. You must be joking. Traveling in the middle of a rainstorm, and lewd puns are the first thing on your mind?

Then she hears the clatter of hooves and the rattle of a stagecoach. She looks about, unsure, but as it comes into view she dodges out of the way, aided by her wife's shove. Landing on her feet, thank the gods, her head snaps around as lightning flashes. What was that noise?

[TheFederalist]

The only reaction that the oddly cute lady got out of Lexi was a wrinkling of the nose, as she maintained her expression of apathy, giving off an aura of confused ennui as she did. The appearance of the woman was certainly an oddity, but despite the fact that she was pushing muddy sand off herself, it was not the weirdest thing she'd witnessed in her service in Ustalav. Still, curiosity ran through her mind as she was offered a coat from one of other travelers, and she almost opened her mouth to question her, before the appearance of the armored man interrupted her. His lewd comments forced a sense of annoyance through her veins, but she calmly replied to him with a greeting of "Salutation, Sun Servant. Here to enjoy the company of strangers instead of altar boys?" She had a coarse tone, clearly not in a mood to entertain any greasy advances that could come. The mention of Iomedae had further irked her, bringing some memories to the surface that necessitated a harsher response than she'd have normally given one like him. What was an Iomedaen doing in Ustalav anyways? Lastwall's responses to Pharasman requests for supply trade along the border had always been cold rejections, and their service to Ustalav had been minuscule compared to the enormous efforts of her Church in the country.

Still, she only shook her head as she looked back towards the road. Before she had time to collect her thoughts, and plausibly raise a question to either of the newcomers, the cry from ahead came out, as a carriage hurtled towards them at an unnatural speed. A faint scent from between the pouring rain gave away its nature as magical before she even saw it, and she managed to sidestep the hurtling mass, only getting caught on her unsleeved arm by an outcropping from the cart, whipping her arm behind and leaving a noticeably large immediately colored gash on her upper arm. As the enforcer backed up, her heightened senses just barely caught a cry from the direction she now faced, a scream that curdled the blood in her veins, and immediately made her start pumping adrenaline. Out of the all the drops that battered her hair and face, a singular roll of cold sweat veered down her pale face in an almost immediate reaction.

What the-

Her eyes narrowed, adopting the similar vertical curvature of a cat almost, and she began to allow the scent from the faded cart to enter her mind as she drew her sickles, and began to move towards the cart. It was likely owned by some down on their luck Thrushmoor nobility, and the cart driver, some thief or an infected stablehand. "That scream wasn't human. It wasn't animal. Draw your weapons, prepare. We are not alone."



blah, move action three times towards the cart, yeah yeah I'm about to get charged, I know it.
Detect magic round 1, concentrate next two rounds
Sickles are drawn with a free action
If only I had one more round, I would ready an action to attack anything that came close but what can I do

this is how I die.
How embarrassing.

[Rendel Nep]

Lewd puns? Sorry I was squired to this magnificent paladin and he had this rather peculiar speech imped.. WUMP

Ow my face! Hold on I got this he exclaims before leaping up and drawing a small pendant sized holy symbol.

By the power of Iomodae! he shouts three times with a glorious radiant light erupting from his person.

channel energy 3times, if you have no good component to your alignment you get dazzled for one round

[Biabri]

Ayanyetei had barely had time to put the cloak on before it was dragged under the wheel of the wild stagecoach, throwing her down on the floor and leaving her vulnerable to the crushing wheels which hopped onto and over her arm. She drew it back with a cry, and clenched her fist, letting out an old Osirian curse. A wave of healing flows over her, numbing the pain, and when the pain fades, she begins to cast again. This time, the process is faster, the presence of the desert sands is slightly more oppressive, and surges through her.

I am not hurt!

She flicks her perfectly healed wrist, wriggling her fingers a little and then thrusting that same hand out violently. Space parts around her limb, and her hand vanishes momentarily. When she draws her hand back, she wields a sphere in it, and spins it with one hand to smack into the palm of her other.

Armed and healed, the former desert shaman moves forward, following the group and preparing herself to overwhelm the senses of anyone, or anything, that chooses to scare her.



Round One: Cure for a spell point.
Round Two: Draw Longspear from Extradimensional Storage as a full round action.
Round Three: Follow and ready action to sleep up to 4 targets for 2 spell points.

[Hattish Thing]

County Roads/The Splatter Path - Evening:

A minute or so passes after the worn stagecoach continues down the Splatter Path, it's maddened driver rushing his starved steeds onwards towards the city of Thrushmoor. Although the stagecoach has vanished into the mists, it's driver continues to swear and wheeze emphatically back into the wind, his wet voice audible for some time. Brief words are exchanged between the wary travelers and wounds sustained by the maniacal driver and his weathered stagecoach are briefly tended to, or looked upon, at least.

As the conversation dies down slightly, there's a sudden cacophonous roar up ahead, down the path, as wagonwheels slip and crack upon slippery cobblestones just in the distance. A voice familiar to each of you calls out in fear, though the exact exclamation is lost to the wind. The crazed stagecoach driver. Following the cry, there's a deafening crash as wood splinters and glass shatters, horses shrieking in pain as the driver swears timidly over the wind, fear in his voice. The thunderous noise is easily carried towards each of you, the frightened shouting of the driver mixing with the shrieks of his panicked steeds.

The stagecoach has crashed, it seems.

--

Following the crash, there's little sound save for the screeching of frightened animals echoing from farther down the Splatter Path. However, after several uncomfortable seconds, a sickening squelching noise can be heard, as if some vile polyp of extraordinary size had been violently squeezed and popped. The sound seems eerily similiar to the ripping of flesh, a noise quite familiar to some of you. The disgusting sound is barely audible at first, but only grows more obvious as the shrieking of horses in the distance begins to cease abruptly, one by one.

As the foul squelching ceases, a sucking noise begins...

Seconds more pass, until from out of the mist, a figure wanders, drenched in blood and gore. The driver himself stumbles forward, appearing as he did previously, except his filthy longcoat appears to be hardly recognizable in it's current state, being that of bloody tatters, his clothes ripped to shreds. A huge gash can be seen at his chest, and the wound gushes blood at an alarming rate. The figure lurches forward, before collapsing in place and dragging himself towards each of you, blood pooling around him. The heavily wounded man reaches out to Aida with yellowed fingernails, before cursing and crying out, vomiting blood in the process. "Help, help m-me... A terrible beast, gods... gods..."

The feeble man's cry is cut short, as a massive, blood-drenched claw the size of a wagon-wheel reaches through the misty veil, before wrapping it's talons around the man's head and squeezing tightly. The driver screeches in agony before the claw effortlessly begins to crush and crack the man's head with supernatural strength and ease. With a nauseating crunch, his skull bursts, sending blood and fleshy pink pulp cascading in a shower of gore, bathing the strangers gathered at the path in a deluge of carnage.

As the driver falls silent, skull burst, the talon begins to drag him away at an alarming speed through the mist...

You feel eyes upon you.

--

OOC: Everyone, I'll roll initiative, you should each roll a Will Save vs Fear. Some creature lurks in the mists, out of current party sight-lines. Visibility is only fifteen feet, due to the heavy rain and thick fog.

https://i.imgur.com/YAtzGCq.jpg

Key:

LE = Lexi.
LA = Lavana.
OR = Oridim.
RO = Rose.
AY = Ayan.
AD = Ada.

The white line is visibility. You're on the Splatter Path, which is surrounded by gnarled trees.

[Ilena]

Growling to herself, and muttering, "Im going to kill that bloody driver ..." She says quietly after making sure her wife is ok, turning though she says quietly, "Something is out there ... i heard it, like me but different ... im going to shift dont let them attack me ..." She says as she goes a small distance away and accessing that power within her, feeling her body shifting, the fur and fury held within coming to the surface. She starts to scream, it hurts ... her body is changing, growing, claws rip through her fingers, her muzzle pushes forward and rows of razor sharp teeth form within her mouth. Her scream turns into a howl as her body changes and her flesh literally slips off her body leaving a bloody mess. Now much taller, she steps out back towards her wife and drawing her warhammer as this man comes stumbling back to them, and then ... dies ....

"Huh ... guess i dont get to kill him ... " Says this giant half wolf standing on two legs, "Listen ... everyone else , i dont mean you any harm, but ... its a fight and i fight better with this form ... " Her giant warhammer is now in her hands and cloak thrown off as well as pack, she readies herself to attack. Waiting for whatever made that is going to get smashed. She stands infront of her wife keeping her safe, her tail wagging just a little waiting for the fight, excitement burns in her blood.

[Biabri]

None of this happened!

The voice seems to ring from far away, as if smothered, then vanishes abruptly as Ayanyetei draws a deep breath back into herself.

The woman wearing not much but a cloak steels herself, gazing into the mists.

"Okay... Bad... Bad thing... About Thirty-Five paces from where I stand, there's a horrific... Wolf... Blood... Insect... Human Eyeball thing."

She moves behind Lexi and holds her hands out.

She is breathless, and the desert winds whirl about her still, signs of a recently cast spell, already, she prepares herself to cast another, the words on her tongue.


Moves in front of Lexi.
Readying action to cast Greater Sleep on the thing.

[IZ42]

For a few moments, Ada subtly changes. Her hair isn't brilliant scarlet, it's faded rust and dried blood. Her face isn't noble and friendly, it's distant and cruel, alien. Malevolence matching the rain-sodden terrain of Ustalav pours of her body. She stares at the driver as a pedestrian might stare at a cockroach scurrying across the road in front of them. Then she disappears. The mist in front of the party swirls briefly, but stills itself.

Standard to cast Invisibility. Lasts for 6 minutes and one round.

Moving into the mist.

[TheFederalist]

Sickles raised, Lexi carefully stepped forward onto the roads, with uncertainty treading along with her every step. Witnessing the explosion of gore that had been the man's head was an experience she could probably repeat, but it had been the mush that had found its way into her mouth that had simply taken her too far. She shook her head, trying to focus instead of spitting onto the road every few seconds. She was the Murderer of Courtaud! She had slain countless undead, necromancers, witches, any and everything she had come across to that point.

Yet, something was different about this time. Chills creeped up her spine, as usual in this sort of scenario, but this time was worse than any hunt she had partaken in. Emotions did not touch her expression, yet the knot in her throat was there to let any know how she felt if she even tried to speak out. She carefully moved forward into the mist, ready to parry any heaving blow that would come at her, yet she knew better than to attempt to utilize the blade to deflect Pharasma knew how many hundreds of newtons of force going into her. She leaned backwards slightly, allowing the weight pulling on her corset to allow her to better reactively drop backwards to dodge any attack on her.

This isn't good. I'm not prepared for this, and I don't know what is out there. Think, Lexi, think! What was that scream like?

But as soon as she entered the fog, and moved further in, she discovered some thing, some freak of nature unlike anything else she'd ever seen. "Found it! Appreciate any help!" she curtly yelled, some measure of disgust permeating her voice, as she prepared herself to dodge the creature's likely oncoming strike.

Why are there so many eyes?!

[Rendel Nep]

Steady yourself Oridim...this is just like that time with the darkmantles except less gore before the fight...what would Seraph do? he mutters to himself.

The image in his head is clearly unhelpful and he sighs.
Is it undead? he asks hopefully.

Doesn't matter if it isn't. I can blast it with searing lightandave fireballs handy. Rather not though. Anyway.... He goes on to cast shield of faith on himself.

[Eldest]

Lavana blinks the dots out of her eyes from the over-enthusiastic priest's healing and shudders at the carriage-driver's death, stepping swiftly out of the way of the blood splatter. She nods to the corpse: she'd say a few words over his body later, and bury it, but for now there are more pressing matters. She draws her blade and speaks a word of power, arcane runes winking into existence on her sword. She makes a few more gestures, wincing as the familiar pain of channeling death magic springs into existence, but she's better protected now. Then she advances into the fog.


Lavana
Initiative 6
AC 22, HP 36 with one nonlethal damage
Shaken
Buffs
+2 enhancement bonus on her rapier, +3 armor bonus for the next 4 hours.

[Hattish Thing]

County Roads/The Splatter Path - Evening:

As the others group up together in the rain, struggling to see through the thick fog that surrounds them, Lexi steps forward boldly, weapons in hand, fog swirling around her. While the others busy themselves by casting spells and readying for whatever creature may emerge from the mist, the Pharasmin Agent attempts to bravely stand up to the monstrosity within. As she moves closer, the sound of heavy, ragged breathing becomes obvious. Lexi advances further, shuddering slightly as the beast comes into view once more.

Within the creature's massive, gaping maw, the half-chewed corpse of the carriage driver can be seen. The monstrosity clamps down upon the corpse just as Lexi comes into view, causing the broke, battered body to produce nauseatingly wet noise, bones crunching and frothy blood spraying through the mist, coating the cobblestone before Lexi with a slick layer of vile looking fluid, all blood, pus, and fouler juices. The creature hiding within the misty veil lets out an ear-splitting shriek once Lexi comes into view, it's screeching tone reverberating with unnatural clarity down the Splatter Path. Several seconds of uncomfortable silence pass before a low growl can be heard just past the mist, the threatening snarl only growing more intense as the monstrosity approaches, fully coming into view. Your heart begins to race as you hear the creature step, it's massive claws grating against the cobblestone.

The beast lurches forward through the mist, dropping the half-chewed corpse within its mouth, visible now only to Lexi. As it reveals it's horrific countenance, your eyes instinctively gaze at the creature from the ground up, travelling from the smeared trail of fresh, watery blood beneath the creature, up to it's sickening form. Each of your eyes take in a gruesome sight, it's very presence filling you with heart-wrenching horror. The "blood-spatter" beast steps forward, through the puddles of rainwater and gore upon four, powerfully-built legs, like a wolf, ending in razor-sharp claws.

The gruesome creature breathes uncomfortably hard, gobs of bloody drool pooling forth from it's gaping maw, it's muzzle caked with gore. The blood-drenched monstrosity resembles some twisted hybrid creature, a hideous amalgamation; part massive canine, part insectoid horror, but most unsettlingly... part humanoid, albeit quite massive in size. Very little fur can be seen upon the creature, whose pus-encrusted flesh appears to have sloughed off it's exposed bones in gorey flaps. It's belly is abnormally large, engorged and swollen with blood harvested from it's latest victim, and insectoid limbs branch out of the creature in unusual places.

It's most sickening quality, however, would be the fact that hundreds of startlingly humanoid eyes line the foul thing, as if they'd burst forth from beneath it's flesh. The rest of the beast proves no less revolting, for the creature appears sickly and unnatural, covered with weeping sores and horrific, pus-spewing lesions suggestive of some kind of horrific disease. It's necrotic flesh is mottled and foul, caked with vile fluids and drenched in fresh blood, mud, and rainwater. Patches of thick fur are visible on the massive, wolf-like amalgamate, but a majority of the beast is bare, red, and rippling with muscle, or lined with eyes.

The beast stares towards the small group assembled, unnatural eyes piercing through the mist, rows upon rows of yellowed, infected, dagger-like teeth bared as it sniffs the air, it's frothy maw dripping with bloody slather and saliva. As it approaches, the creature turns it's "head", and lets out a blood-curdling scream. Seconds later, the bloated belly it drags beneath it begins to swell and balloon, before the creature's gaping maw unhinges and distends, stretching wide. A disgusting slurping, choking noise begins to originate from the creature's gaping maw, before it vomits violently, spewing it's own steaming, infected blood, bits and pieces of gore and splattered viscera spraying towards the group.

--

OOC 1: Lexi make a Sanity Check. DC 18, Will Save. Success = 2 Sanity Damage. Failure = 4 Sanity Damage.

OOC 2: Everyone except Rose and Oridim, make a Reflex Save vs the Breath Weapon, DC 22. If you fail the Reflex Save, you take 3d6 Acid Damage, and must make two Fortitude Saves.

[Fort Save 1: DC 22: Failure = Nauseated for 1d4 Rounds. Success = Nothing Happens.]

[Fort Save 2: DC 22, vs Disease: Failure = "Carrier" Stage.]

The infected creature becomes more irritable and aggressive than normal, and begins to develop a terrible, wet cough. Rashes appear all over the infected creature's body, which begin to interfere with concentration and focus, but there are no additional symptoms of the disease at this stage.

https://i.imgur.com/UDKqIoT.png

Key:

LE = Lexi.
LA = Lavana.
OR = Oridim.
RO = Rose.
AY = Ayan.
AD = Ada.

The white line is visibility. You're on the Splatter Path, which is surrounded by gnarled trees.

[Eldest]

Lavana stares in fear into the mist, unsure what is going on. A breathy inhale is her only warning, and she tries to turn to take it's spewed bile on her cloak, but doesn't quite manage to, feeling herself start to burn from the acid. She stumbles away, retching.


Lavana
Initiative 6
AC 22, HP 19 with one nonlethal damage
Buffs
+2 enhancement bonus on her rapier, +3 armor bonus for the next 4 hours.
Debuffs
Shaken, Nauseated for 1 more round, carrier of mystery disease

[Biabri]

The desert dweller recoils, using her own cloak to keep the acid from her face and ducks behind a tree, one hand over her mouth and the other on her stomach, she crouches down low and coughs in the fog, hiding and groaning. She can't do enough to try healing herself right now.

[TheFederalist]

The thing that she was witnessing was horrifying, worse than anything Lexi had ever seen in her years. She made the mistake of taking everything about it in, in her attempt to understand it. Its visage was incredible, with an aura of strength she'd never met before. Something in her mind knew that its sight would never leave her mind. She stepped backwards, as its breath sprayed her with horrific goo, bringing up a bubbling feeling of nausea from inside her. She almost fell as she stepped backwards in the sudden loss of balance, but years of fighting kept her in the game. She had to retake her own mind, and fight!

[Ilena]

Seeing her wife to into the fog, WHY IS SHE GOING IN THERE?! Rose starts to follow her in and then suddenly she comes running back covered in melting ... she quickly tosses her cloak off, rage burning with in her, "You ok? You will be ok, be careful wifie, remember, i go first." Warhammer in hand, she charges forward, flying into a rage as she goes, her body changing again, growing horns on her head, and she charges right forward running into the fog and looking for the beast. Which appears suddenly, (she heads towards the screaming and its roaring) and seeing its giant form runs forward and flying leeps at its head with her hammer to smash down upon it.

[IZ42]

Ada, feels the presence before her in the mist well up with malevolent intent, though she did not see it. She uttered a word or two in some horrific language, enhancing her dexterity just in time to dodge the wave of bile spewing from the mist. Immediately after dodging the spell takes its toll on her body, a feeling not dissimilar to being struck in the gut. Shhe utters a curse in a more traditional language and moves swiftly into the underbrush to avoid being in the line of fire again.

Immediate to cast Burst of Adrenaline. Fatigued for one round.

Moving into the brush to the immediate right of Ayan.

[Hattish Thing]

County Roads/The Splatter Path - Evening:

The abomination lurches back, letting out a pained shriek as Rose charges forth, goring the creature, causing an unnatural amount of tainted blood to spill and pool over the cracked cobblestone. The skinwalker warrior slashes and rakes, goring into foul, disease-riddled flesh. As her powerful blow batters the creature's bruished flesh a plethora of horrific juices and vile bodily fluids spurt all over the barbarian, mixed with it's diseased blood. The taste is indescribable, nauseatingly sweet yet undeniably repulsive. After tearing away ineffectively at the hideous amalgamate, she raises a claw to rake at the creature's flesh, failing to tear through it's tough, blood-drenched hide due the abomination's unnatural resistance to physical harm. A critical artery is struck with the gore, however, and the monstrosity lets out a mournful howl, the more human looking half of it's elongated, canine-like face contorted in agony.

However, as the creature's vile blood bursts and sprays with each jagged cut and each deep gash, the creature swipes forward with an oversized claw, digging deep into Rose's side, drawing blood. Each wound causes a horrific spray of infected, corrosive blood to burst from the creature's swollen form, drenching Rose with multiple doses of foul, frothy spray, ripe with disease. The creature shrieks in agony as it struggles over Rose, it's foul form spraying all manner of vile fluids as it's fetid flesh sizzles and blackens. It's wounds continue to bleed at an alarming rate, rapidly pumping filth as the storm grows more intense around the Splatter Path.

After several seconds attempting to control the grapple, the blood-drenched monstrosity begins to shudder and shake, it's muscles expanding as it does so. Before Rose's eyes, the beast begins to lurch horrifically, bones breaking beneath it's revolting hide. It's powerful muscles clench as the foul thing's body begins to burst and crack over the barbarian, it's flesh beginning to split straight down the middle, gore splattering and organs spilling over Rose as it's massive skull separates entirely.

A spine-chilling screech echoes down the path as it's hideous transformation completes, it's gaping throat now visible, something wriggling and squelching within those wet, dark depths.

--

It's enormous claws dig into the cobblestone as it begins to overpower Rose, it's claws digging into her flesh as it's gaping maw draws closer. Finally, the others must watch in horror, helpless, as the abomination before them pushes Rose directly over, onto her back, her skull cracking against the mud-splattered bricks. The beast falls atop her, dominating the grapple, it's own immense paws resting upon her, holding her down. The thing begins to convulse wildly as it's engorged belly begins to writhe.

From within the depths of it's gaping maw, wriggling tendrils emerge, almost as if the vomiting motion had awakened them from some sort of slumber. Each pale, white tendril resembles a foul, lamprey-like creature around the size of a fat thumb. However, each tendril seems as long as a human being is tall, dripping with slime and fouler juices, originating from the depths of the creature's form like some disturbing parasite.

--

The plethora of sickening tendrils begin to burrow deep into Rose's flesh, pumping blood into the beast atop her at an alarming rate...

Rose's CMD is beaten, causing her to become grappled on the AoO. With it's turn, it full attacks, dealing 31 damage, +9 Bleed from earlier. It ends it's turn grappling Rose, which activates it's passive Blood Drain ability, causing Rose to take 1d2 Constitution Bleed, meaning, unless she succeeds at a DC: 15 Heal Check or receives healing, she will continue to lose constitution per turn.

https://i.imgur.com/8BFoMhC.png

Key:

LE = Lexi.
LA = Lavana.
OR = Oridim.
RO = Rose.
AY = Ayan.
AD = Ada.

The white line is visibility. You're on the Splatter Path, which is surrounded by gnarled trees.

"Just in the distance, you begin to hear a weak shuffling sound, as if something or someone was attempting to force itself out of the depths of the carriage which lay ahead, just down the road."

[Biabri]

Ayanyetei steps out from her hiding place, a look of utter rage on her face. She holds her ring up in one hand and her spear in the other. She speaks clearly as she stumbles out of the treeline, her voice raised, furious. The winds whistle about her once more as power rises. She moves forward even closer, ignoring entirely the side of her temporary companion beneath the beast, and drifts for a moment. She speaks clearly, enunciating each word carefully.

You... Do... Not... Exist!

The magic flares up, pulling the deformed beast away, but it resists, standing steadfast against the forces she calls up. Ayanyetei swears, and whispers something, throwing her spear down. Sands drift up from the earth around her, and then slam down, her failure unwritten from time.

Again.


A mixed look of exasperation, annoyance and pure loathing is on the face of the Osirian lady as she steps out from the treeline. She moves precisely, drawing herself up to her fully height and clenching her fist to feel the ring of her deceased mentor around her finger. The force of the sands rise up, and she points this time, towards the beast.

You do not exist in this place!

The sands of time manifest, the old Osirian desert stirring to appear before her now. Limbs of sand erupt from the air, desert winds swirling in a circle to make the spectacle visible for a moment. The hands shift and reach forward to settle on the monster. It's struggles do not matter this time and the strong sandy hands pull the beast to where they came from, depositing it in her homeland.

Ayanyetei gasps in air, and wipes a hand across her mouth before raising her voice once more.

"Go, go! We should be moving away from this place quickly before it returns to here from where I sent it!"

With that, she sets off towards the crashed vehicle, which she'd spotted someone climbing out of, more powerful words forming on her tongue already.

[Eldest]

Lavana stumbles towards her wife, retching and coughing. After a few seconds, she recovers enough to try to cure her, reaching out to touch her shoulder. This will hurt, love. As she sends in surgically targeted negative energy, wearing away at damaged areas while leaving the body to regenerate quickly on it's own. She groans in pain as her magic overcomes her focus, shuddering.

Turn 1: move towards wifey.
[roll0] Healing, needs to be saved against with DC 16 will. Fail, and you get the nice heals.
[roll1] If this succeeds against DC 22 and you fail the will save, disease goes away unless hatter is mean. :smalltongue:
[roll2] will save vs DC 12, or Lavana is sickened for 1 round.


Lavana
Initiative 6
AC 22, HP 19 with one nonlethal damage
Buffs
+2 enhancement bonus on her rapier, +3 armor bonus for the next 4 hours.
Debuffs
Shaken, Sickened for 1 more round, carrier of mystery disease

[Hattish Thing]

County Roads/The Splatter Path - Evening:

Just as the horrific creature's engorged tendrils begin to feed at an even greater rate, the beast presses more of its weight down upon Rose, grinding her into the cobblestone beneath it's foul, rotted and infected body. Ribs crack as cobblestones buckle under the weight, before a final, thicker tendril spills from the creature's gruesome, blood-spattered maw. This far thicker tendril slithers through the air, vile fluids dribbling off of it's milky white form. The slick, wet thing moves forward, nearing Rose's mouth. With surprising strength, the spiked tendril attempts to push through, down Rose's throat. Fortunately, the spellcasting stranger rushes forward, slinging a plethora of spells before finally, just as the sickening tendril penetrates Rose's lips, the beast disappears entirely, leaving behind naught but a bloody, pus-encrusted puddle upon the cold cobblestone.

Meanwhile, about thirty feet ahead, the fallen carriage looms in the distance, flashes of lightning barely illuminating the vehicle. Several horses lie dead around the stagecoach, blood and rainwater having pooled around the corpses moments ago. Claw marks cover every inch of the creatures, bits and pieces of splattered gore scattered about haphazardly, hardly eaten.

Almost as if the beasts had been slaughtered for sport.

--

A muffled woman's voice cries out from within the stagecoach, seemingly originating from behind one of the carriage doors, which appears to be entirely blocked by the wreckage. The woman's voice is dreamy, yet harsh and fearful, clearly she was in a state of panic or despair.

"H-help me, p-please! I'm h-hurt, and... oh gods, w-what was that t-thing?!

--

OOC: You each have Six Rounds of Actions before it comes back, please post them all!

[Ilena]

Groaning and coughing, rose spits and cries out in pain as she is healed by her wife, dark tendrils of ... badness drain out of her, she jumps up though, blood still pumping with rage as she then runs over to the cart, knowing that her wife would wnat to save this ... person ... she rips the door off .. or whats left of it , making a space and then looks in ready to rip the person out and run.

(first action get up and run to the wagon, second is to rip the bloody door off, pausing with half a turn left as hatter wanted it)

[Hattish Thing]

County Roads/The Splatter Path - Evening:

Thunder roars ominously as Rose stumbles forward to the fallen stagecoach, her body still aching despite the healing supplied to her. As her muscles contract and clench, Rose grunts, before pushing the last piece of blockage aside. The large chunk of shrapnel blocking the door splashes solemnly within a bloody puddle of rainwater and fouler fluids, due to the gory pile of torn horses in front of the wagon. There's a brief sound of commotion and a feminine groan of pain from within the stagecoach as it's occupant struggles to stand and make her way through the splintered door.

After a moment, the grimy, blood-spattered stagecoach door creaks open, lightning flashing overhead as the carriage's sole occupant steps forth daintily.

--

The woman stands unusually tall, her gentle form delicate and lithe, her body language elegant and smooth despite the large splinter of wood sticking out of her side. The frighteningly pale, yet relatively youthful looking woman stares ahead with harsh, angular eyes of pale blue, a fearful look bare upon her uniquely attractive, porcelain-shaded face. Hers is an unusual sort of beauty; slender, gaunt, yet not entirely without curves, her limbs lithe, her fingers spidery in appearance. Her unhealthily pale skin is perfect and unblemished, however, her prying, bird-like eyes appear sunken in upon closer inspection, a trait kept well-hidden by layers of dark, glittering eyeshadow. In addition to her sunken, penetrating eyes of unnervingly harsh gray, the woman's curling, pure black lips seem permanently set to frown in an imposing sort of fashion. Her full lips remain an attractive feature, despite the worried frown upon her face, for the deep shade of alluring black lipstick set with glittering yellow specks stands out quite vibrantly against the stark white color of her smooth, cold flesh.

While the woman's curvaceous, yet angled form and alluring, flaxen-haired beauty could theoretically both entice and attract, the woman appears utterly and entirely ignorant of her natural beauty. She carries with her a scholarly sort of air and an aura of control as she steps onto the cobblestones with her tall heels, wincing slightly as pressure is applied to her wound. Her soft, graceful form and round-shouldered, yet-angled frame is fitted and clad in pristine, ethereal shades of exquisite yellow cloth, and glittering, yellow tourmalines. Grime splatters across her intricately-styled, form-fitting gown of sparkling yellow cloth as she steps into a puddle, causing her glittering rows of perfectly polished gemstones to become marred with mud. A locket of pale yellow and gold metal hangs from her neck, and a rapier hands from her hips.

Numerous rings of polished yellow diamonds, glittering tourmalines, and expensive-looking pearls adorn her thin fingers, glinting in the moonlight as she reaches forward.

--

The woman limps ahead and gasps, leaning back against the stagecoach as she raises a bloody hand from her side, grimacing. "O-oh gods, s-so much blood. I'm... I'm going t-to be sick!"

She pants, groaning as she slips slightly, causing her wound to spurt.

"P-Please, I n-need healing, i-if you've anything of the s-sort, I'll r-reward you handsomely. My d-destination is T-Thrushmoor, yes, it's n-not far now, but w-without help... I..."

"I d-don't think I'll make it..."

--

https://i.pinimg.com/1200x/de/21/b0/de21b05c01dbf6555b95adf00afb4909.jpg

[Rendel Nep]

Oridim puts aside what he has just witnessed for a moment and verts back to positive energy genade mode. He runs to the carriage and gently speaks gently and calmly.M'am, you may need to close your eyes just for a few seconds. My healing is a little flashy.

He then raises his hand once again, holding his little pendant size holy symbol and shouts By the Pooooower Of Iomedae! In a fashion not disimliar to that of a certain well known 80's cartoon.

Again the area erupts in radiant light and the warm vibrant energy washes over everyone.

Now Does anyone know any actual medicine? This far more than simple triage. he asks, very uncertain about the things.

Take a move action to the coach then channel Energy.

[Biabri]

"WE DO NOT HAVE TIME TO BE MESSING ABOUT, PRIEST, WE NEED TO MOVE, NOW!" With that, she breaks off into a sprint, her spear vanishing into the mists. She moves as fast as she possibly can, knowing full well that the thing is going to be returning any moment now, and not wanting to be here when it does get pulled back into this time, as she knows it inevitably will do.

[Hattish Thing]

County Roads/The Splatter Path - Evening:

The woman in yellow gasps slightly as Oridim approaches, dazzling her momentarily and stumbling, grimacing slightly as the motion causes pain to spread from her side. With a knowing look, Eleanor makes contact with Oridim as he draws closer, reaching a soft, gloved hand forth to weakly push the cleric away should he come too close.

"N-No, d-don't pull on i-it! Y-You'll only make it w-worse, f-for now."

While she refuses to allow the splinter embedded in her side to be removed, the woman in yellow gratefully accepts the small bit of healing afforded to her by the cleric. As the restorative magic goes about stitching wounds back together, she groans softly, leaning back against the stagecoach.

After the process finishes, she winces slightly before gesturing down the path.

"Mm. Thank you, sir. All of you, thank you. I'm afraid the shrapnel stuck within my side is far too large to simply remove by hand, not without causing internal damage. I've a contact, however, within the city. She'll know what to do, and I'm certain she'll be willing to provide any curatives you may need, should I ask. We're not far now, but we mustn't stay here any longer."

"It's just ahead, kind strangers, we can't afford to delay ourselves further."

"I'll try to keep up..."

--

The Splatter Path/City Gates - Night:

Eleanor stays close to Rose, rushing forward eagerly through the rain as quickly as her wound and billowing gown allows. The journey from the abandoned stagecoach to the City Gate is quite stressful, for mental images of the gory scene only just previously escaped haunts each and every step taken by the group of survivors. The storm only grows more intense as the travelers rush towards the city gates, the unpleasant skies growing even darker as the city becomes somewhat visible through the mist. After navigating the Splatter Path for some time more, the great looming twin gates leading into the coastal city of Thrushmoor come into view, it's ramparts lit by countless lanterns as figures all in black and navy blue look down from the top of the wall.

The walls themselves are thick and imposing, composed of strong wood and rigid iron, and the well-armed guardsmen patrolling the ramparts above seem no less imposing. From the top of the twenty-five foot wall, twelve guards in half-plate turn practically in unison to glare down at the group, heavy crossbows clutched tight in their ironclad hands. Twelve more can be seen by a particularly perceptive individual, gazing down at the survivors from atop a pair of large, circular guard towers, six per tower.

Even more concerning than the guardsmen, however, are the four massive ballistae mounted to the towers, each one aimed towards the Splatter Path itself.

After a moment or so of concerned whispering from atop the rain-splattered ramparts, a tall man clad in a dark uniform marking him as the Captain of the Guard steps forward, glaring down towards each of the outsiders from beneath a tattered, wide-brimmed cap. The veteran guardsman crosses his arms over his chest, shaking his head before shouting out into the storm, his voice hoarse and gritty.

"Gods! Are those people down there?!"

A dented helmet, cracked and scraped, can be seen held under his arm, and a black cloak hangs over the man's broad shoulders. A large greatsword is worn at his back, and he looks down upon the outsiders with a look of shock and confusion. The Captain of the Guard lurches closer to the railing at the side of the rampart, revealing more of the man. At his left knee, a carved chunk of wood is bolted and strapped to what appears to be a stump limb, and a particularly stringy beard can be seen from beneath the shadow of the man's wide cap. The Captain was obviously some kind of warrior, and an old one judging by the wound and graying hair. The Captain of the Guard continues, his expression grim, his voice stern and unwelcoming.

"Hmph. Poor fools, don't ye know 'bout the curfew? These gates aren't tah be opened, there's beasts prowling the countryside! Cruel things that take th' form o' mortal folk, that drink th' blood of luckless men!"

"How's we to know yer not one of 'em, clad all in flesh an' blood, eh?!"

https://i.imgur.com/KPL5yGW.png

[Biabri]

The desert shaman sucks in breath, clutching her side and looking behind her for signs of the monster.

"Guard man, I have seen one of these things for myself, and am gravely insulted by your words, that you would consider to aliken me to such a thing! I am an important figure from the vast and great Osirian sands, holding a title which your lands do not have in my home. I was accompanying a member of House Belladonna on my travels here, we have business in Thrushmoore! Do not worry about opening the gates for us, I can find my own way up, but we urgently need to get up, for there's one of your beasts after us right now!"

Before he can interject, she raises her Osirian Will-Weaver Ring in the air.

"Please! I do not think that... I don't think I can make it go away again, if it gets here! My death and that of your Lady Belladonna will be on your hands!" The desert woman clenches her fist and then thrusts it through the air at force before her, speaking aloud.

I even have money from my homeland for you if you will let me in, please!

Her hand vanishes, and she spends a moment rooting around, before drawing her hand back out to reveal a handful of shiny new, but antique, Osirian coins.

[TheFederalist]

Lexi didn't concern herself with what magic was being used in her presence, rather abiding to take some virtually flawless advice and running. She dropped her weapons into her belt, running as fast as she could from the location towards where the gate ought to have been. They didn't have time, not at all, according to the Osirian, and she had no intention of fighting the creature so unprepared. Still, she was resolved to come for the hunt later, for there was certainly an ego bruised alongside her natural reaction of understanding that whatever they'd faced had no place in Pharasma's natural order, and would have to be slain.. However, their first problem appeared as they reached the gate. The black clad woman sidestepped the guard, and reached into her corset, withdrawing the silver spiraling comet of Pharasma as she chanted "The righteous perish, and no one takes it to heart; the devout are taken away, and no one understands that the righteous are taken away to be spared from evil. Those who walk uprightly enter into peace; they find rest as they lie in death." at an insane speed. "The Church has come again unto Thurshmoor, now allow entry for the agent of that which comes without concern."

[Ilena]

Growling as she runs, each step sending pain running through her body. She shifts back into her human form, crying in pain as she does. But she keeps running helping the noble woman to the gates. When they get to the gates, and the guards start bitching about letting them in, she looks at the ballistas on the walls, "Esh those would have been helpful."

Calling up the guards on the wall, "Do we at all look like beasts to you? Surely you have some test, let us in before you see us all eaten and murdered by the monster that did this to us all ..." She waves her hand to everyone, as pretty well everyone has been injured in some way, then goes back to holding herself. She is so hurt.

[Rendel Nep]

"I am Oridimof Vigil andd have been dispatched by the Church of Iomedae from Lastwall to aid Urstav against the blight that plagues this land. My organization's assumptions, that the blight is an agent of undeath, are wrong. However, the creature that we witnessed coming forth from the fog are terrible monstrous things that would be discarded by all but the most vile and warped gods. Please, allow me to demonstrate the holy power blessed upon me so you at least gaze upon those who you are about to condemn. We only seek shelter and if your fear and distrust compels you further then place us within a holding cell over night." Oridim orates in plea of shelter.

Diplomacy check then if given permission, Oridim will cast daylight.

[Hattish Thing]

The Splatter Path/City Gates - Night:

The Captain of the Guard stares down from the high ramparts towards the suggestively-dressed Osirian woman with an expression of incredulity and sickening arousal upon his shadowy, unpleasant face. The man chuckles darkly, wheezing and coughing a little before gesturing towards some of the other guards. "Ha! Look at this one! A right princess she is! One o' them sand wenches, thinks she can tell us what to do!" The graying guardsman's words are responded to by the other men patrolling the ramparts with malicious, bellowing laughter, echoing out pas the wall. The Captain of the Guard stares back down towards Ayan, performing a derogatory motion with his gloved hands. "Do a dance for us, eastern girly, one o' them belly dances! Bahaha!" The man continues, unbuckling his belt before dropping his pants and proceeding to unceremoniously taking a piss, down off the edge of the rampart. After a few seconds, the unpleasant man begins to shout down towards the desert shaman once again. "Ain't no filthy offsider telling me what's what! You'll wait 'til the curfew is over, an' then maybe if you're lucky, I'll let ye in fer a good, long visit with me and me men, ha!" The foul guardsman coughs and cackles wickedly before the others manning the ramparts pitch in with laughter of their own.

Lady Belladonna reaches the city gate soon after the Captain's little speech, an expression of authority and disgust upon her face. She opens her mouth to bark an order towards the Captain before a frightening noise interrupts her. A sickening howl, similar if not identical to the one heard earlier. The Lady freezes for a moment, her face growing white as the howling becomes apparent to her. Her fearful expression is swiftly replaced by one of rage and frustration, however. Desperately, she stumbles away from the heavy iron gates into the city, gazing up towards the Captain of the Guard.

She begins to shriek towards the man in uniform, her tone furious.

"Galder Gray, you monstrous beast of a man, I swear by all the gods, if you let me die here, my father will have your head! Open the gates right now, right this bloody moment, do you understand?! "

--

The Captain of the Guard steps back, stunned for a moment. After a second, however, the gray-haired guardsman recognizes the woman in yellow, shrieking at him from below. He nervously adjusts his uniform before looking about in shock and confusion, gazing towards the mists. "Oh confound it all, Lady Belladonna, is that you? Gods, I didn't recognize you. I... Right this moment, Lady Belladonna, my sincerest apologies!" Galder grimaces, before gesturing towards the armored soldiers, barking orders. A pair of particularly muscular guardsmen begin to pull massive levers built into the ramparts. As they do so, chains begin to rattle, and the heavy iron door leading into the city of Thrushmoor begins to rise, muddy rainwater cascading off the bottom of the city gates as the doors are lifted out of the muck.

Unfortunately, the rising gates lift a mere foot off the ground before suddenly, one of the heavy chains begins to grate and groan, before finally snapping. The door to the city remains locked into place, suspended in the air.

And in the distance... howling, coming closer.

https://i.imgur.com/EEzJDe3.png


Strength Check, Force the Door Higher.
Knowledge: Engineering, Quick Repair.

[IZ42]

Ada seemingly coalesces out of the mists, still under the effects of whatever malevolence she invoked before turning invisible. She appears to struggle internally, but nothing seems to change. The woman utters a short curse in frustration, and begins pacing back in forth, glancing into the mists impatiently. She manages a few words in Taldane, "Am Ada. Beast coming. Need calm."

[Ilena]

Growling at the bloody door failing NOW and bloody guard captain ... pissing at her ... oooh there will be hell to pay ..., blood boiling again, she runs up, raging out and then grabs that damn door and straining , injuries hurting her as she does but the door does lift, rising and rising , enough for her to get the group inside, "MOVE IT NOW!"

[Eldest]

Lavana stares in frustration at the guard urinating off the wall at them, and shakes her head. You must be joking. This is the quality of the guards? She mutters, scowling. When the Lady Belladonna shrieks at the guard, she chuckles mirthlessly. Serves him right. Her chuckles are cut off when the gate is frozen at a bare foot off the ground, before laughing with sheer, honest relief when her wife lifts the gate. She rushes under it, rapier drawn and facing the road, ready to protect Rose if needed.

[Biabri]

The desert woman rises up to her full height and glares maliciously towards the guard captain, she would get him later. For now... She drops to her knees and lowers her head to see below the gate, before calling on her power and speaking out loud, calling the powers of the sands another time today. The world twists visibly around her, and sand cascades outwards from her form.

You're safe on the other side of those gates, Lady Belladonna!

The world seems to re-align itself and then slide back into place about her, the sound of soft, foreign laughter slipping through the distorted mess she'd created, and then a confused sounding male voice, before it suddenly stops as the magic finishes.

[Rendel Nep]

Oridim gives a curt appreciative nod and ducks through the gap, exits the gatehouse and waits to be adminstrated by whatever government official handles the paper work.

[Hattish Thing]

The Splatter Path/City Gates - Night:

As the desperate group of survivors rush through the gates, Rose's knees begin to buckle under the overwhelming weight of the massive iron door, and a dull ache begins to spread up her spine. Finally, she falls to a knee before her muscular arms begin to shake and quiver violent. Finally, even her great strength fails to stand against the titanic door, causing her to buckle entirely, just barely sliding into the city before the gate crashes. As soon as she narrowly rushes through the gap, the City Gate closes with great speed, slamming into the ground with a resounding thud. The boom of iron door on cracked cobblestone is intimidating, and it rings with an air of finality. Guards from the rampart above arrive on the scene swiftly, clad in gray and navy uniforms. These men rush forward, ignoring the rest of you almost entirely as the begin to attach heavy steel bars to the door, further reinforcing the structure and ensuring that the only way up into the city was climbing the incredibly high walls. The way was shut, and nothing was getting into the city, or out. Several howls can be heard seconds later, followed by fierce scratching at the door, a sign that you may only have just narrowly escaped a gruesome fate.

The Captain of the Guard lurches down the tall stairs leading to and from the ramparts, gripping the railing tightly with a gauntlet-clad hand, a confused and somewhat sheepish expression upon his weathered face. "My Lady, you've returned! And with these... vagabonds, these offsiders at your side!" A helmet, cracked and scraped, is held under his arm, and a cloak can be seen worn over his shoulders. A large greatsword is worn at his back, and he looks upon the group with a look of confusion and prejudice. He lurches closer to the railing at the side of the stairs, revealing more of the man. At his left knee, a carved chunk of wood is bolted and strapped to what appears to be a stump limb. He was obviously some kind of warrior, and an old one judging by the wound and graying hair. The Captain of the Guard scowls towards each of you, continuing. "Have these miscreants dragged you here, broken curfew against your wishes? Have they threatened you? My Lady, you're wounded, which one of these fiends dared lay a hand upon the Lady of House Belladonna! These reprobates! You've but to give the order, My Lady, my men shall strike them down swiftly!"

Lady Belladonna frowns, her expression one of disgust. "You ignorant man. These people saved my life, rescued me from whatever foul thing your men allowed to roam out upon the Splatter Path! I could have been killed, you unsightly brute!" She continues to viciously reprimand the Guard Captain, despite the prominent wound in her side. After a moment, she glances towards the ramparts, or more specifically, towards the massive bolt-thrower siege weapons built into the stone towers above. "The ballistae, they're unmanned. Why haven't your men made proper use of and cleansed the path of those monstrosities! Under whose authority have you disbanded the engineers?" The Guard Captain frowns, standing tall before raising a hand to form a peculiar salute."By the orders of Count Lowls himself, official document and all! We're not to fire upon the creatures beyond the wall. We've enough strife within and limited resources, what with havin' to block off and barricade the plague quarters. City's gone to pot! Hope you and your offsider friends know what you've gotten yourselves into. The gates aren't openin' again! Consider my debt to you, My Lady, to be paid. Now be off with the rest of you, I've business to attend to. With that, the Guard Captain shakes his head and begins to step back up the stairs, towards the ramparts once more.

After a moment, Lady Belladonna groans in pain, clutching her side before muttering. "Idiot man."

"My medical contact is based around the largest clinic in the city, it's not far now. She'll know what to do. My strength is failing me, I fear. And some of you look the worse for wear as well. Follow me, if you will? I assure you, she'll take good care of you. We can discuss recompense there, once I've had this damned splinter removed."

"You're sure to be in a fine haze about now, if you've any questions, feel free to ask. It's such a shame you're arrived at Thrushmoor at a time like this..."

[Ilena]

I lay on the ground, feeling my body entirely in pain, i stop raging again and just ... lay ... i probably have torn a few muscles at least ... let alone the whole being mauled .... i lay here and catch my breath a little.

[TheFederalist]

"The Church, it appears, does not have the respect here that it should command anywhere in Ustalav..." was the utterance given by Lexi as a parting offering to the guard captain as the group left him behind, walking with the Lady. To her, it was suspicious, appealing to her vague paranoia coming from the disappearances and the treatment of her kind that she'd found in the reports back home. The events of the past few minutes only lent themselves to her belief that she would find no ally in a citizen of the city, nor would it be prudent to even try to seek one out. There were several theories she was willing to espouse, such as the possibility of an Urgathoan cult having found its way into either popularity or power, considering the fact that there was a rampaging plague, and abominations like what they had just faced (and would definitely find itself in the folio of the Wretched Corpse) still roamed the countryside unopposed, but she mentioned nothing of her thoughts.

"Recompense, Madam, is not something I'm willing to accept just yet. Come, we shall speed you to your physician, after which I have an act to accomplish. You are a resident of the city, I would assume? If so, why be outside the walls so late? And, of course, lies the question as to your driver. I am a servant of the Spiraling Comet, not the Pallid Princess, but even I may find proof of illness when I see it, and I saw mad driving, blood in his humors (phlegm, specifically), and yellowed fingernails. Were you aware he was possibly sick?"

[Eldest]

Lavana sheaths her sword again once it's clear nobody needs skewering, and winces at the scrabbling at the gate after it crashes to the ground. Upon hearing of the plague, she frowns. She'd have to go over her wife and herself carefully to try to squash any sort of disease that might have taken hold, but for the meantime she was willing to go to the physician that the Lady was suggesting.


Lavana
AC 22, HP 19 with two nonlethal damage
Buffs
+3 armor bonus for the next 4 hours.
Debuffs
carrier of mystery disease

[Rendel Nep]

I think we have you to you to thank for not getting eaten by the abomible tentacled beasts out there. Not sure they'd even batten an eye if it got us. He says with disdain towards the guards.

Here, take my shoulder. Oridim offers and leans to the Lady before tilting his neck to Lavana.

Is your wife alright or do we need to come back with a stretcher? I mean, she deserves rest from all that insane heroism...and a beer and probably a leg of Ham too after losing all that...stuff He asks before recalling the viscera that exploded off of Rose.

He snaps back to attention and puts on an expresssion that doesn't show he is bothered by what's going on.

[Hattish Thing]

City Gates/City of Thrushmoor - Night:

Lady Belladonna frowns deeply as Lexi mentions the church of Pharasma, an expression of disapproval upon her attractive, porcelain face. She clasps her delicate, gloved hands together before nodding curtly towards Lexi, despite her look of uncomfortable disapprobation. "You're one of them, are you?" She sighs before shaking her head slightly, causing her beautifully well-maintained yellow hair to brush against the shoulders of her exquisite gown. "My apologies, that was rude of me. You see, there are those within your order whose actions have, of late, shall we say... polarized public opinion of the Church. I'd explain further, yet, in truth, I've been away from this city for far too long. Alas, even I am not as in-the-know as I would like to be. Nylora will know more, I assure you." She nods assuredly before continuing. "I've been away for some time, it's true. You see, I'm what one would call a collector of the strange and exquisite, artifacts of occult importance and the like. I was meeting with a contact in Carrion Hill about a particularly interesting piece that I was considering purchasing for my collection. Unfortunately, my contact passed in his sleep a mere twenty-four hours before I arrived within Carrion Hill, the details are... gruesome. Regardless, I was stranded there for some time, for not many are willing to make the journey to Thrushmoor at a time like this. The driver was all I could find, but I assure you, I can take care of myself, though I appreciate your interest in my well-being, Pharasmin." Following her brief response, the noblewoman begins to move forward, clutching at her side after every few steps. Lady Belladonna seems quite familiar with the city, for she leads the small band of strangers through the streets with a confident expression upon her face.

The once-decadent city of Thrushmoor appears as a claustrophobic, labyrinthine system of grimy, repetitive brick walls atop dilapidated cobblestone streets which loosely connect to a sprawling mess of gothic houses and abandoned businesses, whose doors have been mostly shut and barred. Whipped by frequent storms, the ravages of time, and a brutal economical depression, the city looks worn and rugged, for no amount of care or paint could ever hope to erase the wear sustained upon the spume-blasted docks flanking Lake Encarthan, or upon the grimy, puddle-ridden streets of crumbling gray cobblestone. While the tangled network of wind-blasted homes and half-collapsed structures upon the lake show the damage of lashing waves and frequent flooding, those on the higher ground—the territory of the city's “quality”—posture as the homes of the upper class; wealthy businessmen, corrupt aristocrats, and popular artists. Contrary to the simple, shabby structures near the lake, the buildings located within the Upper Class district are confusing and cramped, surrounded by pristine spiked fences, sharp gables, and columned facades, and most tend to be three or more stories tall, causing the city's skyline to appear particular imposing.

In the distance, a tall, looming manor can be seen built upon a hill that overlooks the lich-lake.

--

Night has fallen now, and the bright and foreboding moon shines overhead, shrouded by layers of thick fog and dark clouds. The moonlight is reflected in the numerous puddles lining the cobblestone streets, the light from the moon blending in eerily with the light being given off by the dimly lit lanterns hanging off of poles set upon street-corners, or mounted on businesses to light up the gloomy way. Beleaguered men and women of Thrushmoor, dressed in threadbare garb that may once have been decadent and stylish shut their doors as the strangers draw near, while haggard city guards armed with curious, silver blades and blazing torches patrol the muddy streets alongside eerie men and women clad in a uniform resembling that of a stark white plague doctor's, set with red armbands. Battered stagecoaches can be seen abandoned in the cobblestone streets, while numerous, charred sections of the city appear to have been barricaded off in the distance, alleys and entrances clogged entirely with scorched debris and crumbling blocks of stone.

It looked almost as if the city had been the sight of some recent war.

After about twenty minutes of travel through the grimy city streets, Lady Belladonna leads you all through a tall archway and into the city square proper. Several large buildings composed of the same strange, gothic architecture possessed by the rest of Thrushmoor flank the city square, including what appears to be a sprawling courthouse, the city prison, and a small, and obviously overburdened clinic. At the center of the city square, a massive crucifix has been constructed, from which the horrific, charred corpse of some monstrous, colossal lycanthropic creature hangs, quite dead, it'd hide pocked with bullet-holes and burn marks. Dozens of ominous figures clad all in white and red move hurriedly about the outside of the clinic, where many wounded patrons can be seen set down upon makeshift operating tables barely protected by the heavy rain due to hastily crafted red and white pavilions.

One of the intimidating figures clad in a blood-spattered, white plague doctor uniform, similar to the one's spotted earlier approaches Lady Belladonna, and speaks quietly from behind his or her mask.

--

After Lady Belladonna finishes her hushed conversation with the blood-spattered doctor, the figure speaks to each of you, the voice muffled from beneath the mask. "Greetings, strangers."

"I am Dr. Nylora, of the League of Haemotheurgic Practitioners. Lady Belladonna mentioned your acts of bravery outside the City Gates, she speaks of you with high regard. It is good to know that some semblance of hope may still be found within our city's high walls, a most welcoming thought, indeed. Unfortunately, however, it seems you've arrived in Thrushmoor at a rather inconvenient point in time. A terrible plague roars through the city, and beasts, similiar to the one you narrowly avoided, stalk the streets. I'm afraid we're quite understaffed at the moment, due to our efforts in keeping the plague in check. If you suspect for a moment that you may have been exposed to the disease these creatures carry, do approach a Practitioner, we're identified easily enough by all the red and white. We're running relatively low on resources, however, for a friend and ally of Lady Belladonna, my clinic is always open."

"I can begin a curative transfusion immediately, should any of you feel concerned, free of charge, of course."

[Ilena]

Taking some time to rest and finally picking herself up from the muddy ground, and walking with the rest, "Are you ok my mate?" I walk along side her concern for her over anything else . As we march i walk slowly, exhausted , until we get to the clinic. "I was mauled by one of these ... i dont know but ... i could use some healing if you have time."

[TheFederalist]

The second the Lady mentioned the existence of other Pharasmins, there was an intensely visible twitch on Lexi's cheek, as she frowned even stronger and brought wrinkles to her nose in apparent distaste. Realizing that her expression could plausibly be misinterpreted, she quickly replied, deftly weaving a note of unquiet concern into her voice, "I know of those you speak of, and my... visit, if you will, was partially to deal with them. If you could kindly inform those relevant in the matter that these heretics will be dealt with by the Church shortly, I would greatly appreciate it. But, I suppose, this tarnishing of the Spiraling Comet shall wait, as we have to deliver you unto health sooner. And my concern is purely humane, as any should have for another. I enforce death, not wish it. Still, unfortunate you were placed into a position as such.", as she moved alongside the lady, her hands hidden yet ready to catch any fall.

The issues she would be dealing with in Thrushmoor seemed to be adding up, the tension and stress that were becoming obvious in her psych revealing themselves as she stared at the shambles of the Gothic sprawl that surrounded their path to Belladonna's 'contact'. It would take an enormous effort from her to fight through every single obstacle that she was likely to face, and the many more she knew she couldn't foresee in her efforts to deal with even one of the problems plaguing Thrushmoor. And, after the encounter with the beast, it felt like her determination was being drained, and she could not understand why. She had been a killing machine for what was getting close to a decade, an instrument of the Church, and now, what had happened? She shook her head, not thinking about her movement as she did so.

She knew what she had to do to push herself out of the sudden fear she'd developed. The morning would bring a hunt.

---

As they delivered the noble into the hands of the haemotheurge, Lexi had to struggle to not show her revulsion in her location. The hanging beast had been acceptable if odd, but the uniformed 'physicians', and she struggled to describe them as such, threw her senses for a run as her paranoia grew, and her eyes slid over each's figure. She had no level of trust for practitioners of such arts, not in a landscape as close to the horrors of the Age of Darkness as Thrushmoor. She did, for the sake of staying out of the city's suspicions at the very least, keep a neutral expression as they were approached by the doctor. "I remain untouched, but I appreciate the offer." she said to him, though an eye followed the lycanthrope at their side as she accepted the offer. She wanted to tell it to avoid the treatment, but she could not, not right in front of the man.

It appears this city may well be discounted as being against me. The pregnancies, the Count's downright insanity in behavior as a ruler and his looking into the far darkness where no man should look, the presence of the League and its questionable ways, the horrors of the outside... There is a connection here I cannot witness, though it yet lies before my eyes. The Church has left Thrushmoor unseen far too long.

[Rendel Nep]

Er, Not to be bold, but does divine magic work on this disease? I've heard vague mumblings about magic diseases possibly being resistant to Remove Disease but much to my regret, I never delved into the lore about such things. Oridim asks pentively.

If it's otherwise just a logistical problem that is, not enough suitable clerics, then maybe I could offer a benediction to those most in need? he proposes.

If so you might want to secure protective googles for your patients. It seems everyone across the border can't bear my benevolent brightness.

[IZ42]

Ada trails slightly behind the others, shaking her head of the psychosis of her dark half. Having given up speaking Varisian, she switches to Taldane again. Her dialect is rough, but she seems to be fluent, "I am beginning to suspect my draw to Thrushmoor is misguided. I remember not what that thing on the road was. Did someone see?" She pauses for a moment, tapping her chin, "How successful are blood transfusion efforts at slowing plague?"

[Rendel Nep]

I saw tentacles shooting forth forcing themselves unwholesomely into Rose's mouth. I choose that phrasing because such a vision belongs in the depths of the lower planes Oridim says quietly.

[Biabri]

Ayanyetei shrugs and nods towards Nylora. "Perhaps it would be best if we took some anyway, just in case? After all, I have no idea for how long I will be staying here, this place might take some time for me to work out. I need to find what I'm looking for, and have no idea where to start, even." She pauses to consider something for a moment, and then something unreadable crosses her face.

"Although, as I am possibly the only Will-Weaver in this time and place, perhaps my power would be enough to destroy the stuff anyway. The disease would crumple easily beneath the invocation of the sands."

[Eldest]

Lavana spends some time slowly going over her wife and herself with her particular brand of negative energy healing, grimacing in pain as she does so.

[roll0] healing on Lavana
[roll1] MSC vs 22 to cure the disease.

[roll2] healing on Lavana
[roll3] MSC vs 22 to cure the disease.

[roll4] healing on Rose
[roll5] MSC vs 22 to cure the disease.

[roll6] healing on Rose
[roll7] MSC vs 22 to cure the disease.


Lavana
AC 22, HP 36 with six nonlethal damage
Buffs
+3 armor bonus for the next 4 hours.
Debuffs
carrier of mystery disease

[Hattish Thing]

Haemotheurgic Clinic/City of Thrushmoor - Night:

The masked Haemotheurgic Practicioner turns their head towards Ada, cold blue eyes staring out from behind eerie glass lenses built into the pristine white mask and hood. The figure clasps their gloved hands together, steepling their fingers and tapping their fingertips against one another once the psychic requests further information. After clearing their throat, the figure speaks, voice still muffled behind the sinister mask. "At first, chirurgeonic ministration proved an effective deterrent to the plague which ravaged this city. Unfortunately, this second epidemic has proven far more resistant to the haemotransfusive sciences. You see, the League and I were called into the city some time ago to deal with the original plague, some choleric affliction. Within weeks the disease had been all but eliminated, thanks to our efforts. Unfortunately, a second, far more troublesome affliction began to spread through the city some time after. It's origins are unclear, but we believe it to be a particularly virulent strain of silverblooded lycanthropy, unlike anything we've encountered before. As far as we can tell, the disease is spread only through violent contact with an infected creature, or an exchange of bodily fluids. Meaning, it's hardly contagious in the classical sense. Unfortunately, the people of Thrushmoor are a suspicious lot, and most seem to believe that the disease is spread via infected water, resulting in several accounts of accidental death by dehydration. The fact that the Count refuses to emerge from his manor atop Iris Hill and address the situation is only exacerbating the circumstances, I'm afraid."

"Regardless, we do what we can."

"Though we still know little of this particular disease, the infection appears to operate in stages, progressively becoming more and more resistant to curative measures. Fortunately, a successful transfusion appears to, at the very least, be of some relief to victims of the affliction. Some fortunate individuals have even reported a full recovery after a successful transfusion, though, I warn you, this is far from a common occurrence."

--

Dr. Nylora nods curtly to Ada after finishing her brief explanation before gesturing towards the others. "Come, we've little time. Those of you who'd prefer to refrain from chirurgeonic ministration may wait beneath the pavilion, though I must implore you seek medical assistance should you fear an infection, for the good of us all." The figure turns at this point, before beginning to lead those who volunteered for transfusion into the somewhat weathered, and dangerously overpopulated clinic. Dr. Nylora escorts you through a claustrophobic labyrinth of rooms upon rooms of frail-looking patients sat upon dingy beds and tattered cots, their arms connected to intravenous lines and tubes attached to pulsating sacks of bright crimson fluid, hanging overhead. Medical assistants clad in the eerie white and red uniform of the League of Haemotheurgic Practicioners wander from patient to patient, ensuring that the curative haemotransfusive process goes as intended.

Soon, Dr. Nylora leads each of the volunteers to a more private area at the back of the clinic, before she abruptly turns to face the volunteers. "Pause for a moment, if you will. This won't be long, I assure you." Quickly, Dr. Nylora retrieves a key from a deep pocket before unlocking an office door before vanishing into the dim room ahead, shutting the door behind them. Several minutes pass before Dr. Nylora emerges once more from the mysterious room, locking it behind them before offering up several curious syringes, filled with the same unusually bright, crimson fluid seen elsewhere within the clinic. The figure clasps their hands together uncomfortably before speaking softly. "I'm afraid I've hardly the clinic space, nor the time required to employ an intravenous line for each of you. Therefore, you'll need to make do with these. Have no fear, the needle doesn't hurt much at all. Simply strike, syringe in hand, at the deep femoral vein, and press down gently. You'll feel a slight sting, and then... all better. At Lady Belladonna's request, I've included an additional, special dose of pureblood within an extra set of syringes, one for each of you, should you have need of it. Consider yourselves lucky, we've few of these left. Refined blood, highly invigorating, straight from the halls of the chiruregeonic citadel. Do act wisely with these, however, if you would."

"They're quite... addictive."

--

OOC: You each have received two syringes of eerie crimson fluid from Dr. Nylora. One is meant to be injected now, while the other seems to be meant for later use.

[Eldest]

Lavana peers down at the blood vials, pondering her choices. She nods, and places them gently inside a reinforced pocket, where she normally keeps her medical and embalming tools. No sense in breaking them.


Lavana
AC 22, HP 36 with 7 nonlethal damage
3/10 spell points
Buffs
+3 armor bonus for the next 4 hours.
Debuffs
carrier of mystery disease

[Rendel Nep]

"I thank you for these but I'm not sure I can accept. The use of a serum comprised of blood from an unknown source? I have no idea if the owner has given their consent or for that matter is capable of doing so. I also don't want to accidentally get addicted if I'm intending to eventually leave. I also don't want plumb...plume... plebitis." He shakes in his in uncertain disapproval but severely struggles with that last word.
"Sorry for showering you all in spit. Anyway. Plebitis is not something you want when running may come crucial to your survival, not when you're jamming needles that big into your thigh or that's at least what Seraph Maverick told me. More or less." He concludes and one could almost feel the awe as he mentions that name.

[Ilena]

Taking the two and handing them to her wife, "What do you think? Should we trust these people?" She asks.

[Biabri]

The desert shaman spins one of the things between her fingers before narrowing her eyes and clenching her fist momentarily.

"Fermural, what?"

An expression of clouded confusion dominates her expression, making it abundantly clear her lack of understanding regarding whatever strange anatomical area the man is talking about. She shifts the other into her extradimensional pocket after a moment's pause, speaking aloud.

Open the path to my place of storage amongst the sands!

The other points awkwardly towards her arm.

[TheFederalist]

Though she had no intention of using them, Lexi accepted the syringes, shaking her head as she did. With both held in between her knuckles, she brought them up to her face, careful to not let the needles point in her direction as she did so. Of course, it was unlikely that she'd be able to figure out its contents other than "blood" by looking at it, and years of being covered in gore did not give her the ability to find out in any other way. Instead, she strapped them to a loop on her corset, visibly making sure the needles were pointed at the thickest leather on her. None needed to be a psychiatrist to notice that her behavior was little more than paranoia dripping out of a cup. "...Right. Thank you, Doctor, I'll use this in private. A lady can't be seen putting things in herself out here, now can she?
" she said, in a polite cordiality.

"Say, this disease... When did each strain appear, exactly?"

[Hattish Thing]

Haemotheurgic Clinic/City of Thrushmoor - Night:

Once Oridim begins to speak, Doctor Nylora tightens their fingers over one another, a curious and vaguely painful-looking gesture. The somewhat ominously dressed Practitioner cranes their neck forward as Oridim continues, before uncomfortably beginning to wring their white, rubbery gloves together, an unsettling motion made only more sinister by the tightening of the gloves over the Practitioner's long, spidery fingers. The stomach-churning sound of the tightening of thick rubber blends in with the sickening gurgle of fluid pumping to and from patients across the hall, creating a soft, disturbing cacophony of uncomfortable noises, babbling in the background of the claustrophobic clinic. The Haemotheurgic Practitioner continues to tighten their protective gloves as Oridim speaks, their unknowable expression hidden beneath a menacing avian cowl, the color of fresh winter snow. As the cleric draws near the end of his statement, Doctor Nylora coughs politely beneath their mask and cowl, before chuckling softly and condescendingly towards the man, a grating noise which echoes from beneath the mask.

"Aheh. Good sir, I think you may be somewhat confused as to the nature of our organization."

"You see, good sir, we are a small, but dedicated organization of alchemical experts, scholar-surgeons, and medical professionals based out of the University of Lepidstadt, the most prestigious college in all of Ustalav. No doubt you've heard of it? Though, by the look of you. Perhaps not. Our goals, thought lofty, are quite charitable, you'll find. We seek, primarily, to heal the wounded and cure the diseased wherever possible, for as little a cost as is feasible, ensuring that no man, woman, or child goes without the medicine they need. We accomplish our goals through the use of chirurgeonic ministration, also known among certain academic circles as the haemotransfusive sciences."

"Not that you would know much about that, priest."

--

There's an uncomfortable pause here as Doctor Nylora steps slightly closer towards Oridim, thoroughly confident despite their lesser stature. The doctor continues, their tone authoritative and self-assured. "The medical term you're so gruesomely butchering is known as "phlebitis", priest. Essentially, phlebitis is vein inflammation due to one or more blood clots, which can occur should a user botch an attempted injection, whether by plunging the needle into the flesh at an incorrect angle, or by simply failing to administer the curative substance within the proper injection site upon the body, which, in this case, would be the femoral vein, which is located around the mid-thigh. Should you and your companions wish, I could point at the exact spot upon an anatomical map."

"As for the common syringes themselves, each individual syringe contains one sixteenth of a dose of enhanced pureblood, mixed with the alchemically enhanced crimson humors of those charitable individuals kind and good-hearted enough to donate to the League's Bloodbank, located within the depths of the Chiruregeonic Citadel!"

The figure beams at this point, clearly awfully proud of their explanation.

--

Once Lexi speaks, Doctor Nylora turns slightly, wringing their hands once more. "Hm? What a curious question, madame. The original, choleric affliction developed into a total epidemic around three months ago, to my knowledge. It was around this time that Count Lowls requested our presence within the city, though, to be entirely honest, I was not a part of this original wave of Haemotheurgic Practitioners. Regardless, the choleric epidemic was utterly eradicated after four or five weeks due to our actions."

"This... new disease, it started flaring up among the populace not soon after."

"Why ask, madame?

[Rendel Nep]

"Aheh. Good sir, I think you may be somewhat confused as to the nature of our organization."

"You see, good sir, we are a small, but dedicated organization of alchemical experts, scholar-surgeons, and medical professionals based out of the University of Lepidstadt, the most prestigious college in all of Ustalav. No doubt you've heard of it? Though, by the look of you. Perhaps not. Our goals, thought lofty, are quite charitable, you'll find. We seek, primarily, to heal the wounded and cure the diseased wherever possible, for as little a cost as is feasible, ensuring that no man, woman, or child goes without the medicine they need. We accomplish our goals through the use of chirurgeonic ministration, also known among certain academic circles as the haemotransfusive sciences."

"Not that you would know much about that, priest."

Ooooooh...charity! You should have started with that. I actually come from Lastwall and would have probably remained an illiterate Horse farmer if an ang... if I hadn't found this little holy symbol in the fields. Anyway I never got around to do the medical course... too many necromancers to vanquish and much too much undead to smite. He exclaims finally understanding what being said at him

Anyway, have you consider the use pamphlets and iconography? It really does wonders in explaining one's cause to the public. Especially when you start using words like Chirurgeonic ministration. Otherwise people are going to stare at you and give you blank looks and then makes assumptions about you after only understanding a small portion of what was said." He cheerfully suggests.

Diplomacy check to not offend the intellect of Dr Nyora

[TheFederalist]

Lexi could not help but let loose a smirk as the doctor let loose upon the self confident priest. There was something endearing in the absurdities of their reactions, but it was only a temporary respite from the swirling worries that plagued her mind. As soon as the doctor began to explain the history of the land's contagion, the furrows on her once untouched face returned again. Right as they were invited? There was little chance that this was a coincidence, especially considering nothing about the organization seemed trustworthy. Their supplies of blood and the money required to run their operation was hardly something that a "charitable organization" would be capable of outputting. There wasn't enough pure blood in the area to make such an organized movement make sense, but she withheld the many comments she could make. "Historical interest. A timeline helps me understand, and understanding is the first step for me to try and help the city best."

[Ilena]

Frowning at her wifes lack of answer, she clearly must be tired, alright she says to the lady, "ALright, jab this curative thing into me."

[Eldest]

Anyway I never got around to do the medical course... too many necromancers to vanquish and much too much undead to smite. He exclaims finally understanding what being said at him.

Lavana shies away behind her wife upon hearing that, and nods at her wife being injected. She carefully does the same herself, not reacting much at the pain. Her casting did worse.

[Hattish Thing]

Haemotheurgic Clinic/City of Thrushmoor - Night:

The haemotheurgic practitioner pauses for a few seconds, glancing towards Lexi before steepling their long, spider fingers, raising their chin slightly higher beneath their ominous, stark white, bird-like plague mask. The rubbing of whatever uncomfortable material the doctor's thick gloves are made of echoes throughout the battered, run-down clinic before their muffled voice disturbs the repetitive noise. "Ah, of course. It is good to see that there are still those who treat the well-being of the city as a priority. Though we are many, and our work is as efficient as it is imperative to the survival of this settlement, there is only so much we can do about certain... situations. The population are becoming restless, you see."

"The Hunt only makes matters worse."

--

Without explaining what they meant, the alchemical surgeon turns away from the Pharasmin, instead focusing primarily upon the barbarian woman and her wife. The surgeon chuckles softly from beneath their mask before stepping closer, uncomfortably so, until the doctor's blood-spattered robes brush against the skinwalker's bare flesh. The surgeon reaches forward with a surprisingly strong grip, resting a gloved hand upon Rose's shoulder before speaking, their ominous statement made only all the more comical by their muffled quality of voice.

"You'll want to chew on this."

The surgeon reaches for a clean rag from within the depths of their robe, offering it to Rose. Regardless of whether or not the barbarian accepts the offering, Doctor Nylora retrieves the curative drought from Rose's pack, handling the large syringe with great care. The doctor leads Rose to a small bench nearby, before speaking once more. "Lie down, good miss, and bear the flesh of your thigh. I'll need the blessings of a good bit of lighting to ensure the procedure goes as needs be."

--

Once this is done, Doctor Nylora kneels before injecting Rose with the syringe, her motions both delicate and caring until pressure is required. As the contents of the syringe are pumped into Rose's veins, a gruesome sensation begins to overcome her. The pressure builds as her bloodstream becomes infused with the alchemical concoction, until the sensation is almost unbearable. The area around the injection begins to almost writhe, and burn, and boil beneath the flesh, a horribly uncomfortable combination of highly unpleasant sensations.

As the last bit of the contents of the syringe are properly injected, an almost physical blockage temporarily pauses the process, before the mysterious blockage too disappears into the depths of Rose's thigh. Once the process is complete, Doctor Nylora steps back.

"There. I've done what I can, now, I'm afraid, duty calls. I've many patients I must attend to."

"I'll have one of my assistants escort you out, unless you've further questions."

--

Outside the Haemotheurgic Clinic/City of Thrushmoor - Night:

Lady Belladonna, still clad all in delicate yellow, pale but healthier in appearence, steps forward to speak with each of the strangers once again as Dr. Nylora's assitant vanishes back into the depths of the claustrophobic clinic. She appears to have received a decent amount of healing during the time spent within the clinic, but her eyes are still slightly glazed over, and a weak smile can be seen upon her perfect, porcelain-shaded face. Despite her cheery attitude, she still appears quite exhausted. "Mm! Good, you're all looking better already! What did you think of Dr. Nylora? She's a lovely woman, quite the talented surgeon. We're good friends! I suppose I haven't much of an opportunity to introduce myself. Allow me to take the time to do so? You see, I'm a collector of antiquities, of a sort. My travels take me throughout Ustalav, but primarily I find myself working in and around Thrushmoor. The whole city is standing upon a veritable treasure trove of archaeological opportunities, spiraling ruins set upon spiraling ruins! Truly remarkable!"

"Ah, but, I'm droning on, my apologies. Now, I happen to own a small bit of land here in Thrushmoor, due to the frequency of my visitations. It was my grandfathers, long ago, bless his soul. After his passing, I inherited the place. A small manorhouse a little ways away, quite nice, you'll find."

"Seeing as the guards aren't letting people leave the city until the plague is properly dealt with, it seems we'll be stuck here for a while. I'd feel awful simply leaving you to find some inn somewhere to rest in, therefore, if you'd like, you could stay with me for the time being within the manorhouse. It's the least I can do to repay you."

"What say you?"

[Biabri]

Ayanyetei shudders at the sight of the needleplay, such things a far cry from the medicine of her homeland and the way that they would treat diseases and spreading of illness. It seems unnatural to her, but she supposes that is somewhat the point of the stuff. It'll do if it helps others, that's what she thinks. That's what matters, as long as it's effective... But...

She stomps on the dark seed and shakes her head firmly as she departs, jabbing her own thing into herself, trying to model the movement off of the one shown on Rose, clenching her other fist but keeping her eye on where she's jabbing it in.

When the group come across Lady Belladonna once more, Ayanyetei bows her head to her, wincing still a little from the sensation in her leg.

"She is a healer, though a strange one, not a natural one like those that I, and my kind are used to. She does good, and this makes her a good person." Ayanyetei stops wincing to smile graciously for a moment, before her forehead scrunches up ever so slightly in thought.

"Thank you for your offer, Lady Belladonna. I will not take up any room, I can make my own space if you could just spare me something soft to lie on. I'm not used to sleeping in...
Well, these temperatures... At all. You are very kind, and in a time when kindness is something I need ever so much of..."

[Rendel Nep]

Your Friend was a bit...eccentric. Once I got her to explain things I was fine with it. Although, initially when she left details out on how her organisation was sourcing their blood it sounded too vague to not be sinister to me. Bearing in mind I consider myself dumb and ignorant probably as much as anyone in present company has concluded, maybe advice her to introduce herself as a representative of a hospitalier charity in the first sentence if she encounters foreigners again. They'll be waaaay more co operative. Oridim recommends
.
Anyway I would be very keen indeed to not to have to look for a bed in this weather. You grace us with your Hospitality, Lady Belladonna. He agrees enthusiastically.

[TheFederalist]

Lexi nodded at Belladonna as the group stepped out, bidding the Doctor farewell, a light wrinkle on her nose the only vision of any discomfort on her face. The doctor's intentions were beyond her ability to understand, as philanthropic as they seemed on the surface, but she still had little in the way of trust for her. Trust was not freely given in times of crisis, and for the hunter, there never was a time out of crisis. "Seemed like a true party hound." she said, her voice low not out of wariness, but a certain tiredness. "I appreciate the offer, Lady, and I'm not willing to turn it down, but I have my mind set to hunting the beast in the morn, and thus, I'd like to find a library. I cannot rest when that... creature, if I dare describe it that way still roams the roads outside. If your manor, and I apologize if this asks too much, has any collection of tomes on creatures or even the arcane, may I use them?"

[IZ42]

The ulfen woman hovered near the back, trying to stay out of the anyone's direct attention. Ada had refused all treatment offered, as she was fairly unharmed. "I think a manor would be preferable to whatever taverns this town might offer, so long as it is warm and dry. Thank ye for your generosity."

[Hattish Thing]

City of Thrushmoor - Night/To the Manorhouse:

The noblewoman nods her head curtly towards those who elected to stay, clasping her delicate hands together before wincing slightly, her wound still rather sore. She exhales sharply before speaking, her cheery but pained voice breaking the monotony of the sound of bitter-cold rain upon grime-splattered stone.

"I'm glad I can be of some assistance. A bit of comfort, no matter how small, goes a long way at a time like this, wouldn't you say?"

After a reserved, melancholic smile, Lady Belladonna begins to step forward, piercing the veil of heavy rain and mist, through the drab, cobblestone streets of the sickly city of Thrushmoor. During the long walk through the labyrinthine streets of the sprawling, battered metropolis, the noblewoman remains quiet and reserved, deep in thought, perhaps still quite traumatized by the events of her unfortunate carriage encounter. The once-decadent city of Thrushmoor appears as a claustrophobic, labyrinthine system of grimy, repetitive brick walls atop dilapidated cobblestone streets which loosely connect to a sprawling mess of gothic houses and abandoned businesses, whose doors have been mostly shut and barred.

Whipped by frequent storms, the ravages of time, and a brutal economical depression, the city looks worn and rugged, for no amount of care or paint could ever hope to erase the wear sustained upon the spume-blasted docks flanking Lake Encarthan, or upon the grimy, puddle-ridden streets of crumbling gray cobblestone. While the tangled network of wind-blasted homes and half-collapsed structures upon the lake show the damage of lashing waves and frequent flooding, those on the higher ground—the territory of the city's “quality”—posture as the homes of the upper class; wealthy businessmen, corrupt aristocrats, and popular artists. Contrary to the simple, shabby structures near the lake, the buildings located within the Upper Class district are confusing and cramped, surrounded by pristine spiked fences, sharp gables, and columned facades, and most tend to be three or more stories tall, causing the city's skyline to appear particular imposing.

In the distance, the city's massive iron clocktower looms, an ominous silhouette against the bright and foreboding moon overhead, shrouded by the layers of thick fog and dark clouds.

--

As Lady Belladonna continues to lead the travelers through the twists and turns of the desiccated, hive-like city, the wind begins to pick up and the fierce thunderstorm roaring overhead appears to grow in intensity. The city guardsmen and their eerie, uniform-clad Haemotheurgic Practitioner colleagues begin to head in for shelter, advising lonely stragglers meandering about the puddle-pocked cobblestone streets to do the same. Although lanterns have been placed on street-corners, or mounted on businesses to light up the shadowy way through the narrow, winding streets of cracked cobblestone, the streets are still quite dark, and rather shadowy, especially seeing as town guards have begun to put out more and more of the lanterns. Lady Belladonna frowns as several guardsmen put out the light within a nearby lantern, gesturing back towards the others before speaking softly.

"A curfew, it seems. This bodes ill. We should hurry, come along."

After navigating through the darkened streets for several more minutes, the small gathering of outsiders arrive down the street from a tall, vaguely sinister looking old manorhouse. Yellow paint flakes off the slightly crooked building, and a majority of the windows have all been boarded up ahead. Although the dilapidated yellow manorhouse somehow comes across as vaguely unsettling, the dozens of angry looking, mud-splattered low-class citizens of Thrushmoor gathered around the house armed with torches, rusted implements, and battered tools are of more immediate concern. A streak of lightning crashes down nearby, striking the church steeple visible just down the street. Lady Belladonna gasps and steps back, bumping into the Pharasmin as she does so. The frightening streak of lightning briefly illuminates the ominous silhouettes of the small gathering of people just ahead, blocking the path through to her home. A powerfully-built dwarven warrior stands about thirty feet away from the door, his massive arms crossed, a surly expression upon his bearded face while the crowd surrounds him. A great burst of thunder accompanies the bolt of lightning, and when the cacophonous roar fades, the sound of wicked, wet laughter can be heard.

"Ye shoulda stayed outta Thrushmoor, woman."

A thin and sickly-looking man clad in a sweaty, tattered gray suit steps forward, turning away from the dwarf, a chipped and oddly serrated razor held in his hands, alongside a torch. The man's glittering bronze teeth shine in the dim light, his face contorted into a twisted, threatening expression of mindless hatred. He raises a hand up to move some greasy, oddly thick gray hair out of his face, scratching at the side of one of his bushy, unkempt mutton chop sideburns as he does so. "Don't you take another step, witch! Yer pa's not around to protect ye anymore." The man spits at the ground in front of Lady Belladonna, before letting out a dark chuckle of satisfaction as she recoils. The crowd of foul-smelling workers and tradesmen chuckle as the noblewoman steps back. "Yer the one wot brought the outsiders in through the gates! Yer fond of the foreign types, eh? Like grandfather like granddaughter. We all know who's at fault, we know precisely what, don't we! Outsiders, this city's finished due to the likes of them!" The foul man begins to ominously step forward, tapping his razor against his torch, causing the sound to echo.

"I say begone with ye, and the likes of 'em, them wot brought the plague!"

--

https://i.imgur.com/5Pg0b89.png

Key:

LE = Lexi.
OR = Oridim.
LB = Lady Belladonna.
AY = Ayan.
AD = Ada.
GM = Gray-Suited Man.
DO = Mysterious Dwarf.

[Ilena]

Sitting up in her room, with the lights off , but being her heritage, she never needs light to see ... a bullet spins in her fingers, over and over again, as she watches whats going on outside. Already sure that if anyone comes through that door who isnt welcome ... well, they wont be walking out again. For once Elayna is happy that her life is secret, that others dont know she exists. She gets to be nice inside where its dry and warm, rather then outside in the pouring rain. A sigh escapes her lips, little larger incisors would be seen should someone else be there, and she thinks to herself, "Stupid people .. blaming her sister for the plague, obviously they didnt cause it. But humans fear, and in that fear attack whatever they can ... its one of the reasons she is happy to have the gun, her trusty pistol. Custom made its beautifully engraved and incredibly deadly.

A glance outside again, she sees a group of travelers approach .. different from the peasants outside, perking up a little, hmmm ... hey Liv is home ... why is she walking? Wheres the carriage? Who are those people with her? Concern races through her heart, shes limping ... shes hurt ... something happened on the road. Elayna knows how dangerous those roads can be, and its dark ... damn her ... she should have taken her body guard, thats why she has him! Ugh ... some words will have to be shared when they are in private. Slipping the round into the chamber and closing it with a flick, things are going to get interesting ....

[Rendel Nep]

Aww C'mon, I just want some sleep... Oridim mutters as he notices the rabble.

Lady Belladonna say the word I'll bring divine wrath upon him. Especially since he's forgotten who unbound his ancestors from the Whispering tyrant. He says sternly and loud enough for the men confronting the group to hear.

[Hamste]

The dwarf is a strange sight. Physically, he looked pretty normal for a dwarf. His body was covered in large muscles and he was nearly as wide as he was tall. He has a long carefully braided brown beard that went down to his stomach. More than a few teeth are missing from his mouth and his nose appears to have been broken and healed improperly multiple times. All pretty normal if a bit ugly.

The strangeness comes from his equipment and how clean he was. Unlike many dwarven fighters, this one was with out the many pounds of metal armor that many dwarfs wore. Instead he wore plain simple clothing, with out a single stain anywhere on it, though currently it is getting drenched. Similarly, his face is free of dirt and his hair is free of tangles.

What is more, he carries no shield and even his weapon looked delicate at least compared to the hammers and axes many dwarves were known to carry around. Currently the sword remains in the sheath.

His face breaks into a smile when he see the reinforcements.

Four more armed combatants enter the fray? How are you still feeling confident enough to run your mouth? I'm pretty sure I could take five of you lousy buggers myself. Four if I was trying to do it with out killing you.
The dwarf says. He still hasn't moved from his spot while he awaits the order.

My character has been readying an action to draw his sword if the enemy starts approaching

[IZ42]

Ada sighs disgustedly. She steps forward through her erstwhile companions, just slightly ahead of Lady Belladonna. Her hair was slicked with rain, darkening it from vibrant scarlet to an almost arterial color as she stared directly at the old man, a smile plastered on her face that didn't quite reach her eyes, "I smell no plague here, old man. What I do smell is your fear. It exudes off the waterlogged cadaver you call your body. Remove yourself and your friends from the path lest my hair gets redder before the night passes."


Moving to the square just in front of and above Lady Belladonna and using that intimidate roll on discord on the old man.

[TheFederalist]

Stepping to the right of the advancing Ada with the exact same idea in mind, Lexi brought her hands to her hips, dangerously close to the grips of her glimmering sickles. She ran a single finger down the arching blade of one, as she loudly said "Roight, lads, feck off with your drunken shantay before I kick each of you in the nutters. The laday's got places to beh!", adopting the backwaters Ustalavic accent she'd heard her entire life, the rage she conveyed in her voice being palpable.

[Hattish Thing]

City of Thrushmoor - Night/To the Manorhouse:

The grime-splattered, gray-clad leader of the small mob gathered across the muddy cobblestone road clenches his hairy fists, gripping his wickedly serrated, oversized straight razor so tightly his strangely bruised knuckles turn white. While a majority of the filthy cityfolk begin to nervously trudge off and slink away into the many dirty allies surrounding the large housing buildings flanking the street to Lady Belladonna's Manorhouse, the spiteful man in the gray suit adjusts his tattered ascot, before spitting a thoroughly disgusting wad of phlegm and tobacco paste towards Ada's face. "Hah, you ain't gonna scare me, woman. I ain't afraid o' the likes of you." The man begins to step forward menacingly, cackling through the rain, spit dribbling down his face as he wipes a lock of greasy, wet hair out of his bloodshot eyes. Just as he steps forward again and raises his left hand as if to gesture with the razor towards Ada, the other members of the small mob gathered behind him begin to speak up, telling him off. "Balvin, we should go. They... They won't be around forever." The gray-suited man doesn't respond well to that, his furious expression growing more and more fearsome with each word uttered. Just as it looks as if the man will charge forward and attack one of the entourage, Lexi begins to speak, addressing the crowd. Though her words are ominously punctuated by the occasional crack of thunder, the eerie atmosphere and unnerving warning given by the Pharasmin seems to strike a chord within several of the larger men within the angry mob. They look around with looks of superstitious fear in their eyes, and as they begin to look from outsider to outsider with a paranoid expression on each of their hostile faces, several of the band begin to walk away briskly, eager to leave.

However, the man with the large razor doesn't seem to respond the same way. Instead, he only seems to grow angrier and more malicious, his beady eyes settling on Lady Belladonna, who has begun to smile softly towards Lexi in appreciation of her words. "How dare you... Bringin' this filth into our good city! You consortin' with strangers, what be threatenin' good citizens of high moral standing!" Balvin, the gray-suited man shakes his head, grinding his yellowed teeth as he approaches, shoes squelching in the mud. "Judge Wardwell will be hearin' about this, 'bout how yer outsider friends started threatenin' me and mine, Belladonna. An' if Wardwell won't hear us, Murtagh will." Lady Belladonna merely stands tall, silently, much to Balvin's annoyance. Rage flickers across his face before the man raises his razor aggressively and lunges forward as if to bring it down with a crazed, murderous look on his face. "Quit smilin' at me witch, afore I split that rolly grin o' yers a stretch wider!" Lady Belladonna shrieks, just as one of the larger members of the mob behind Balvin moves forward, gripping the gray-suited man, stopping him just as he raises his weapon. "Balvin, let's get outta here, we can always come back later... Better odds, jus' strategy, Balvin, sir." The gray-suited man growls fiercely before lowering his weapon slowly, eyeing each of the strangers up and down before stepping away and spitting in the mud. "This ain't over. Mark my words..."


With that, the mob begins to disperse entirely, returning back down the grimy streets and darkened alleys from whence they came, just as the storm grows worse and worse. As the wind howls and the black clouds in the dark sky rage on, Lady Belladonna frowns deeply, hanging her head down and fighting back tears. After sobbing quietly in place for several seconds, she clenches her fists and speaks, gratitude clear in her frail but melodious voice. “Thank you, each of you, from the bottom of my heart. My sincerest apologies, that should have never happened. I cannot believe he'd have the audacity to threaten me here, before my own home! Please, think nothing of them. Local ne'erdowells, nothing more, each of low character." Lady Belladonna sighs deeply, steadying herself as the fierce wind blows at her elegant yellow dress. “Let's just... move along.” With that, Lady Belladonna steps forward, rushing towards Urgoc with a sad smile upon her porcelain face. "Urgoch, you look well. Thank you for... keeping that at bay,it does my heart good to know that I've still you to rely upon. Now come inside, you'll catch a cold!" The noblewoman proceeds to unlock the door to the small manorhouse, passing a dried up fountain set in the middle of an ivy-draped courtyard. After unlocking the door, Lady Belladonna steps inside and sets a lantern in one of the few, non-boarded windows, before gesturing to the others.

"Do come in! Let us seek shelter from this dreadful storm."


--

City of Thrushmoor - Night/The Manorhouse: Ambience: (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sCgqiOzXE-g&t=174s)

The tight, but cozy common room of this dusty brick and wood manorhouse is modest one, packed with all manner of strange knick-knacks and foreign articles. Crowded bookshelves filled with a variety of bizarre titles line the walls of the sweet-smelling chamber. Incense burns atop a large mahogany table, lined with glittering gilded accents of faded gold. Portraits of severe looking individuals clad in noble's garb hang from the walls, each slightly crooked, while dozens of glass cases filled with miniature seafaring vessels can be seen set against the dark brick walls. A tall fireplace depicting what appears to be the mouth of a djinn belching flames rests against the farthest wall, surrounded by a brilliant yellow rug and several old, but comfortable looking yellow floral-patterned couches and chairs. Many strange objects and curiosities flank the fireplace and stairs towards the south of the common room lead to a second floor. An ominous, simple wooden door hangs slightly ajar, one that appears to perhaps lead somewhere below the household. Lady Belladonna begins to move about her home quickly, wiping layers of dust off of furniture and frowning. "I apologize for the quality of my home at this time. In truth, it sees little use, and Urgoch doesn't seem to mind the dust."

"Still, I'm a resoureful woman! Help me light these candles while I prepare the dinner table." Lady Belladonna proceeds to retrieve a small, thin wand from a secret area within a drawer, before flicking the wand twice and managing to produce several bowls of lukewarm soup. "I'm afraid it's not much, but I've a wand for this sort of situation. If you would, dinner is served? It might not seem like much, but it's good for you, I assure you." After several moments of quietly enjoying the rather bland soup in the candlelight, Lady Belladonna begins to speak.

"I... can't begin to thank you enough for rescuing me from that vile creature on the Splatter Path. Without you, I wouldn't be here now, enjoying this meal. Yet, with the state of the city being what it is, I'm afraid I may need to make a further request for your assistance. You see, a business contact and personal friend of mine, Agrimus Arcanon, owns a small museum in a section of the city called Old Thrushmoor, with his daughter, Zoella. I'm scheduled to collect a relic of the utmost importance from him, an astrological tome of great value to me. Unfortunately, I've been informed by Dr. Nylora that, while I was away, Old Thrushmoor was hit especially hard by the plague, and his whereabouts are currently unknown. You see, Nylora explained that, around three months ago, a particularly virulent choleric affliction began to spread through the city, infecting much of the population. The League of Haemotheurgic Practicioners were called into the city by Count Lowls himself to help with the infection, a bold move which appears to have mostly paid off. The choleric affliction was all but destroyed until about five weeks ago, according to Nylora, about a week after I left. Something happened to the disease, it evolved, or mutated, or... Or perhaps this is something new entirely. Even the League, experts as they are, have failed to understand what exactly occured."

"A grim thought indeed."

"It appears that in my absence, a mere three weeks after this newer, stranger plague began to grip the city population, entire sections of the city went up in flames, desperate actions taken by the guard, for sick people were turning into monsters, creatures similiar to the abomination we narrowly escaped just outside the city gates. Then, in his foolishness, it appears that the Count called in the Black Powder Brigade, a heretical sect of Pharismin inquisitors and enforcers, to destroy the creatures and bring order. The gates in or out of the city were also shut, and entire sections of the city have been barricaded and blocked off. Even the city folk have started to band together to "hunt" the sick down and purge them, which explains the angry mob gathered outside the manorhouse, though, I can't help but wonder how many innocents have already fallen victim to overzealous citizens. The path to Old Thrushmoor was barricaded and officially quarantined by the League weeks ago."

"Fortunately, the barricades are barely guarded now, it seems, the consequences of a lack of manpower and resources."

"I know it may seem like I'm asking you for a lot on short notice, but I need to recover this relic. I'm no warrior, however. I know it's an awful lot to ask for, but I'd be in your debt if you were to venture forth into Old Thrushmoor, and perhaps recover the tome for me? I'll make it worth your while of course, in coin, once you return. I've a friend in the guard, who'll look the other way. You're free to stay here, if you'd like, but... I'm not sure how much time Agrimus may have."

[Ilena]

Jumping up just a little when the man looks to attack her sister, a low growl escapes her lips ... this man should have an ... accident ... and soon. Before he has a chance to hurt them. Seeing that they are coming inside and the lattern at the window, Elayna gets up and heads downstairs flowing quietly down the stairs, she hears Lady Belladonna talking to them, offering them supper ... eh, she prefers her own cooking ... not the wand stuff but ... eh it will be good for the guests ...

Those in the room would see an utterly beautiful woman striding down the stairs, her jet black hair short cropped and just falling to her shoulders ,framing her pristine white face, red lipstick upon her lips and a bit of blush around her cheeks give color to her face. Shes dressed in what looks to be a short dress, very comfortable and very stylish, nicely showing off her figure. Just below her hip, strapped to her pure white leg is a pistol, elegantly designed with gold highlights and carvings upon it to look like a dragon. Over top she has a long black trench coat over her, belted around her body with a black and silver belt. Her poise and beauty when you look upon her, you know should she enter any room she would be the center of attention.

Speaking she is politely differential to the host, "Hello Lady Belladonna, welcome home. I have finished the last mission you wanted, who might be these people if you would be so inclined to inform me?" She says looking to the others, she looks at rest though anyone can tell that weapon at her side , she knows how to use.

[Rendel Nep]

I'm willing to do an errand my Lady. Need to get to know the City if my mission is to succeed or for that matter to inform my superiors whether or not it's even feasible. Do you want us to go now now or first thing in the morning? He said politely although the question probably hinting that he would really prefer first thing in the morning.

[Hamste]

I am feeling quite better. I got better about a week after you left. I'm still dreadfully sorry, I missed coming. If I had realized we were having visitors, I would have made sure the place was dusted. Urgoch says as he follows her into the house. As she moves to clean up the dust, he activates his gloves and the dust just sort of disappears.

If you like the soup flavored, my gloves help with those as well. Though admittedly, I'm not the best at selecting flavors. Urgoc offers as he takes his bowl. He purposefully makes his own soup even blander just to make sure. He considers briefly leaving to change into dry clothe but decides to let them dry instead as he listens to what Lady Belladonna . He looks extremely surprised at the mention of a vile creature.

Were you attacked? I should have been there to help you. Let me go with them to make up for it.
I'm probably better at sneaking than most which could help avoid any danger and having been around the city, I could help make sure they don't get lost.

[TheFederalist]

As soon as Lexi heard the words "Black Powder Brigade", she clenched her fist, bringing it to the edge of dusty table that she sat at. "Pharasmin they are not..." she said, downing a glass of water she'd picked up as she sat there in the first place. It was infuriating to her that a heretic cult could so blatantly stain the Church of the Lady's Spiral amongst a population that had once had nothing but respect for the Church. It explained quite a few things to her, as well. But this offered request was a way... A way to begin focusing her efforts. Of course, she had to hunt down the beast as well, but that could be done along the way. "I see no issue in doing so at all. First thing in the morn, I shall head out. But before then, I apologize that I must ask again since the first time was so rudely interrupted by those... people out there, but would you happen to have any tomes within the manor on the nature of beasts or perhaps, even better, a library?"

[Hattish Thing]

The Manorhouse - City of Thrushmoor:

Lady Belladonna frowns towards Urghoc, her expression flashing for but a moment to one of fear and revulsion. She collects herself for a moment before tapping the side of her bowl with a spoon, frowning as she glances towards a chunk of unidentifiable meat, rising to the top of the steaming broth.

She breathes in deeply, before quietly responding.

"It was a vile thing, the sort of creature which oughtn't be spoken of over dinner. These kind people rescued me from what would have otherwise been certain death."

"I'm sure you would have done the same for me, had you been there, kind Urghoc."

--

She sips at her broth for several seconds before Lexi begins to speak, a soft and shy smile upon her face. "Consider yourself a bit of an academic, miss? The pursuit of knowledge is in and of itself a noble thing, yet, I must say, you don't seem of scholarly ilk. You're free to make use of my private collection, yet I fear those dusty old tomes will be of little use to you. I've a keen interest in the history of this region, and so, a majority of the books found there are histories, or geographical records."

"Ornaments, neatly ordered, lovingly admired. I've always been one for the written word."

--

After a moment, she continues, before raising a hand to her forehead. "Hmph. Oh dear, I feel a fever running. Today has been exceptionally hard upon me, I'm not one for exercise, generally. My systems may have taken a beaten, such exposure!"

"A setback, but not the end of things."

"I must off to rest, I've knowledge of an incantation which may soothe my aching headache. I shall rise early enough, come dawn. I wish to see you off. Perhaps, while you're off, I can perform whatever research you may need done, Miss Lexi? I'm a member of a plethora of libraries, here in Thrushmoor."

"I belong to... a number of knowledgeable circles."

[Rendel Nep]

Oridim gives a short prayer to Iomedae before he consumes his soup.
Hmm, that sounds a little concerning, Lady Belladonna. I may just prepare something to check if it's serious add actualy prepare remove disease as well. So i don't blind anyone. At any rate goodnight . he says before before she leaves the presence of her guests.

[IZ42]

Ada was quite unused to the the grandeur of a manorhouse, even one as modest as Lady Belladonna's. She was also quite tired; letting her dark half control her, even for a bit, was always draining. She hastily finished her soup, and at the mention of the library took interest, wordlessly slipping off to read. In the library, she moved about the shelves, grabbing histories of the region essentially at random, then moved to a secluded corner and sat, reading through the books.