RC's Carrion Hill IC

[RCgothic]

https://i.ibb.co/VTnzWy0/Carrion-Hill-City1.png
RC's Carrion Hill
A Lovecraftian Pathfinder 1E Adventure for Level 5 Characters
OOC Thread (https://forums.giantitp.com/showthread.php?663941-RC-s-Carrion-Hill-OOC)


Rain-laden air clings heavy, a metallic tang with the acrid bite of middenstone. The scent, a noxious cocktail of tar, oil, and something unpleasantly reminiscent of forgotten crypts, hangs thick, choking the breath and twisting the stomach. It's a stench that seeps into bone and marrow; a grim reminder of the city's underbelly. An oppressive silence settles over the cobblestone streets punctuated only by the relentless drumming of rain and the occasional distant rumble of thunder. Though it's mid-morning the sky remains an oppressive shroud of leaden grey, refusing to yield even a sliver of sunlight.

The city of Carrion Hill itself seems to cower under this oppressive weight. Buildings of weathered middenstone, their sickeningly violet hue dulled and streaked with grime by the rain, huddle together like frightened souls.

Despite the dismal weather and the usual deterrent it offers an unusual bustle stirs the streets. Anxious figures cloaked in rain-soaked garments hurry through the downpour, their faces etched with worry and whispers exchanged in hushed tones. The clatter of cartwheels and the hurried shouts of vendors create a discordant symphony of unease.

Suddenly a piercing cry pierces the downpour. Town criers, their faces grim and voices hoarse, march through the streets their bell clanging ominously. Their proclamation echoes through the rain carrying a message that chills the very air:


"Hear ye! Hear ye! By order of the esteemed Mayor, all heroes and adventurers are summoned to Crown Manor at once! A matter of utmost urgency demands your attention! Heed the call, brave souls! For the fate of Carrion Hill hangs in the balance!"

Responses by 8am UTC 1st February please. :smallsmile:

[DigoDragon]

Zuri Reis | Status: In motion


The mug between the palms of Zuri's hands exhales its warmth to her fingers. She sits with her back to a wall, sipping her drink quietly. Zuri isn't the type of adventurer to brood in a dark corner, but she is the type to distrust leaving her back open to a dagger. In any case, she has no reason to brood; Zuri is inside, safe from the rain, and enjoying a hot mug of-


"Hear ye! Hear ye! By order of the esteemed Mayor, all heroes and adventurers are summoned to Crown Manor at once! A matter of utmost urgency demands your attention! Heed the call, brave souls! For the fate of Carrion Hill hangs in the balance!"

-fishsticks.

Really? Right now, through the rain-soaked streets of the Hill? At least the Mayor waited until the breakfast rush was done (Azurah knows you don't interrupt her favorite meal of the day), but if the mayor is this demanding for heroes, they better be prepared for a good waft of wet fur.

Zuri took one last gulp, placed a couple copper on the table to tip the server, and got up quietly to leave. She took in a deep breath of the tavern's warm air before she stepped outside and drew up her hood. The air smelled of wet violet, if such a flavored scent was even possible. Zuri padded herself to ensure she didn't forget anything and then stepped out onto the bustle of the street.

"Alright, so... Zuri, you are near slipper Market. Head east, but take the third building up. That should be a shortcut... or so this one thinks."

The rogue slips around the market traffic, ducking into an alley after passing two store fronts, and vaulting herself up the sides of the two opposing walls. She reaches the roof off the shorter building, but slips on the first tiles thanks to the rain-slick precipice. Zuri catches herself on a chimney before she has a sliding fall off the roof. Taking more care now, she scurries across to the other side of the roof and grabs the chimney for support before her feet slip again.

Nope This one is not going to let go of this brick and fall off this roof like an idiot.

The gods may have overheard Zuri's thoughts. The brick she held onto dislodged itself from the chimney and down she slid off the roof. Thinking fast, she pushed off at the edge and reached out for the ledge of the next roof. She missed it, instead grabbing a wet clothesline and slipping down to the middle before letting go and landing feet-first onto a stack of crates.

Ta-da!

The brick came flying next and Zuri jumped back to avoid it, only to land butt-first into an open barrel of rainwater.

"...we shall never speak of this."


After an embarrasing landing, Zuri was on her way to the Crown Manor. Squish squish squish along the way, her cloak soaked and fur damp. She arrives at the front entrance, hoping it's warm inside with a fireplace to dry off.

[Alhallor]

After asking one of the town criers where exactly Crown Manor is, Jochen stomps through the puddles and the rain, trying not to breath in too deep and avoid any presents the stream may carry his way. He wouldn't say that he was an "adventurer" but he was definitely adventurous! And perhaps whatever group of people would come together in Crown Manor could use the minor magic that Jochen could provide.

When Jochen sees any small shrine or depiction of a god, he makes an effort to lay down some copper pieces there. You'd never know when a god was looking or not after all.

When he reaches the manor he knocks, politely but firm.

Coppers spend towards the gods: [roll0]

[In4Dimensions]

The air reeks of the unnatural.

Kov had arrived in Carrion Hill a few days prior. He had heard the rumors of the town's long-forgotten history, but only recently had there been murmurings of something sinister stirring in the area. When he had first arrived in the town the day before today, he wasn't convinced that there was anything worth his attention. But now? A different story.

The storm had rolled in much earlier in the morning, and with it came the alien stench that was so familiar to Kov. It was faint, to be sure, but unmistakably present. As such, when the mayor's summons came, Kov had already been awake for many hours, searching the borders of the town in a preliminary attempt to uncover whatever might be lurking in the area. He enjoyed working in the rain--the overcast sky was far kinder on his drow eyes than sunlight, and the decreased visibility made it harder for others to recognize him as a drow.

After finishing his sweep of the village perimeter, a task he had nearly completed when he heard the words of the criers, he checked over his gear, threw his cowl over his face, then began trudging towards Crown Manor. The civilians moving in the opposite direction quickly made room for him as they saw his face. Drow were a rarity in the area, and though Kov had experienced little direct prejudice in the town, every human in the region had heard the stories of his race. He could hardly blame them for what he considered to be an abundance of caution--after all, he had experienced firsthand the cruelty of drow society. With this thought, memories flooded through his mind.

He been born out of wedlock between his drow noble father and one of his human slaves, and as soon as Kov learned to speak, he used magic to ensure that Kov could not accidentally spill the secrets of his birth to anyone. At the age of 24, he took a magical aptitude test required of all children of drow nobility, but due to his half-blood nature, he failed. When his father learned of the result, he sold Kov off as a slave immediately, but not before beating him within an inch of his life and strangling his mother in front of him. In a twisted way, though, he was almost thankful to his father for putting him through a childhood so scarring that nothing else in his life, not even the mental slavery of an aboleth, could ever break him. That same aboleth was the first aberration Kov ever killed, and since then he has slain nothing else.

With these memories weighing heavily in his mind, Kov arrives at Crown Manor. "I have come", he says, as he knocks once, firmly, on the large wooden doors.

[(Un)Inspired]

It had been a long ride, for Leif and Tryggr, into Carrion Hill. Even if it wasn't hot out, the humidity in the air meant that incessant droplets of water bubbled up on the former's plate armor and the latter's road-weary hide. Steamy breath billowed out of Leif's closed visor, like vapor pluming out of an urban storm drain on a summer night and Tryggr's whinny was as close to a harrumph as horse could muster. It had been several days since the last sign of civilization, and a town would be a welcome reprieve from parking on the roadside for the night. At least, it felt that way until they caught a bitter smell of middenstone.

No wonder this town's called the Island of 10,000 temples, If my house smelled like that I'd be praying to whoever would listen., Leif remarked, giving Tryggr a sturdy couple of pats.

The duo traipsed into the town from the mainland bridge side-by-side, the half-elf feeling the horse had put in enough hard work on the road, and deserved a break for lugging him around. They hit the main drag of the Filth, and began the complex civic calculus of determining which tavern looked like it had both cheap beer AND clean beds (and a clean stable), when the town crier's message belted over them.

Reaching up under his visor, the half-elf knight rubbed his face, and clucked to his horse. Work, and then a pint, partner. And the two started up the hills towards where the Mayor's house presumably lay.

[Metastachydium]

Witt After-Born, her back against a wall, the ever so slowly melting, splitting, cracking middenstone all smudged over it looks up, and down again. It's the weirdest thing, not having the throat of some newly bold nobody under her armpit, feeling them struggle, barely aware they are trying to hoarsely hiss profanities at her, before they go limp for at least a merciful little while to sleep it off in the mud outside. Last night was a night. Folks seem nervous, drinking like there's gonna be no tomorrow. At the very least she shouldn't. It's a good thing there's little in the way of sunshine around here. Her eyes wouldn't like that right now. But the ringing and shouting… That's there. Makes the head hurt. No such thing as a good morning.

At least it's amusing, in ways. Heroes. Witt snorts. She'd spit too, but the mouth's too dry. No such thing as heroes, either. Not here. This is the Filth. This is where the **** goes once it's no good to float, even. But Crown Manor? Crown Manor's another word for money. And it's only the morning. The bar fights don't start until after the noon, with some luck. No need for her here, not yet. A grimy flasj is fished out of a pocket, and she takes a swig. Worst grog in town, made for her and the like. As good a reminder as any. When one's all south, all ways go up. Well, the local flavour thereof, anyhow.

Crown Manor's waiting. She pushes herself off the wall. Rain up, mud down. Witt After-Born walks into the rain.

[DrK]

Elthis

Elthis leant against the door to his small shop, a steaming mug of fine Tien Xia tea cradled between his hands as he watched the ebb and flow of people wandering past. Across the road he saw Brother Brannigan, one of the bearded muscular followers of the Lord of Iron. He raised the mug of tea in a greeting and got a gruff nod from the priest as he hurried past, Elthis wasn't concerned. On one of the cramped work tables behind him sheets of paper, small filings of metal and a bubbling glass vial of fire powder was slowly making the series of large rockets that would send green and red sparks across the sky for the upcoming Feast of Iron.

The driving rain was not encouraging and had kept him inside with the wine and alchemy (never mix those two!) but the town cryer's bellowing over the wind caught his attention. He looked out and shouted, "Whats that about eh?" but in the clatter and the rain no -one asnwered. Pausing to switch off the small oil burner he made sure that nothing was left where it may explode before slipping on a long overcoat, strapping a battered looking sword to his waist and grabbing his tired looking bulky day pack he stepped out into the rain. He looked around carefully to note if there were any strangers on the street that may be some Kriegers' thugs and slipped a small metal sphere from his pack into his pocket. The warm orb a comforting weight as he followed the crowds head down against the rain and watching his feet for the worst of the mud and horse dung as he followed them towards Crown Manor. Glancing upwards he shrugged, "at least its not far" he thought to himself...

Reaching the plaza he began to look around spying several unusual looking characters who must be outlanders and nodded to a few locals who he did recognise, waving with a smile and Torben, the fat bearded dwarven priest of Torag standing on the far side of the square. Appraoching the dwarf he offered a hand, "Morning Torben, any idea of what all the fuss is about? Lets head in, we can at least hope there is some mulled wine to warm us, I sold the Mayor some 2 moons ago, a good one with plenty of cinnamon and ginger to warm the bones"" if the dwarf agrees he'll head towards the large doors to knock and then enter.

[razorfloss]

Nicholas Lorchester

A fat looking man with brownish skin sits at the bar with his head on the table drowning his sorrows to anyone willing to listen to him. His face is flush and red and for those paying attention they notice that he is covered with scars and various tattoos of mermaids, anchors, ships in various hues of red, black, blue and purple and his arms the size of tree trunks. He has a bottle of Rum next to his head in a shadowy looking tankard that looks battered and worn and for regulars who've been visiting the tavern for the past few days know the man has been an unfortunately common sight and know best to avoid him before he starts ranting and crying again. My crew left me. ME!!! I'm the bloody cook and they left me in this damn town that stinks and is probably haunted He takes a sip of his cheap ale before ranting again no offense and what makes it worse is that they didn't even pay me. I mean sure I'm not the best cook but come one at least pay me you cheap bastards He takes another sip and hears the rain pouring down And now it's raining can this day get any worse? Cayden you help drunks right? i can use a blessing right now. You help me out and ill donate something to your temple. Gods like that right? he says to no one in particular before hearing the bells toll and the town criers.




"Hear ye! Hear ye! By order of the esteemed Mayor, all heroes and adventurers are summoned to Crown Manor at once! A matter of utmost urgency demands your attention! Heed the call, brave souls! For the fate of Carrion Hill hangs in the balance!"


Well s**t he says dumbfoundly The gods do provide He finishes his Rum and puts 20 gold on the counter and sniffs himself before wincing at the smell of alcohol coming off him Hopefully the rain washes the smell away he mutters to himself. As he walks away, he grabs his half-filled bottle of and the shadowy tankard disappears. S**t I have to donate at Cayden temple now. he mutters to himself while looking for the mayor's manor.

[Alhallor]

Jochen get's basically shooed into the manor, getting dragged from one room to the next an then is told to... Wait? Perhaps the situation wasn't that urgent after all? Well at least the view was kinda nice. Jochen looked out the window into the inner courtyard. But then there was a revelation. Of course! They're supposed to be adventurers and should probably show that they were adventurous indeed.

With certain steps and a few murmured. Sorry, sorry, just getting through.

He goes towards the 2nd door and try's to open it.

[RCgothic]

An eldritch chill, sharp as a wraith's claws, pierces the cafe's warmth, chilling Zuri's drink even as phantasmal steam slithers from its surface. Newcomers, harried and damp, burst through the downpour, their panicked whispers like slithering tentacles of unease that grip the air.

Emerging into the storm, Zuri has to pull her cloak tighter, the rain a churning maelstrom falling with the fury of a vengeful god intent on scouring the city's mortal sins. Yet, the streets teem with panicked souls, their haste heedless of the deluge. Distress, raw and primal, thrums in the air.

Towards the Slipper Market, the press of bodies forms a writhing knot, some desperately pushing forward, others clawing their way back. Shouts echo from the shrouded distance, muffled by the rain and the collective murmur of the crowd, their meaning lost in the cacophony. Perhaps this is what draws Zuri's gaze skyward, seeking a vantage point beyond the teeming madness.

The rooftop offers little solace. The rain obscures the world in a veil of grey, and Zuri finds herself teetering on the precipice, a dance with gravity she narrowly loses. The fall is unnoticed, the chill of the downpour masking the icy water clinging to her fur. Only a close inspection would reveal the true extent of her clumsiness, a secret the overflowing water butt will likely keep.

The alley before her, a dead end leading away from the market's chaos, mocks her missed opportunity. Yet, a keen mind like Zuri's easily connects the urgency of the Summons to the unseen turmoil at the market. The city's grim mood hangs heavy, a portent of something far more sinister than mere rain. No further obstacles impede her progress, but the oppressive atmosphere clings to her, a chilling reminder of the secrets the storm may hide.

The city, slick with the vengeful tears of an uncaring sky, pulsed with a feverish rhythm beneath Jochen's stomping boots. Water, choked with whispers of the unseen, gurgled around his ankles, carrying secrets best left undisturbed. He navigated the urban labyrinth, nose pinched against the stench of fear and damp desperation that clung to the air.

At each grimy, lichen-spotted shrine, Jochen paused, offering meager coins to deities whose stony visages seemed to leer back in mocking indifference. Were they blind to the city's woes, or did they watch with cold amusement as madness clawed at the edges of reality? In every shadowed niche, every weathered idol, lurked a hint of something monstrous, a formless dread that gnawed at the edges of Jochen's resolve.

Heavier shadows seemed to gather around the grander edifices, whispers of forgotten rituals clinging to their moss-covered stones. Gargoyles, grotesque parodies of forgotten guardians, leered down with vacant eyes, their silence more unsettling than any scream. The very cobblestones seemed to writhe beneath his feet, each step echoing with the city's unspoken terror.
Rain lashed against Kov's weathered face, each drop a cold caress that masked the telltale pallor of drow heritage beneath. He stalked the city's perimeter, a grim sentinel at the edge of a nightmare.

He'd passed Patty's mouldering tennament earlier, the woman huddled in her doorway, her sightless eyes reflecting the city's turmoil. "Storm's got teeth tonight, Kov," she rasped, her voice a dry husk. "Something stirs, something old and hungry." Her words had clung to him like the clinging touch of the downpour. The streets pulsed with a feverish unease, whispers slithering between hunched figures like panicked rats. Even the familiar scent of rain held a new, unsettling edge, laced with the metallic tang of fear.

The crier's voice, when it came, was hoarse with terror, rasping of shadows clawing at the city's heart, of madness blooming in the Slipper Market's smoldering ruins. Each word dripped with despair, echoing through Kov's weathered soul as he navigated the slick labyrinth. Gaslight flickered, casting grotesque shapes on damp walls, each alleyway a potential maw leading to unseen horrors. Upward he climbed, towards the Crown District, the summons a beacon through the swirling fog of unease.
The wind howled like a banshee, each gust a fresh wave of icy needles pricking through Leif's leathery armor. It had been a long night, a desperate race against the storm that had assaulted him like an old ship battered by a relentless ocean. His muscles screamed in protest with each pull of the reins, his joints creaking like rusty hinges. The dampness had seeped through every layer, clinging to him like a second skin, chilling him to the bone.

Even Tryggr, usually a picture of equine stoicism, mirrored his master's state. The dappled coat, once gleaming white, was now a mud-caked tapestry, each step a weary trudge through the deepening mire.

As they finally reached the city gates, the stench of Carrion Hill hit them like a physical blow. It wasn't just the usual city grime, but something deeper, fouler - a noxious cocktail of tar, oil, and something far more unsettling.

Sogged and weary, the pair limped through the city's gaping maw, the bridge behind them a mere memory lost in the swirling storm.
They stumbled onto the Filth's main artery, a festering wound under the storm's mockery of daylight. The air reeked of decay and secrets, a miasma that clung like a shroud. Their quest began: a grim calculus of taverns, seeking a haven that offered both cheap swill to numb the mind and a bed (clean, if such a word could be used here) to ease weary bones. Tryggr whickered softly, his plea understood. Even a horse deserved a dry stall after battling the storm's fury.

But their search was cut short, cleaved in twain by the town crier's voice. It boomed through the squalid streets, a discordant note in the city's symphony of unease. Cheap beer and clean beds faded into insignificance, replaced by a gnawing dread. Steeling his resolve, Leif urges Tryggr onward, up towards the unknown horrors that waited to be revealed within Crown Manor's looming walls.
Leif and Tryggr have journeyed all night through a storm. They both start the game with the condition Fatigued. But they also both have the bonus feat Endurance.

The Filth awoke not with its usual chorus of groans and revelry, but with a chilling silence that pressed upon Witt After-Born like a moldy blanket. The dawn light, filtered through grime-encrusted windows, cast sickly hues across the tavern, painting the chipped wood and dented mugs in an unsettling pallor. Even the familiar stench of stale ale and despair seemed muted, replaced by a cloying, metallic tang that clung to the air like a bad omen.

Her short stature, hunched against the wall, was a stark contrast to the slowly-melting middenstone behind her, its jagged cracks mirroring the fissures in the city's sanity. The absence of a drunken patron pinned under her armpit, their incoherent curses muffled by the familiar press of her arm, was an unsettling void. Last night, the Filth had pulsed with its usual desperation, but today, a different kind of desperation clung to the air, thick and suffocating.

Beneath the city's weeping maw, the air itself seemed to curdle with unease. Witt, her back plastered to the damp stones, felt the silent scream of the day press against her. No comforting roar of drunken brawls, only the spectral whispers of unseen terrors slithering through the shadowed corners. Even the sun, a pallid orb veiled in storm clouds, refused to grace the Filth with its dubious blessing.

The crier's voice, hoarse with dread, echoed through the streets, a summons to Crown Manor. Witt scoffed, cynicism her armor against the rising unease. Heroism held no sway over her, but coin did. Crown Manor, she knew, held deep pockets.

Her hand instinctively sought the familiar burn of the vile grog, a grim communion with the festering underbelly of the world. Each swig mirrored the descent, the inexorable slide south where even darkness couldn't contain the abyss beyond.

Pushing off the wall, muscles protesting like rusted hinges, she stepped into the rain. The bar fights, a brutal ballet of despair, could wait for the sun's feeble retreat. Mud squelched beneath her boots, sucking her down into the city's fetid embrace. Rain above, mud below, a fitting mirror for the world's descent. Crown Manor, a dark monolith against the storm-wracked sky, beckoned. Not with hope, but with the glint of cold, hard coin – for even in the face of cosmic horror, there was always a price to be paid, and she, Oread of the Filth, knew how to collect it.

Beneath the iron-grey sky, Elthis leaned against the damp wood of his alchemical hovel, the meager warmth of Tien Xia tea a mockery against the chill that gnawed his bones. Rain hammered the cobblestones, each drop a whispered curse echoing the city's unease. Across the mist-shrouded street, a hulking figure clad in iron trudged past, a servant of the Lord of Iron whose gruff visage reflected the city's disquiet. Elthis offered a perfunctory nod, but the storm's oppressive aura chilled his greeting.

Inside, his cramped den reeked of a forbidden alchemy, a concoction of metal shavings and bubbling vials promising ephemeral beauty for the Iron Feast. The sky mirrored the fire's infernal glow: an angry maw of bruise-purple clouds, weeping upon a world teetering on the brink. The town crier's voice, hoarse and ragged like a carrion crow's caw, sliced through the din, the call to Crown Manor as unwelcome as a grave robber's touch.

Curiosity, that insatiable parasite, gnawed at the edges of his mind. Ignoring the storm's chilling whispers, he donned a rain-soaked cloak, its sodden folds reeking of the city's decay. A metallic sphere, its surface etched with arcane symbols, pulsed with an alien light in his pocket - a meager shield against the unknown.

Stepping out into the storm, the familiar streets seemed warped, grotesque silhouettes contorting under the bruised light. The storm's dirge resonated in the unnatural quiet, punctuated only by the distant clang of a rusted bell, tolling for secrets better left forgotten. Even the usual beggars, harbingers of misfortune, had vanished, their absence a haunting silence more unsettling than any scream.

Crown Manor, shrouded in swirling mist, stood like a monolith against the dying light. Each step towards its looming maw felt heavier, the storm coalescing its fury around the manor, as if echoing the dread gnawing at his sanity. Spying his dwarven friend across the plaza, limestone dyed purple by the roiling storm above, Elthis offers a greeting. But his friend's usually jovial demeanor is bent with worry.

He shakes his head, the gesture jerky and hesitant. "Garus," he rasped, the name like a cracked bell tolling doom. "The Crow's commander… found dead in the Slipper Market. The whole squad. Not even a whisper left of who… or what… did it." He shuddered, his voice dropping to a guttural murmur, "Best you stay away, Elthis. Best we all do."

He vanished into the storm, leaving Elthis alone before the beckoning maw of Crown Manor.
In the festering underbelly of Carrion Hill, where shadows clung to cobblestones like graveworms, Nicholas, a man swollen by despair and fermented spirits, held court in a tavern reeking of decay and stale ale. Days, bloated and indistinguishable, had bled into one another since his crew, like rats from a sinking ship, had abandoned him in this forsaken city. His booming voice, thick with liquor and unshed tears, echoed through the room, a dirge for a chef's pride butchered. He spun tales of culinary mastery, each boast a dagger twisting in his own gut, but the patrons, their eyes dulled by their own miseries, offered only the balm of silence.

Then, a piercing cry, laden with an unnatural resonance, shattered the tavern's squalor. It was the town crier, his voice a macabre chorus echoing through the downpour, summoning the bold and heroic to Crown Manor. A flicker of morbid curiosity, sparked by the prospect of escaping his self-inflicted torment, stirred within Nicholas. He stumbled towards the barkeep, his greasy coins glinting in the dim light, and with a final, slurred vow, disappeared into the rain-sodden night.

Thus, drenched and shivering, Nicholas found himself at the foot of Crown Manor, its pale facade looming like a skeletal maw against the storm-wracked sky. The massive doors, adorned with macabre carvings that pulsed with an eldritch light, seemed to mock his arrival. Yet, driven by a perverse hope, he pushed through them, entering a labyrinth of shadows and whispers
Nicholas has been drinking for days. He starts the game Drunk. He has a +4 bonus to will saves against fear, but a -4 penalty to any other roll involving dexterity, intelligence or wisdom. Every hour he can attempt a DC10 constitution saving throw to reduce the bonus/penalty by one.

But he is also used to this. He has the bonus feat Great Fortitude


In the shadowed district of the Crown, atop Carrion Hill where the bones of misfortune bleach white under the cruel sun, a grim mockery of royalty unfolds. Here, the wealthier denizens dwell in limestone mansions, unwittingly crafting a skyline resembling the skeletal diadem of a monstrous skull, earning the place its chilling sobriquet.

At the apex of this macabre tableau stands Crown Plaza, dominated by two edifices both stark and oppressive.

The larger, an osseous monolith cloaked in an aura of sepulchral chill, is the Ossuary Church. This bastion of Pharasma, Carrion Hill's largest temple, boasts white limestone skin adorned with grinning visages culled from its labyrinthine crypts. This grand edifice consumes the southern flank of the plaza, its facade perpetually shrouded in an unsettling perpetual dusk.

Across the expanse, mirroring the temple in a grotesque dance of symmetry, looms Crown Manor. This amalgam of town hall and fortress serves as the seat of administrative power and the nerve center of the Crows, Carrion Hill's grim watch of a thousand eyes. Like its counterpart, it is carved from pale limestone, its surface unblemished yet somehow slick and unsettling. Though outwardly a sturdy manor, its true purpose betrays itself in the unnatural thickness of its walls and the barred windows at ground level, apertures too narrow for most humanoids to reasonably traverse. A pair of massive, iron-bound doors, wide enough to admit lumbering monstrosities, gape open, revealing a flurry of crows flitting in and out with an unsettling urgency. Two grim sentinels hover nearby, ushering inside anyone who looks like they might fit the summons' request for adventurers or heroes.

Those ushered inside find themselves across a cobbled courtyard, and then through another set of imposing doors guarded by unseen wards. A grand staircase ascends into the manor's guts, leading ultimately to a reception room overlooking the courtyard. Here, sunlight struggles to pierce the thick windows, casting the opulent furnishings in an unsettling pallor. Green and gold wallpaper, once vibrant, now seems to writhe with the shadows cast by the flickering flames of a monstrous fireplace. An oppressive silence hangs heavy in the air, broken only by the occasional unsettling caw echoing from beyond the inner door.

Jochen is the first to be shown into this dingy antechamber, but before his curious hand can reach the handle of the door into the next room, he is interrupted by the ushers showing in a weary knight in bronze armour, Leif, his trusty steed Tryggr having been gratefully shown to a stable in the bowels of the manor by a valet. Behind Leif is a white-haired elvish businessman, Elthis, and a similarity white-haired yet differently complexioned drow, Kov. A sturdy oread woman, Witt, is next, followed by a catfolk woman, Zuri. A few minutes later, a man-mountain called Nicholas stumbles in, the reek of rum hanging over him like a distasteful shroud. Nick must be the last of those the mayor is prepared to wait for, because before the gathered prospective heroes can confer, almost immediately the inner door opens and an usher shows them into the great hall beyond.

In the great hall, several members of the Crows stand guard while the mayor, a distracted and worried man named Vanton Heggry, sits in a tall backed chair; apart from the PCs, there appear to be no other adventurers present.

The hall is about 100ft by 40ft with a dark-wood-vaulted ceiling that's about 20ft at its peak, aligned north-south. At the north end of the hall there's a grand fireplace about 15ft wide with a blazing fire. The fireplace is flanked by four large windows, about 4ft wide by 8ft tall, beginning about 2ft above the dark wood floor. For the northern three quarters of their length the long walls each contain fourteen identical windows, then two minor fireplaces also ablaze. The southern quarter of the hall is panelled in the same dark wood as the floor, with a 15ft double entranceway in the middle of the south wall. This isn't the entrance the group had been shown through, with various minor doorways at irregular intervals along the southern walls, the antechamber having been off one of them. A long table 8ft wide and flanked by high-backed chairs to seat 50 runs the length of the hall, but it has been moved off-centre to the west to create some open floor space on the eastern side. Despite the three blazing fires and the yellow-green glow of the gas lamps, the atmosphere is not cozy, the purple-clouded storm is just too apparent through the many unshrouded windows. Still, some effort has been made, with a number of the high-backed chairs moved into a semi-circle around the eastern fireplace, and it is there where mayor Heggry is seated in the centre of the semi-circle facing the fire.

https://i.ibb.co/1f6WPpm/Screenshot-20240201-210204-Drive.jpg

Of all those present, only Elthis has an acquaintance with Heggory, born of deals for fireworks for the city's festivals. When Heggry sees them enter, he straightens up and says, “At least we’ve got a few backbones still upright in this place,” then he gestures for all to be seated, clears his throat, and continues:

“I thank you for attending in our hour of need—Carrion Hill has a long history of battle, yet always before its enemies have attacked from outside our walls. We are fortified to defend against such attacks, but now we face an entirely different threat. Our enemy is already here, dwelling in the tunnels and catacombs below and surfacing to strike without warning."

“As you may have heard, the first of these attacks occurred early this very morning, when something huge came up from below in a part of the Tangles called Slipper Market. It partially destroyed a building and killed a half dozen locals before retreating into the ruined structure. The Crows were swift to reply, led by our own Commander Garus, but when they arrived, they were slaughtered to the last."

“Since then, the thing has moved on, surfacing no less than three times in different parts of the city, crushing buildings from below and slaying anyone it finds inside. I’ve got the entire force of the city watch in reserve, and with each new event they respond quickly, but the damage is always done by the time they arrive. Already there is talk of war and invasion, but I still believe that what we face is a single horror. If we can only figure out what it is, we might be able to defeat it. And this is where your group comes in—the horror has moved on from its initial point of entrance, but if you can explore the ruins in Slipper Market, perhaps you can find some sort of clue to tell us what it is we face. I cannot spare any of my Crows to aid you, for they are needed in keeping order in the streets, but if indeed you can find something… anything… about this monster from below, I will pay you handsomely: 2,000 gold for solid information, and twice again that amount for aiding in defeating the horror.”

"If you have questions, please be quick. The situation demands your attention without delay."

Responses by 8am UTC 8th February please.

[razorfloss]

Still smelling strongly of alcohol and now having his week-long bender catch up with him Nicholas stumbles into the manor with bloodshot eyes with a shadowy mug on his head acting like an icepack. God I'm never drinking again he moans (although he says this everyone and their mother knows he's lying) as he says this however, he struggles to hold back puke that threatens to come up before he forces it back down. After calming himself he asks Has anyone given a description of the beast that is he threatens to puke again reliable. Excuse me a second As he finishes his question, he puts the shadowy mug on the floor, and it turns into a large cooking pot and he pukes inside it all but ruining his first impression Infront of the mayor. As he finishes puking, he apologizes It's been a trying few weeks

[DrK]

Talking with his unusually graven dwarf friend Elthis's hand twitch, fingers twisting into a spiral to ward off death. "Pharasma shelter them. I did not the Crow well, but would not have wised ill of him." As the dwarf ofers a warning Elthis shakes his head, "I cannot friend. I am no native year, but I've lived here long enough to want to see everything I've built come crashing down in blood and chaos." he offers Torben an arm, and grasps the dwarf's hand tightly. "Hurry home, seal the doors and open that 12 year old red. Enjoy it while you can."

Watching his friend head down into the miasma of fog and smeary rain and with a foreboding shiver Elthis heads into the looming Crown Manor



----

In the Manor

Elthis had stood near the side of the room, a cool glance over the others gathered here. The dusky complexion of the drow attracted a second glance and the weary looking knight seemed competent combatant. Eyeing the other elf he fingered arcane orb that was slightly warm to the touch nestled in his pocket. As the mayor speaks Elthis begins to feel gnawing doubt and wonders if it had been wise to come rather than copy Torben and lock the shutters and start drinking, certainly it seemed one of the would be saviours of Carrion hill had already started that approach!

When the mayor finishes Elthis slowly considers then speaks up, "Mayor... a beast you say, capabale of destroying whole buildings and entire Murders of Crows... surely you don't expect this collection of businessfolk and travelers to stop it? I am however willing to investigate and try and find some clues as to its nature so some better equipped monster hunters can deal with such a beast. So I accept the offer, plus I liked Garus, and I would like to see some justice for whatever caused his death." Again is hand traces a brief spiral on his chest.

[Alhallor]

The gods seemed to be angry or at least very distant right at this moment, Jochen also felt really alone waiting in the hall and he was really relieved when more people appeared. When they were ushered in and heard about why Carrion Hill needed people his face became ashen. He didn't even realized the amount of money that was offered still shocked by the revelation that a single... Something killed that many people.

He nodded towards the human and wanted to add something when Nicholas hurled the inside of his stomach into a pot and Jochen never in his entire life wanted to have a cleaning spell this much. He weaved his hands in a small gesture to conjure a small Breeze to at least direct the smell towards a fire away from Mayor Heggry.

The sorcerer needed to swallow several times, fighting down his own urge to puke till he was able to ask his question.

How many crows, together with the commander, were send to investigate. It would be good to know at least a rough estimation of whatever this thing is capable off. And you mentioned tunnels and catacombs? Is it possible to get a map of them or do we have to get in on our own?

Towards the others. I'm Jochen, by the way. At least we won't have to worry about light guiding our way when we travel in the darkness.

With that he stomped his staff on the ground to let it glow like a lit torch.

Jochen nodded towards Elthis. Let's see what we can find out.

[Metastachydium]

Limestone. The bleached bones of the earth a former… Associate's called those once, always scribbling, always clean, conceited… Witt can tell the Crown, a bit of the Hill she doesn't amble upon much's been built to impress and awe. But alas, she's not an easy one to awe, or quite religious for that matter. The Ossuary's pretty walls get a light jab from a heavy fist. The sound's not quite what real bones make when cracked. A real pity. Still, she's almost amused. The bustle, the panic… This place? it's sinking. Folks are getting real courteous, even to her such, all of a sudden as she's let and led inside the Manor. They know they're about to meet halfway, somewhere in that ugly, slimy water. A thing of beauty, really. Another swig of grog goes down her throat as she strides in with the others, barely even bothering to find a familiar face among the bunch. She flips around a chair with casual ease, puts a muddy boot on top and an elbow on that knee as the rest settle down. She knows they'll let her; and she'll let them put their show on in return.

It's quite the show too. The mayor's is quite the story. And the sailor-man… She snorts loudly when he vomits. That one drinks ****. That one knows. Witt already likes him. She nods about as he speaks, and as the others speak, as though absently, but paying good attention. That's gold. Big thing, big money. she grunts appreciatively. I'll take the big money. But what's with the haste, I wonder? These are right. she motions towards the others. 'S not like yout old us much. How's it you know it's not coming this way next? Would save us the time.


Sense Motive on the mayor: [roll0]

Knowledge (local): [roll1] and
Knowledge (dungeoneering): [roll2] on the tunnels/catacombs side of the issue.

[DigoDragon]

Zuri

Zuri made her way toward the warm fire, finding the nearest unoccupied seat to use as she attempts to dry off. The shadows played off her silhouette, the long, slender tentacle slithering back and forth created from her tail. The fire crackled quietly, offering a solace of warmth against the dark coldness of the world.

The light offered nothing against the stench of alcoholic puke. Zuri wrinkled her nose, but said nothing. Maybe the man will learn something today about limits. She tried to distract herself by focusing her ears towards the questions of the other adventurers who heeded the call. Together they made for an eclectic group. The dim light keeping their secrets hidden below the skin; flesh worn from experience. The questions finished, and Zuri turned from the fire to add her own.

"Zuri would ask if you know the locations of where this horror has surfaced, to find a pattern in its strikes," the little catfolk spoke up. "This one is also curious that you specifically call it a horror. Do you have an idea of what we are searching for?"

Zuri thinks back if she's heard any old tales or legends about great burrowing beasts in the local area.
[roll0]

[Palanan]

Amid the trickle of roustabouts, sellswords and would-be heroes making their way up to the pale hulk of Crown Manor, a young man in a worn leather coat and stylish leggings maintains a confident stride, one hand casually held in his tunic, the other resting upon the basket hilt of his elegant dueling-sword.

A step behind and to one side, hurrying to maintain the distance, a halfling in drab workman’s clothes and a ragged cap struggles to keep an elegant hat in place atop a folded mass of fine velvet with silvery trim.

The young man sweeps past the ironbound gate and its rain-spattered sentinels, crosses the courtyard and ascends to the reception room. There he sweeps off his damp leather coat, dropping it carelessly on the halfling with one hand as he snatches the feathered cap and velvet cape with the other. A practiced sweep and flourish sees the cape settled about his shoulders, the cap upon his rain-slick head, hair pulled back in an elegant curve, while the halfling does his resigned best to see over the heaped leather coat in his arms.

Thus attired, the young man reaches the great hall as Mayor Heggory is speaking, joins the company of the others assembled, listening with full attention to the details of the monstrous attack and the more-than-generous purse. The halfling, still holding the wet leather coat, edges onto an empty seat in the shadowed corner of the hall, eyes downcast and making not a sound.

[In4Dimensions]

As Kov looked at the other adventurers scattered across the room, the slightest hint of a frown crept across his face. How long has it been since I worked with others, I wonder? All I can hope is that they can handle themselves. As the sailor interrupted the mayor's speech with the contents of this morning's drink, Kov threw him a stern look of disapproval, making sure the man's eyes met his before he looked away. He stays silent as the others speak, wincing slightly and averting his eyes as the sorcerer lit up the room, as he consults his memory and knowledge of aberrations, trying to think of what kind of beast the mayor might be describing.

Knowledge: Dungeoneering - [roll0]
Knowledge: History - [roll1]

After the others finish, Kov speaks in a quiet but gravelly tone. "Sir, please have someone direct me to the nearest entrance to the catacombs. My magic can detect the presence of the foul beasts, so I will attempt to track it and determine its behavior patterns, if it has any." He then turns towards the other adventurers. "I wish to slay the terror, but I am uninterested in money beyond what I require to survive and fight. I am willing to distribute my portion of the bonus to those of you who will assist me in combat." With that, he falls silent, waiting for the mayor's response.

[DigoDragon]

Thus attired, the young man reaches the great hall as Mayor Heggory is speaking, joins the company of the others assembled, listening with full attention to the details of the monstrous attack and the more-than-generous purse. The halfling, still holding the wet leather coat, edges onto an empty seat in the shadowed corner of the hall, eyes downcast and making not a sound.

Zuri turned slightly to hide her back from the door. Her tail held still as the late newcomer entered. When the newcomer remained quiet and attentive, the catfolk's tail slowly slinked once more at relative ease. Interesting that a-



After the others finish, Kov speaks in a quiet but gravelly tone. "Sir, please have someone direct me to the nearest entrance to the catacombs. My magic can detect the presence of the foul beasts, so I will attempt to track it and determine its behavior patterns, if it has any." He then turns towards the other adventurers. "I wish to slay the terror, but I am uninterested in money beyond what I require to survive and fight. I am willing to distribute my portion of the bonus to those of you who will assist me in combat." With that, he falls silent, waiting for the mayor's response.

Huh. And here Zuri thought chivalry left town years ago. She nods in the affirmative to the experienced traveler. Encountering the beast may be inevitable, so it would be wise to affirm her willingness to work together with them in combat.

[(Un)Inspired]

Leif lifts his visor and gives a direct, meaningful look to the valet who takes custody of Tryggr, and gives his partner a comforting pat on the flank. Please brush the road off him before I return, remove his tack, and give him a feed bag. The half-elf's tone isn't formally a demand or a request, perhaps lying murkily somewhere in between. Thank you.

The weary knight clears his throat, turns and cracks his back, and stalks off to the entryway at the far side of the Crown Manor courtyard. Clear cut all the trees, cart in tons of milled stone, and act surprised when everything falls to hell, he tsks to himself as he takes in the seat of government for Carrion Hill.

Watching the assortment of adventurers arrive, Leif smiles, under his visor, at the drunkard's housewarming present for the mayor but is otherwise silent for the City leader's explanation of the recent urban troubles. If asked his name he responds, Kjærgaard, Leif, in an even, but not unfriendly tone. He listens to the questions others ask, waiting patiently for the mayor's responses before volunteering, If we can be shown to one of the enemy's surfacing spots, I can divine what happened, get us a bit more of a command over just what is going on.

[DrK]

Elthis

Elthis looks at the floor of the mansion, tapping his boot on the solid flagstones, a slight grimace, "I'd hope the floors are bit more solid here." Before he nods to Kov, "I will help, Carrion Hill is my home, I'll take my share from the mayor but you don't owe me anything."

[RCgothic]

Heggry's thin lips purse, eyeing the pot with a practiced indifference. "Rough night, sailor? More's the pity, considering our predicament. We have no beast to describe, only the wreckage it leaves in its wake. We know of nobody who's seen it and lived, if beast it even is. Those witnesses who survived say the buildings were pulled apart from within by something enormous. The bodies of the dead reduced to... well, let's say 'unrecognizable.' Time is our enemy, so if you're ready to stomach more than just breakfast, step up. We need answers, and frankly," he gestures at the door, "we're not choosy about who brings them."

Heggry's gaze flickers over the motley crew gathered, then to Elthis as he addresses the next question. "Unlikely you can stop it, perhaps," he concedes, "but desperation breeds unconventional solutions. Frankly, stopping it might be beyond even the Crows. What we need, my friend, is intel. Pinpoint its weaknesses, its origins, its next move. If those here can unearth such knowledge, the Crows might stand a chance. He nods at Elthis's words, a flicker of genuine grief crossing his face. "As for Garus… a good man, a pillar. His absence casts a long shadow."

Heggry grimaces at Jochen's question, the fatigue etched deeper on his face. "Lost a dozen Crows, including Garus. Brave souls, the lot of them. Found them bludgeoned, torn apart… a gruesome show. As for the catacombs, well, Carrion Hill's a built on over a dozen forgotten cities. No complete maps exist, but the Slipper Market is your best bet. The Horror breached there, so that's where your light might shine brightest, eh, sorcerer?" His voice holds a flicker of hope, desperate for any advantage.

But his eyes narrow, a flicker of annoyance warring with desperation at Witt's blunt challenge. "Haste? My dear, we've had three attacks just this morning. Each one deadly. People are holed up, fear gnawing at them. A monster is destroying buildings, and if they begin to feel their homes aren't safe, the city will crumble. The Crows are stretched thin, and if it hits a gas main whilst rummaging around underground… well, let's just say fireworks are preferable. Now, as for Crown Manor… blunt truth? We don't know. Our foundations are strong, defenses solid, but motive? We just don't know. We need answers, miss, and you lot are our only hope. So, coin purse motivates you? Fine. But understand, this ain't just about gold. This is about survival."

Witt is aware that there are various entrances to the city's catacombs and that they were the result of Carrion Hill being built in top of a previous city, but she had no idea it was so many previous cities and beyond a few near-surface excursions for various illicit activities, she has almost no knowledge of the wider tunnels. Witt discerns that the mayor is being as honest as he can be, and that his urgency is motivated by a genuine concern for the city and it's inhabitants. She suspects he likes things to be well-ordered, and that he believes the city's state of order hangs on a precipice. He's beginning to grow impatient for action, but he's making an effort to suppress that emotion and let everyone have their questions. Zuri is up next.

"It's struck twice more, miss," Heggry sighs, the weariness pulling at his voice. "Both grand houses on the western Tangles, seemingly swallowed by sinkholes. In both cases, the resulting pit had no apparent entrance to chambers below, but the ruins were slathered and drenched in a foul-smelling slime the likes of which no one has ever seen before. There's no clear link between these other sites and the Market or each other, though our best minds haven't exactly been idle. As for the name, well, that's what the Crows christened it, and it stuck. Fear has a way of naming things quickly. What it is, where it came from, why… those are the answers we crave. It's moving underground, that much we know. Whatever it is, it's cunning enough to stay unseen. That's why your skills, keen eyes and all, are so crucial." His gaze lingers on Zuri a moment longer, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

Unfortunately for Zuri, there's no shortage of rumours she's heard about what might lurk in the crypts and mouldering ruins beneath the city. From malevolent humanoids like derro, drow and myconoids, through undead, carrion crawlers, and giant insects, umber hulks, bulettes, or even mind-flayer colonies and older nameless evils. Though there's little corroborating evidence the inhabitants of Carrion Hill have lively imaginations. Zuri can't think of anything huge that burrows, destroys buildings and leaves only foul slime in its wake.

Heggry's brow furrows, a flicker of annoyance warring with begrudging amusement. "Ah, another... addition to our motley crew? Splendid timing, sir," he remarks, dryly laced with both sarcasm and the desperate hope this newcomer might actually offer something useful. "We were just reviewing the rewards - 2,000 gold for solid information, and double that for bringing the Horror down. I'm sure the others will catch you up on the rest of what we've discussed." His voice holds a hint of desperation disguised as business as usual.

Heggry's considers Kov's words for a moment, appraising the half-drow's stoicism. "While your drowish ancestry may grant you an edge in the dark, brave warrior," he says, a hint of dry humor in his voice, "these tunnels are a tangled mess, uncharted for generations. Best start at the Slipper Market, the Horror's point of entry. As for your offer… commendable, truly. As you wish, your reward will be shared equally with the rest of your team." He gestures towards the group with a weary nod.

Kov wracks his memory. Carrion Hill's history is rich with whispers of ancient rituals performed in hidden tunnels beneath the city, legends speak of beings banished long ago, said to slumber and stir beneath the earth, and tales warn of forgotten gods, their power echoing in the darkness below. He's aware of many different custodians of the city, such as the Taldans, Orcs, Kellids and Varisians of multiple flavours. He's even aware that at times the city has been abandoned, or occupied by undead or plague survivors. The city's history goes back over two millennia, with rumours of still earlier settlements in the region. Unfortunately this doesn't help narrow things down much for identifying The Carrion Hill Horror. It could be a large apex predator - many aberrations, magical beasts or undead could fit the patchy second hand descriptions. Or it could be a purely ectoplasmic effect, a wizard's experiment gone rogue, something else entirely. The mayor interupts Kov's deliberations, becoming more agitated and clearly hoping the newly assembled heroes will get on their way, gesturing animatedly towards Leif.

"We need to get to unearthing the truth before our city caves in. I'll take one more question from ser knight. Leif. Excellent. A divination might be just the thing. Again, I direct you to The Slipper Market. The crows will see you through the crowds directly. If it would speed you all on your way I am prepared to offer a cash advance - 1000 gold for each of you to get started immediately. Your manservant doesn't count," he addresses this last comment to the foppish man in the velvet cloak.

Heggry claps his hands together and a smartly-dressed servant snaps forward bearing a small chest witch is presented to the gathering. "Eight thousand gold pieces to distribute as you wish. Now please, I would bid you depart at once! I can spare two of my crows to escort you to the Slipper Market if you would like."

Responses by 8am UTC Sunday 18th February please.

[DigoDragon]

"It's struck twice more, miss," Heggry sighs, the weariness pulling at his voice. "Both grand houses on the western Tangles, seemingly swallowed by sinkholes. In both cases, the resulting pit had no apparent entrance to chambers below, but the ruins were slathered and drenched in a foul-smelling slime the likes of which no one has ever seen before. There's no clear link between these other sites and the Market or each other, though our best minds haven't exactly been idle. As for the name, well, that's what the Crows christened it, and it stuck. Fear has a way of naming things quickly. What it is, where it came from, why… those are the answers we crave. It's moving underground, that much we know. Whatever it is, it's cunning enough to stay unseen. That's why your skills, keen eyes and all, are so crucial." His gaze lingers on Zuri a moment longer, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.


Zuri considers all the answers so far; it burrows under the buildings to pull them down, there are catacombs and older cities buried below, and the creature leaves a foul;-smelling slime. The shadows that play off the light of the fireplace all blend together at the base. The down below. "Well, it appears one option we can attempt is to find a way down under the city. See if this... horror has a nest it returns to after it attacks."

When Heggry's eyes linger a bit longer than usual, Zuri's head tilts slightly to one side. She wonders what is behind those eyes. She glances around subtly if anyone else is looking upon her. No one assumes her to be cutpurse, she hopes.



"We need to get to unearthing the truth before our city caves in. I'll take one more question from ser knight. Leif. Excellent. A divination might be just the thing. Again, I direct you to The Slipper Market. The crows will see you through the crowds directly. If it would speed you all on your way I am prepared to offer a cash advance - 1000 gold for each of you to get started immediately. Your manservant doesn't count," he addresses this last comment to the foppish man in the velvet cloak.

Heggry claps his hands together and a smartly-dressed servant snaps forward bearing a small chest witch is presented to the gathering. "Eight thousand gold pieces to distribute as you wish. Now please, I would bid you depart at once! I can spare two of my crows to escort you to the Slipper Market if you would like."

Zuri finds this to be a generous offering. She doesn't immediately pounce on the advance; she agrees with a nod, but waits for the others to agree and speak up if there is any remaining questions. "The market is certainly our best lead."

[Metastachydium]

But his eyes narrow, a flicker of annoyance warring with desperation at Witt's blunt challenge. "Haste? My dear, we've had three attacks just this morning. Each one deadly. People are holed up, fear gnawing at them. A monster is destroying buildings, and if they begin to feel their homes aren't safe, the city will crumble. The Crows are stretched thin, and if it hits a gas main whilst rummaging around underground… well, let's just say fireworks are preferable. Now, as for Crown Manor… blunt truth? We don't know. Our foundations are strong, defenses solid, but motive? We just don't know. We need answers, miss, and you lot are our only hope. So, coin purse motivates you? Fine. But understand, this ain't just about gold. This is about survival."

People live, people die. Way of doing business. Witt makes a show of shrugging, but there's a hint of something positively melancholy to her visage as she defiantly meets the mayor's gaze, her head still hanging slightly forward and down. This Heggry, he's one of the poor fools. A moron. He'd appear to mean well, and earnestly. Not of the kind that live. Sooner or later, his sort dies a "good death". Quite the pity.


"We need to get to unearthing the truth before our city caves in. I'll take one more question from ser knight. Leif. Excellent. A divination might be just the thing. Again, I direct you to The Slipper Market. The crows will see you through the crowds directly. If it would speed you all on your way I am prepared to offer a cash advance - 1000 gold for each of you to get started immediately. Your manservant doesn't count," he addresses this last comment to the foppish man in the velvet cloak.

Heggry claps his hands together and a smartly-dressed servant snaps forward bearing a small chest witch is presented to the gathering. "Eight thousand gold pieces to distribute as you wish. Now please, I would bid you depart at once! I can spare two of my crows to escort you to the Slipper Market if you would like."

Now, Heggry's finally speaking a language she likes to hear spoken. Witt pushes the chair aside and ambles forward, reaching under the chest with an arm and gives it a little shake, lifting it as though it were feathers in a pillow case. A smirk, somewhat resigned, dances around a corner of her lips. Weighs about right. she murmurs. Don't bother your Crows, sir. she dismisses the offer of tour guides with a rough wave of her hand. We'll make do. …or break through, if it takes force. That's really just a thing she does.

[Alhallor]

A dozen and a captain. Jochen murmurs, shocked. He thought of himself as being pretty capable but this was still a lot.

The young man shakes his head to clear his thoughts, determination in his gaze. When Witt gets the chest from the mayor Jochen takes his share out of it, but fills one of his pouches with 9/10 of his share and gives it back to the major.

Please distribute that to the families of the crows to lessen they're burden. I agree that we won't need an escort, keep you're man at ready.

The sorcerer adresses the knight, Leif. More information would be good, I would like to be at you're side when you try to divine what this thing is in case that whatever you see would frighten you. Jochen stutters a moment before continuing. I-I can take the fear of others unto myself, perhaps it will help you keep you're divination in order should it frighten you too much.

I'm ready to go.

[DrK]

Elthis

Elthis nods his thanks to the mayor and then also joins the others in a wave of his hand, "Do not bother the Crows they are busy enough" he waves towards where the market would be if there were no in the grand hall. "I know the slipper market well enough as well" he adds.

He looks in surprise the knight hands back much of the cash but doesn't offer to the same, merely dropping the gold into the suspiciously small pocket on his pack that seems to consume all of the gold without even bulging! He'll wait for the others before adjusting his blade at his hip, checking the tilt on his hat to keep the rain out of his eyes and looking at the others, "Ready to head down to the market?"

[DigoDragon]

Zuri

She watches the shadows dance up and down the walls as everyone claims their portion of the advance. No escort? I get the danger, but I feel that the crows wouldn't be doing more than escort. Eh, we know where the market is anyway. Zuri steps forward and claims her portion of coin. Now to just survive the expedition to be able to spend it.

"This one is ready to head out," Zuri replies to Elthis.

[razorfloss]

Heggry's thin lips purse, eyeing the pot with a practiced indifference. "Rough night, sailor? More's the pity, considering our predicament. We have no beast to describe, only the wreckage it leaves in its wake. We know of nobody who's seen it and lived, if beast it even is. Those witnesses who survived say the buildings were pulled apart from within by something enormous. The bodies of the dead reduced to... well, let's say 'unrecognizable.' Time is our enemy, so if you're ready to stomach more than just breakfast, step up. We need answers, and frankly," he gestures at the door, "we're not choosy about who brings them."




A rough couple of weeks unfortunately but thats life as he says this, he pushes the pot of puke away with his foot as it slowly starts to freeze lessening the smell for all around and closes his eyes for a second as if mustering himself before reopening it. As he does so his eyes seem less red, and he seems more focused on the task. Wow an advance already s**t must be serious then he sighs and as he does so the smell of alcohol on breath seems slightly lessened and reluctantly takes the gold before muttering to himself Politicians don't give up money easy unless the ship has capsized. This is going to suck. He turns towards his current teammates? and askes a question and introduces himself Hold up people before we all go jump at this beast, we need to list our skills so that we don't get in each other's way I'll start. The names Nicholas and I'm an expert on planar s**t and have a passing interest in history and religious s**t and I can make s**t on the fly. Also, I'm a pretty decent cook




Fort save to stop being as drunk [roll0]

[DigoDragon]

[COLOR="#B22222"] Politicians don't give up money easy unless the ship has capsized. This is going to suck. He turns towards his current teammates? and askes a question and introduces himself Hold up people before we all go jump at this beast, we need to list our skills so that we don't get in each other's way I'll start. The names Nicholas and I'm an expert on planar s**t and have a passing interest in history and religious s**t and I can make s**t on the fly. Also, I'm a pretty decent cook

Zuri flinches at this man's manners in front of the mayor. It would be wise to not speak the quiet part out loud, she thinks, but Zuri won't correct him. The call was for adventurers. It didn't specify proper decorum was a prerequisite. Often it's not in any case, and perhaps this man will be interesting to work alongside! Keep positive, right?

She steps forward and bows her head. "This one is Zuri. I am skilled in skulkery and finding the possessions that people have lost. I am fair with a blade as well, when the need arises."

[Metastachydium]

A drunk that thinks he's clever and a thief, so far. Well, those and a couple shining knights. A lovely mix of desperate means, Witt thinks to herself, slowly shaking her head. Mine's Witt, sailor-man. she pronounces bluntly, her guttural voice sounding oddly warm, at the surface – and yet off. And talking's a waste of bad breath, I say. Something like a hoarse chuckle is produced from somewhere deep within her throat, as she rolls a shoulder, letting the thicj bundles of muscle and sinew on her arm flow and ripple, still balancing the chest with casual ease on the crook of the other elbow. The worn flask emerges once more from some pocket, its content sipped, quickly. Grog, anyone? she holds it out, mostly towards this Nicholas fellow, as though in a challenge.

[Alhallor]

Jochen seems a bit surprised when asked about his skills, he thinks a bit before answering.

Well, I can cast some spells? Do You... Do you need a list? I can heal people with my magic, which I heard is pretty uncommon. Which reminds me.

Jochen seems to look a bit paler and weaker, he seems to punch his chest while murmuring something and then looks better while a sprectal armor briefly appears around him.

Transfer 2 HP towards my shawl, then cast Mage Armor and give myself 2 HP back.

As I told Leif, if someone is afraid I can take they're fear unto me. I think that's pretty much it? I can point out weakpoints I guess? Oh and I take a sip, thanks a lot.

Jochen takes Witt's offer and takes a sip of grog which is followed by a lot of coughing, heaving and after a bit of time gasping for air. I think something died in there...

[razorfloss]

A drunk that thinks he's clever and a thief, so far. Well, those and a couple shining knights. A lovely mix of desperate means, Witt thinks to herself, slowly shaking her head. Mine's Witt, sailor-man. she pronounces bluntly, her guttural voice sounding oddly warm, at the surface – and yet off. And talking's a waste of bad breath, I say. Something like a hoarse chuckle is produced from somewhere deep within her throat, as she rolls a shoulder, letting the thicj bundles of muscle and sinew on her arm flow and ripple, still balancing the chest with casual ease on the crook of the other elbow. The worn flask emerges once more from some pocket, its content sipped, quickly. Grog, anyone? she holds it out, mostly towards this Nicholas fellow, as though in a challenge.

Nicholas looks at it before glancing at the now frozen puke and shakes his head.
I'm sorry miss but I will have to decline until after the situation is dealt with. Drinking on the job is how good sailors end up dead and I'm sure the same applies to landlubbers

[Metastachydium]

'S how all spirit's made. Witt snorts, seemingly in a good humour – but whether to Jochen or Nicholas, it's hard to tell.

[In4Dimensions]

Kov addresses the mayor. "Well, I shall start at the market, then. While I appreciate the advance gift, gold alone will not keep me alive. Would you, or a merchant in town, happen to have some sort of protective charm of equivalent value that I could purchase?"

Kov ignores the ramblings of the drunkard and the others, though his eyes flicker with interest when the human mage casts his spell. He says nothing to the woman offering him alcohol, though his demeanor makes his disinterest quite obvious."The good mayor wishes for us to make haste. Let us depart", he says calmly, and begins to walk towards the exit.

[Palanan]

"And I," says the last of their number, "am Marakos the Bold, swordsman extraordinaire!"

With the heavy chest cradled under one lace-sleeved arm, and a rather smug smile directed at the halfling servant, the dandy swirls his cape, sets his free hand on his basket hilt, and follows the others to Slipper Market.

[DigoDragon]

Zuri gives off a faint snirk at Witt's joke. It wasn't half bad. She takes mental notes on the teams' various abilities and attitudes. A few seem unaccustomed to working together, but Zuri is sure that'll soften when the team is in the thick of the investigation.

[RCgothic]

Heggry's face betrays relief, a flicker warming his tired eyes as the group agrees to embark. "Excellent! Then waste no time!" he urges, voice taut with urgency. "I suppose the locals among you don’t need babysitting to the market." A chorus of affirmations greets him. He nods curtly, a grimace tugging at his lips. "Excellent choice then. Hurry, for every moment you spend here, that creature grows bolder. Sir knight, I understand your horse is in my stables. If you wish to leave him here I assure you he will be safe, or you can retrieve him if you prefer." A harried servant appears, whispering urgently in the mayor's ear. Heggry sighs, his shoulders slumping, and excuses himself with a curt, "Duty calls. May fortune guide you, brave souls."

As the party exits Crown Manor, the oppressive weight of the storm descends upon them. Rain lashes down, each drop a tiny hammer of despair against the cobblestones. The sky bleeds a stormy purple, choked with clouds heavy and bloated like festering wounds. Visibility dwindles, the world shrinking to a claustrophobic tunnel of rain-streaked stone and shadowed alleys. Even through the downpour, the party senses eyes upon them. Actual crows, sleek and obsidian-feathered, huddle on rooftops, their beady black eyes reflecting the dying light in an unsettling manner. They caw raucously, their harsh cries echoing through the damp air, a grim chorus sung with unnerving synchronicity. Every few caws, their heads tilt in unison, a macabre danse macabre performed by avian oracles. They don't follow, not overtly, but their presence is omnipresent and oppressive, a constant reminder that you are watched, judged, perhaps… desired. The labyrinthine streets, usually teeming with life, were deserted. Shop shutters were bolted tight, doorways gaped like empty maws, and the only sound was the relentless drumming of rain and the occasional, eerie creak of a wind-tossed sign. An oppressive silence pervaded the air, broken only by the distant, muffled shouts and panicked whispers emanating from the direction of the Slipper Market.

As the party approaches the chaos became clearer. A throng of people, faces pale and fear-etched, huddled towards the edge of a cordon enforced by grim-faced Crows. The market itself was invisible, swallowed by the rain and gloom, but the stench of something foul, a melange of decay and burnt iron, wafted towards them, its source hidden.

"No further!" a grim-faced Crow barked, his voice hoarse from shouting over the din. "The Market is closed by order of the Mayor! Turn back, lest you join the others who have met their doom down there!"

He gestures towards the gaping maw of the Slipper Market, its entrance swallowed by swirling mists and shadows. The rain, driven by the wind, lashed through the opening, revealing nothing beyond an inky blackness that seemed to devour light itself.

The crowd, agitated by the Crows' pronouncement, begins to murmur, their fear morphing into anger. "Let us pass! We have family trapped down there!" cried one woman, her voice cracking with desperation. "We must see if they are alive!"

Panic, a shapeless entity birthed of the storm and whispers of eldritch horrors, pulsed within the crowd. Faces contorted, warped by fear into grotesque masks, pushed forward. Shoves turned to desperate lunges, the press of bodies forming a churning sea of despair. The Crows, their obsidian armour glistening with rain and sweat, fight back valiantly, the hafts of their halberds forming a wavering dam against the tide. Yet the pressure mounts, the line buckling like a sapling in a hurricane. The adventurers stand at the precipice of chaos! Will they join the fray, becoming part of the writhing mass? Appeal for a return of sanity? Or stand firm - allowing the dam of control to crumble - unjamming their obstacle but unleashing a torrent of terror upon the city and, perhaps, themselves?


8am UTC February 28th for responses please.

[DigoDragon]

Zuri

Not two seconds outside, Zuri already missed the warm dry interior of the mayor's office. She sighs and pulls her cloak over herself, drawing her shoulders in. She walks with the group, feeling ill-at-ease with the "attempted murder" of birds perched above. The soft pat pat pat of her shoes on puddles is the only sound coming out from her as she walks, keeping ears and snout at attention.

At the market, Zuri wrinkles her nose. Her sense of smell is dampened by the rain, but her tail is itching. There's danger in that maw of darkness. Zuri looks to the assembled party.

"We are going in that hole, yes? Perhaps we could appease the crowd by convincing them we will search for survivors on their behalf. This will keep them out of our way while we investigate."

[DrK]

Elthis

Elthis keeps hand to the hilt of his sword watching the crowd warily. "It'll get nasty" he mutters to the others, "I wonder if I can get the crowds attention. What do you think?" he asks looking to the others. "I can make a b of a bang?" he mutters as he holds a firecracker in his hand that he has pulled form his pack, holding it tightly to keep the soaking rain off the wax covered firework.

[Alhallor]

Yes we should definitely try to calm them down, Zuri. Jochen nods towards Elthis.

Yes please make a little distraction that may bring they're attention towards us. Jochen recast his light cantrip on his staff but not before shielding it with part of his cloak.

When Elthis makes his distraction Jochen raises his staff into the air to draw even more attention to them.

Good people of Sagus cliff, don't be afraid!

Jochen proclaimed loudly.

You're good Major Heggry has given us the task to search for you're missing family and friends! Please let us through and do as you're told by the crows, this way you can embrace you're loved ones all the earlier.

Says Jochen, full of hope that everything will turn out okay.

Diplomacy: [roll0]

[Metastachydium]

The crows that fly and stare don't bother Witt much. She doesn't stare back either. Her business is under the cobblestones now, or so the Mayor's gold says, not with the birds. And there's little new in the latter. Sucg crows don't break mishapen tavern chairs on her back. Don't barf the smell of stale beer into her face. Don't have gold to pay her.

The other Crows, in their armour, circling the pit, circled by the mob, are a different beast. Witt wades into the crowd, looking in face after face from close up and snorts. She lets this Jochen speak first; that's a bloody fine speech. And she just knows how to make it better yet. Or you can come along, for all I care. If y'wanna die a stupid death's what I mean. she snorts, as though genuinely amused. 'S not like we won't have use for some live bait, catch my drift?


Intimidate: [roll0]

[DigoDragon]

You're good Major Heggry has given us the task to search for you're missing family and friends! Please let us through and do as you're told by the crows, this way you can embrace you're loved ones all the earlier.

"Yes, we will do everything in our power to find your missing loved ones," Zuri added, trying to assist.

Diplomacy vs DC 10(?) to assist:
[roll0]

[razorfloss]

Nick sighs and rubs his face with his hands muttering F***ing idiots everywhere as dealing with mob and crowd is just pissing him off as it makes his hangover worse. He growls low Move or be moved to help accent Witts point not caring if a fight breaks out or not as either way the poison will be let out.


Intimidate vs DC 10 to assist[roll0]

[In4Dimensions]

It would be best for the others to do the talking, Kov thinks, as he sees the scene unfolding before him. He is all too aware of the difficulties of trying to reason with angry surface-folk as a drow. Instead, he attempts to squeeze through the crowd and slip into the market amidst the confusion, trusting his new compatriots to prevent a riot.

Acrobatics or Stealth (Kov has the same modifier for both) check to make it through the crowd without attracting attention: [roll0]

[RCgothic]

Chaos momentarily engulfs the scene as Witt and Kov attempt to navigate the surging crowd. Shoves and blows rain down, but their practiced agility allows them to weave through the fray, reaching the wavering line of halberds just as Elthis's firework explodes overhead.

A fiery bloom paints the sky, momentarily silencing the cacophony. The sudden spectacle draws all eyes upward, creating a welcome lull. Seizing the opportunity, Jochen and Zuri address the crowd. Their voices, firm and reassuring, convey the mayor's plan and the party's role in carrying it out. Nick, with a subtle display of strength, adds a reminder of the dangers within the market. Witt, her voice cutting through the tension, just warns the crowd not to stand in their way.

The tense standoff begins to thaw. Mollified by the party's words and actions, the crowd slowly disperses, easing the pressure on the Crows' line. The watch sergeant, visibly relieved, expresses his gratitude for their timely arrival:

"By the Nine Hells," the sergeant croaked, his voice hoarse and strained. "You arrived just in the nick of time! Thanks to you lot, we can finally catch our breath." He gestures to his weary Crows, some of them slumped against the wall, tending to bruised knuckles and aching muscles. "We haven't had a moment's rest since this mess started. Be careful, friends. Whatever's lurking in that market, it's got the whole city on edge."


Posts by next Sunday 8am UTC please.

[DigoDragon]

Zuri glances down towards the market, then looks back at the sergeant. "You haven't sent anyone into the market, have you?"

[Alhallor]

Jochen nods towards the sergeant of the crows. It's the least we could do. If at all possible, it would be good to still have some crows stationed here. If someone climbs in after us, we will be more hampered than helped.

Jochen looks from Juri to the sergeant. You haven't right? If yes we will be for the lookout for them.

After the discussion Jochen goes towards the market, trying to take in the surroundings of the market, looking for any collapsed buildings or other signs that were described.

[Metastachydium]

Witt, unharmed and unfazed spits after the fickle crowd as it retreats with a habit of contempt she barely notices herself, before walking past the line of Crows with the same casual gall – albeit not crossing over into open disdain this once. These men have done their bruising today. That's well worth a grain of respect, even from her.

Their words reach her ears also. Not the words of gratitude, of course: thankless jobs suit her well enough, and a thanks that doesn't buy a drink or a roof for another day always rings empty. Rather, the words of worry. Lurking, you say? she says, with unbroken calm, not turning back to look at the man. 'S it still here? Now that's something to think about, and more of a concern than another damn fool that stumbled in here for a promise of gold – or so she deems. She looks around, with a curious squint.


Perception: [roll0]

[razorfloss]

Glancing at wit and noticing her growing contempt for people he makes a note to pay attention to that in the future assuming he remembers after his hangover. He nods at the Sergent Glad to be of help. Mind giving us an update on the situation. The last thing the mayor told us is that the monster struck recently but any new InfoMation would be greatly appreciated

[In4Dimensions]

Kov stays silent, though he clearly takes an interest in Zuri and Jochen asking the Crow captain about whether he's sent anyone into the market.

[DrK]

Elthis

Watches with some joy at the flames flickering across the sky before as the crowds disperse then turns his attentions to the men. Casting at glance over them to assess their injuries. After a glance at their wounds he'll look around the market square, a question to the Crows, "Is it still in the market?" Elthis asks with some consternation, pulling out a metal fused ball the size of his fist in his hand as he glances around nervously. "Have you seen it?"

percpetion [roll0], Heal (if needed) [roll1]

[RCgothic]

Erugazel has to scrabble through the dispersing throng, his halfling disguise bobbing in the tall-folk sea. A random shove, a moment's distraction, and the crimson cloak of his proxy, Marakos, vanishes. Along with him a chest still containing some 150 of the platinum pieces advanced by Mayor Heggry. A tendril of unease snakes through Erugazel's heart – has he been too trusting?

From across the street Leif spies a cloaked figure, bearing an uncanny resemblance to Marakos, darting out of sight. Why would the prospective hero vanish into such a place, and with such haste? The answer, like the alley itself, remains shrouded in an unsettling gloom.

"Sergeant Corvus, at your service," the grizzled watch captain rasps, his voice raw and weary. He runs a hand through his sweat-slicked hair, finally remembering introductions after a moment of assessing your group. "We managed to salvage a few unfortunates from the market, Captain Garrus among them, bless his soul. But a full search…" he trails off, gesturing towards the nervous crowd shuffling behind him with a grimace. "Crowd control became a priority. Now our orders are to hold here and let you lot take the lead in the investigation."

Sergeant Corvus gestures towards the devastation behind him. "You'll see for yourselves shortly, but there are several collapsed buildings - the air hangs heavy with the smell of burnt wood, blood, and something… else." He leans closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "There are whispers of survivors trapped in the tunnels beneath the wreckage, but honestly, I doubt anyone could have escaped it. Still… it's worth checking."

His gaze lingered on Witt briefly, his face etched with a mixture of hope and dread. "Lurking? Perhaps. Still here? Who knows. No one's laid eyes on it, thank the gods. We're praying there isn't more than one of those… things out there."

As Sergeant Corvus relays the initial details of the situation, his voice heavy with weariness, the nervous crowd adds a low murmur of fear to the already tense atmosphere. As the party scans the onlookers, one in particular stands out: a gaunt figure perched on a crate, his clothes rumpled and his gaze fixed intently on Sergeant Corvus. Zuri recognises him as Tarrig, a resident with a reputation for embellishing the truth. He might seem like a potential source of information, albeit potentially unreliable.

Jochen, driven by a morbid curiosity he couldn't suppress, pressed onward into the cyclopean square. The rain, a ceaseless, maddening dirge, veiled the scene in a shroud of mist, obscuring the full horror that awaited him. Shattered market stalls, like the skeletal remains of monstrous insects, lay strewn about. Jagged teeth of masonry jutted from the ruined buildings, as if some monstrous entity had gnawed at their edges. Blood, a viscous ichor, slicked the cobblestones, punctuated by the grotesque confetti of blasted flesh: severed limbs, crushed torsos, and pulped organs. In a shadowed corner, a macabre tableau: a tumulus of unidentifiable limbs, a grotesque monument to the departed. Eight bodies, shrouded in either the pallid embrace of bloodied linen or the inky caress of crow feathers, lay arranged in a mocking semblance of order. This morbid effort at organization, clearly interrupted half-begun, spoke volumes of the true, unimaginable carnage. Stalwart crows, like obsidian sentinels, held back the tide of curious onlookers at the square's periphery. In the jagged rooftops above, black, unblinking eyes stare down at Jochen in, the Crows' feathered namesakes continuing their oppressive surveillance from every cranny with unsettling intent. The indifferent sky, a vast, uncaring entity, continued to unleash its watery wrath upon the scene, a fitting accompaniment to the cosmic horror unfolding before Jochen's widening eyes.


And we're back! Sorry for the extended service outage. Genuinely the best way to get me back on track is to call me out on it on discord and give me a deadline.

Let's see if we can't get some momentum back up. I'll be putting my next post up by Thursday 16th at the latest, or sooner if I get in the zone. So get your posts in and let's get going again. :smallredface:

[DigoDragon]

Zuri recognizes him as Tarrig, a resident with a reputation for embellishing the truth. He might seem like a potential source of information, albeit potentially unreliable.

Zuri approaches Tarrig, trying to look friendly with a gentle hint of aloof in her body language. She nods to him and speaks softly. "Hey, Tarrig. This one noticed your eyes are intent on the sergeant there. Know something he doesn't about what went down in the market?" She slides out two silver pieces to his palm. "You could use a drink later."

Diplomacy [roll0]

[Alhallor]

Jochen, always driven by curiosity, was getting closer to the opened maw that had consumed part of the marketplace, he was stopped by the meticulous arrangment of limbs, ruptured organs and an amount of blood that the continous rain couldn't wash away that easily.

Jochen's face became even paler than it already was, his hands began to shake and his ragged breathing couldn't help. The content of his stomach fleed into the wreckage of a destroyed market stall.

If he was alone the sorcerer would run and hide somewhere, do his business in the town and cry at home, just from the sight of this carnage.

But he wasn't alone and he promised to take care of all this. He had the hopes that nobody was seriously hurt or even dead, the slaughter a mocking denial of his hopes.

With trembling hands and a wet, salty face he took a closer look at the fallen, they would need more information to fight against whatever was causing and all this. And the monstrous order may have called for something even more sinister.

Heal check to kinda distinguish what happened to this poor, poor sods: [roll0] +2 if a healers kit helps with that.
Perception check to see if there is a survivor?: [roll1]
Knowledge arcana to find out if the carnage may in fact be a sinister summoning circle: [roll2]

[razorfloss]

Taking note of the devastation he walks forward before the smell of blood, gore, and **** hits him. While normally able to ignore it his already upset stomach from the drinking causes him to hurl into a shadowy pot that happens to appear at his feet. After hurling he wipes his mouth with the back of his arm he says GrimlyThis is a nasty sight and cayden forgive me for being sloshed to not give this the proper respect it deserves and scans the area looking any survivors that may have been missed. Failing that he looks for any signs that may have been missed in the first go around.


Perception check for survivors [roll0]
Perception check for clues that may have been missed[roll1]

[In4Dimensions]

As Kov observes the gruesome sight before him, his face darkens. As the others attempt their own searches, he silently attempts to find any trace of the creature it might have left behind, and from where it may have emerged.

Perception to find clues as to the monster's identity or direction of movement: [roll0]

[Metastachydium]

'S only fair. Witt nods at Corvus, ambling deeper into the field of ruins. It's either here; or it isn't. she adds, almost somnolently, beating a small, tuneless rhythm at the side of her flask with an equally absent finger as she walks. There's going to be some work to do her, that much is certain, at any rate. And the sooner they start, the faster they'll get through to the other end, whatever that may look like. We done talking here? she calls out to the others, now louder. She looks around, slowly. Witt has known that there's always some way further down for long; and now might be the time to see how deep she can get before she'd drown. Maybe if she keeps an open eye, she'll even spot a good path to hit that road.

Perception, to spot a way into what might be the tunnels (Witt being "Carrying Capacity: the Medium Character" she doesn't mind if any such is partly blocked): [roll0]

[DrK]

Elthis

Elthis nods to the guards respectfully as he steps carefully around the carnage, holding the edge of his cloak slightly above the charred, blood smeared and filthy cobbles and broken wooden frames and the like. Looking at the bodies he shakes his head, and breaths shallowly to avoid the stench. "A nasty business," he mutters as he kneels beside them,, a muted "I wonder what manner of death was visited upon these poor people"



To assess the strength/power/ mode of death [roll0]



With some consideration he looks at the others and the trail of destruction, "So are we hunting?" he asks the others. Checking the tightness of his sword belt and one hand still wrapped around a metal fused grenade in his pocket.

[RCgothic]

Zuri

Tarrig, a gaunt figure with wild hair and a nervous twitch, glances around furtively before leaning in towards Zuri, his voice a conspiratorial rasp. "Aye, that I was the first to see it, missy! More than Sergeant Corvus cares to admit, truth be told." He pockets the silver with a grin, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of fear and excitement. "Though that craven bunch wouldn't know a real monster if it… well, if it did something monstrous, see?"

He lowers his voice further, glancing towards the wreckage. "It all started with a crash, like a mountain falling over, but… not a mountain, see? More like a… a giant fist, maybe? But with too many fingers, or not enough, it's hard to say in all the ruckus!"

Tarrig shudders dramatically. "Then… silence. Not a peep for a heartbeat, mind you. Then the ground starts shaking again, like a dog trying to bury a bone too big for its mouth. But this time, there was stomping too! Heavy stomping, like a dozen ogres in iron boots, but all together, see? Like one big… one big…" He trails off, searching for the right word, his eyes wide.

"One big… writhing mass of… shadows? But shadows with claws, I tell you! Claws that tore through the buildings like they were made of cheese! Don't know where it came from, this… this monstrosity! One minute it was bursting out of Marshan's house, the next it was everywhere, filling the square with… with… tendrils? Black, slimy tendrils that snatched folks up and…" He shivers again, his voice dropping to a whisper. "… did unspeakable things to them before flinging them aside like broken dolls."

Tears well up in his eyes, his voice cracking. "And my own place! Right next to Elara's, poor soul. It took a good whack too! Not as a bad as hers, thank the gods, but enough to put a hole in the roof and scatter my… my most prized possessions to the four winds! Can't a man enjoy his little comforts in peace these days?"

He gestures vaguely towards a section of the square opposite Marshan's house. "Elara's Wunderkammer, that's what it was called. Used to be a right treat for the eyes, filled with trinkets and curious bits and bobs from all corners of the world. Now all that's left is a pile of splinters, thanks to that… that… thing!"


Jochen, Elthis, Nick

The rain, a relentless shroud, washes over the macabre tableau before Jochen. The remnants of humanity are strewn across the cobblestones like playthings cast aside by a monstrous child. Torn, flayed, and shredded – these are not the clean wounds of battle, but the grotesque signature of something alien and perverse. Stabbed, pierced, and crushed, mangled flesh mingles with shattered bone in a gruesome tapestry. Dismembered limbs lie scattered like butchered offerings, while the stench of viscera hangs heavy in the air.

Though beneath their sheets most of the arranged bodies are unrecognisable to Jochen, one of those shrouded in a tattered cloak of black feathers bears the unmistakable insignia of a captain, marking the remains of Garus, a grim confirmation of the whispers that had reached them. Around him, the carnage continues – a symphony of violence echoing in the stillness. No rhyme or reason binds this obscene display. Buildings bear the scars of the entity's wrath, clawed and gouged like petrified flesh. No arcane sigils mark this scene, no summoning circle arranged with meticulous dread, only the cold, uncaring hand of oblivion.

Elsewhere in the square, Elthis also examines the dead. The stench assaults his senses, but it's the sheer brutality of the wounds that chills him to the bone. Unlike anything he's encountered before, these are a grotesque tapestry of crushing blows, gaping tears, and piercing stabs. The most disturbing part – a horrifying testament to the creature's strength – is the mangled form of a burly half-orc, quite literally ripped in half with casual ease.

Following their ministrations, Jochen and Elthis join Nick in a search for survivors (Nick finds he has the opportunity to lift up to 147gp in valuables from the dead… if he wishes). Shoulders straining, Nick and Jochen clear the wreckage, their movements a wordless symphony of cooperation in the face of devastation.

Then, beneath a splintered stall, a horrifying tableau unfolds. With a collective grunt, they heave the wreckage aside, revealing a halfling. He lies whimpering, a testament to the creature's sadistic caprice. Missing vital pieces, his life ebbs away like the tide, stolen by the cosmic horror that has ravaged this once-bustling market square. This single survivor, a silent witness to the monstrous ballet, offers no solace, only a chilling reminder of the fragility of life in the face of such unutterable darkness.

His eyes, wide and pleading, stare unseeingly. The man's lips move soundlessly, a desperate plea for aid or solace that hangs heavy in the oppressive silence.


Kov, Witt

Kov, resolute amidst the carnage, becomes a silent hunter. He ignores the cloying stench and the pleas of the dying, his gaze a laser dissecting the scene. Though the relentless rain washes at the evidence, Kov's keen eyes pierce the veil. A fetid ichor, a stinking black ooze that clings to shattered stone, marks the creature's path. It erupted from the ruins of Marshan's house, a monstrous pustule bursting onto the square. Its rage, a tempest unleashed, tore through the market with blind fury. The trinket haven of Elara's Wunderkammer lies in splintered ruin, a testament to the creature's casual malice. The tremors of its passing echoed through Tarrig's ramshackle dwelling, leaving it teetering on the brink of collapse. The creature, a whirlwind of destruction, seems to have plunged down a shadowed alley before returning to the smoldering heart of its emergence.

Witt's keen eyes, scanning the shattered buildings and debris-strewn cobblestones, reach the same conclusion as Kov's. The creature came from Marshan's house and returned there. Undeterred by the precarious debris or the promise of lurking horrors, Witt sets off towards the shattered remains of the house. The very air around it seems to crackle with an unnatural energy, and the stench of the creature's passage intensifies. Not to be blocked by a little fallen debris, Witt shoulders it aside and forces entry, her boots crunching on shattered wood and bone.

Inside Marshan's house, Witt finds herself in a scene of utter devastation. The living room is a grotesque tableau, somehow even worse than outside. Doors lie splintered, the northern wall blasted outwards, furniture reduced to kindling. Rainwater leaks through the shattered roof, doing little to dilute the thick layer of black slime that coats every surface. The stench assaults her senses, a horrifying concoction of decay, sewage, and something altogether alien that would turn a lesser stomach than Witt’s.

Scattered amidst the slime and rubble are body parts – again too many to belong to a single victim. Several shredded black feathered capes lie amongst the remains, grim confirmation the rest of Garus's men met a grisly end. The air here is thick and stagnant, heavy with the cloying ichor. Doors choked with debris lead east, behind the wrecked frontage, and south, deeper into the building. The upper levels groan ominously, unsettled by Witt’s forthright passage.


What Next?

The grim situation hangs heavy. Decisions press. What's next for the adventurers? What solace will they give for a dying stranger? Will Zuri press Tarrig for answers, or does another course beckon? Witt leads boldly into Marshan's house. Does that hold promise, or shall clues be sought elsewhere? The shop, the ransacked apartment, or the shadowy alley perhaps? Which actions will uncover the next thread to unravel this tangled mess?

[DigoDragon]

Zuri

"It got Elara's place too? Bless their soul," Zuri says, offering a comforting pat on the back. "This... creature sounds more dreadful than any nightmare could imagine, but I and my newfound ompanions will see to some justice done. Tell me, Tarrig, did this creature take anything? If it tossed the townsfolk aside, it may not be motivated by hunger, but maybe it seeks something? Might you remember those tentacles dragging away anything back down?"

[Alhallor]

With the help of the others, it was unbelievable that they found a survivor, but perhaps even them may not be long for this world. Jochen almost let the wreckage fell down again, but they put it aside first the sorcerer trying to get towards the halfling as gentle as possible. I'm here, it's fine, we got you.

Trying to heal the wounded halfling by sacrificing some of his arcane energy's to do so.

Trying a Cure Moderate wounds to save the halfling.
Heals: [roll0] HP.
Heal check too, should magical healing not be enough. [roll1] counts as using a Healers Kit thanks to Vest of Surgery.

[DrK]

Elthis

The alchemist pauses, a blood smeared hand poised in its search for answers as he see's the carnage wrought by the beast. "Beware my friends, this beast is strong and powerful. I do not fancy dancing blades with such a thing" again he gives the metal sphere a welcoming sphere, it would be a day for pyrotechnics he felt. As the survivor is uncovered he smiles weakly, "A blessing from the Lady of Chance" as he steps back to let the others fuss over the small victim.

Looking past Jochen he'll ask the others, "Shall we ready for the hunt? But beware"

[RCgothic]

Zuri

"Dragged things away, you say? Aye, that's the worst part, missy! Like puppets on twisted strings, the beast yanked folks back down with those slimy tentacles. Screamin' somethin' awful they were! Didn't stop till they were outta sight, back in that blasted hole it crawled out of. Now, I couldn't see clear in all the chaos, mind you, but some folks swear they saw the beast stuffin' them into its gullet, whole and wrigglin'! Nasty business, the whole lot of it! Makes a man wonder what kind of hunger could drive somethin' that size to swallow folks alive!"

Tarrig shudders over-dramatically, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and a hint of morbid fascination. Behind him, Sergeant Corvus rolls his eyes so hard they nearly disappear into his hairline, then lets out a barely audible scoff and shakes his head slowly.




Holding off on a reply for the moment until other players have a chance to respond.

[DigoDragon]

Zuri


beast stuffin' them into its gullet, whole and wrigglin'! Nasty business, the whole lot of it!

Zuri looks at the market for a moment, then nods to Tarrig. "Thank you for being brave and sharing such painful memories. This one must be off, if there is any possibility to save those poor folks dragged underground."

She quietly palms another silver for his trouble, and then takes her leave to rejoin the others and share what she learned. It might be exaggerated a bit, but the basic jest seems to be something large with a mass of tentacles (and the penchant to swallow victims whole).

[razorfloss]

Seeing the gold nick thinks for a moment before grabbing it and vows to Clayden to use it to donate to the rebuilding of the town.

[Metastachydium]

Well, Witt never knew this cesspool has and end so deep. This place, it smells worse than her still. She spits, all aware it eon't wash the taste of this air out of her mouth, and smears the spittle into the black mucus with a boot. She's not sure what to think of it, what it feels like – tired, rotting grease, perhaps. Not that she means to think about it much. This way! she calls out again. Thing came through here. she speaks on as she walks on, trudging through across the room with almost reckless indifference to grab hold of the sudden door and try to peel it out of the way.

[Palanan]

Using message, Erugazel murmurs directly in the dandy’s ear:

“I hope you’re just heading to find a better vantage point from which to continue our partnership. Work with me for a little longer today, and half of what’s in that chest is yours.

“Otherwise…I can always find you. What’s inside that chest shines like a beacon to my sorcerous eyes—and every cockroach in this city is my friend and ally.”


Intimidate
[roll0]

[RCgothic]

Jochen

Jochen lunges for the halfling, urgency etched on his face. The man's ragged breaths are a counterpoint to the relentless rain. Initially not daring to spend time examining the wounds, Jochen gathers his magic, muttering the incantation for Cure Moderate Wounds. A warm green light envelops the halfling, washing over the mangled form beneath the tattered cloak. Hope flickers in the halfling's wide eyes, a silent plea met with Jochen's determined focus.

As the light fades, Jochen gently eases the halfling back and assesses the damage. The results are not good. A gaping wound tears through the halfling's chest, a horrifying glimpse into a ravaged interior. A single, choked gasp escapes the man as Jochen discovers another, equally devastating injury. It's clear now that despite his efforts the creature's brutality left no room for survival.

Despite the grim reality, the halfling's eyes remain locked on Jochen's face, a desperate hope clinging to their depths. He reaches out a trembling hand, the movement a testament to his fading strength. But the light in the halfling's eyes dims with each passing moment. The outreached hand goes slack, the silent plea replaced by a heartbreaking emptiness. The finality of death settles over the scene, a suffocating weight that even the relentless rain cannot wash away.


Erugazel

Whether or not Marakos heard his message, a cunning way of conveying instructions to dandy pretend adventurer, Erugazel is unable to tell now that the man has disappeared from view and no response is forthcoming. In the square the others appear to be starting to regroup with purpose.

What now? To tag along with the others, making awkward excuses for Marakos' absence and pleading usefulness? Or to break off in search of the conniving traitor who's opportunely made off with your substantial fortune in coin before the trail goes cold?

DM Note: This is a genuine choice. If you decide to split from the party I'll try and make it work.


Witt
Witt approaches the southern door with a practiced eye. The warped frame and splintered wood hint at the building's precarious state. Undeterred, she braces herself and with a burst of surprising agility (considering the harrowing scene), she wrenches the door free. It swings open with a groan, revealing what appears to have once been a library and bedroom, now in a shambles. Furniture is splintered, shelves and books smashed and torn, and everything is coated with a thick, stinking layer of tar-like sludge. Dust motes dance in the faint light filtering through the ruined walls. A door frame lies burst open to the southwest, beyond which a flight of slime-smeared stone steps leads downward into the dark. Another shattered and obstructed door in the north eastern part of the room presumably leads back to the corner of the building not yet explored.


Zuri

As she turns to rejoin the others, Tarrig's voice cuts through the rain. His usual flippancy is replaced by a sudden seriousness. "I've always liked you, Zuri," he says, his voice low. "Try not to get... et!" The last word hangs heavy in the air, a chilling reminder of the night's horrors.


Nick

A prickle of unease crawls up Nick's spine. He glances around, searching for the source of the disquiet. High above, a group of crows gather on the skeletal branches of a shattered storefront sign. Their obsidian eyes seem to lock onto him, their silence a stark contrast to the incessant drumming of the rain. The weight of the coin purse in his pocket feels heavier suddenly, a physical manifestation of the unspoken judgment hanging heavy in the air.


Kov, Elthis, Nick, Jochen, Zuri, Leif

A heavy silence hangs over the ravaged market square. Rain continues to pummel the cobblestones, washing away the blood and grime but leaving behind an undeniable sense of despair. Nothing more can be done for the dead halfling. The party somewhat reformed cluster together, a lone island of life in the midst of death.

From within the mangled remains of Marshan's house, a distant shout pierces the oppressive atmosphere. Witt's voice, laced with a hint of urgency, echoes through the shattered windows: "This way! Thing came through here!" A sliver of hope cuts through the tension. Perhaps within the alchemist's home lies a clue, a forgotten spell, or some hidden knowledge that could aid them in understanding the creature and stopping it. A discernible crunch emanates from the building. Either Witt is making progress or she dislodged something heavy.

[DigoDragon]

Zuri


Tarrig's voice cuts through the rain. His usual flippancy is replaced by a sudden seriousness. "I've always liked you, Zuri," he says, his voice low. "Try not to get... et!" The last word hangs heavy in the air, a chilling reminder of the night's horrors.

Zuri feels glad to be wanted by the city's guard. In a good way--not the sketch of your face on a piece of paper posted in the city square way. The rain dribbles down the edge of her hood. A soft white breath from the cold, humid air puffs out as Zuri exhales. She nods with an air of confidence and returns to her companions. The chill of the evening held barely away by her cloak and her own fur.


Upon reaching the group, Zuri summarizes what her witness had told her. "One witness says he heard thumping sounds before the creature surfaced. Like a big group of ogres in boots. Also, it grabbed and perhaps swallowed several townsfolk alive. He described the creature as being of many and mostly shadows and tentacles."

She takes a moment of silence for the departed halfling.

When Witt shouts out, Zuri looks to the companions, nods, and will head towards Witt's voice.

[Alhallor]

Jochen is at first relieved when his spells takes hold and closes a little bit of the wounds the poor halfling is suffering, but then he soon sees another life-threathening wound... And another. He grasps the outstretched hand to at least offer a little bit of comfort for the dying soul. It's all good, it'll get better... When the poor soul dies in his arms Jochen at least takes him out of the wreckage, lays him beside it and closes his eyes. He needs some time where he just sits in the rain and collect himself. He stands up abrubtly There have been no survivors. Jochen says, hollow. The sorcerer has seen death before but not like this... And usually he could prevent the worst.

Zuri's words make him perk up and look at the carnage around them. He took some with them, but not everyone? The cruelty of the creature might have actually been a point, though it was still impossible to see what it's purpose was. But there was no denying now that they're prey was not only dangerous but also had some abominable goals.

Witt's voice brought a welcoming distraction for Jochen who whipped around and walked towards her voice, trying to distract himself.

[Metastachydium]

Witt herself, at this point, can't but ponder: which awful's this bladder of slime, really? Awful big, or awful strong. If it came up the stairs, it can sure squeeze, or it hits real heavy, to mess up all those buildings so hard; but did it come up there? Maybe it's just on the large side of things. In Witt's kind of business, size is a deal. And a big room with a big hole, that would allow for such a deal playing to its forte here.

The stair's a good direction as any, but it's not going anywhere either. Looking can't hurt much, and if it does… That's the way **** flows. Witt crosses tohe room and grabs hold of the other door,, all intent on forcing it open.


Once again, if a STR check or the like is required, do tell.

[razorfloss]

Feeling the weight of the coins are heavier than normal and feeling like he's now being judged he mutters to himself Yeah Yeah I meant what I said no need to get judgey. I'm a man of my word at least when it doesn't involve drink . While muttering he hears Wits voice Looks like she found something and making sure to keep the promised good separate from his spending gold he heads her way with a shadowy butcher knife in hand as a just in case.

[In4Dimensions]

Eyes narrowed, Kov enters the alchemist's house upon hearing Witt's call. "What have you found?"