Rumble Through the Jungle

[Henry the 57th]

A pale moon shines dimly down on Golarion, revealing a barren rocky outcrop nestled amidst black waters. The desolate place supports nothing beyond the very hardiest of lichen and weeds, while sepulchral stalkers creep silently through the darkness on eternal watch. A lone fortress stands crumbling and lifeless amidst the desolation, worn stonework hopelessly corroded by ages of torrential rains and bitter winds, any trace of its builders long since lost to time.

What the moonlight does not reveal is the miles of tunnel works carved through the bedrock and honeycombing the entire island from end to end like some perverse insect nest. From the illusion-wrapped sea cave where vessels can be received to the hidden entrances sprouting across the surface, this underground refugee teems with necromantic mockeries of mortal life. Surrounded at every moment by polished skeletons or the flickering echoes of raging spirits, escorted by the elite Charnel Guard, four of Golarion’s strangest and finest souls go to meet their employer.

For the lair of a lich, the underground proves to be well-lit, surprisingly so even. The chiseled tunnels are illuminated every few yards by smokeless torches, shining white crystals, and even small floating orbs of pure light. Little to nothing remains of shadow in what ought to be a lightless realm. The message is clear - there is no place to hide.

Deeper and deeper they go, until four are lead to a sprawling underground chamber that might once have been a cavern. Now it is a throne room, draped with tapestries from days and lands long since gone, illuminated by blazing braziers of blue-green fire. A dragon’s skeleton is mounted on the rearmost wall, it’s titanic jaws opened wide just behind a hard iron throne. But tonight the throne is empty.

The lich An Bhais cuts an unusual figure, even amongst his kind. Crimson robes hang from the shoulders of what appears to be an utterly archaic suit of iron armor, concealing most of his silhouette. A heavy gauntlet emerges from his right, grasping a weighty staff covered in softly glowing runes that hurt the eye and capped with a small blaze of red flame that scorches the soul uncomfortably, even at a distance. An iron mask covers his head. It is said that in his first days of transformation the the undead abomination was so horrified by his own visage that he pressed the mask on fresh from the forge, fusing metal and bone together for all time. Whatever the truth, the lights shining from the eye slits are unmistakable.

”Welcome,” he says in a low voice, as the four are escorted to stand before him. Standing at the top of his dais, surrounded on all sides by four of the Charnel Guard, his piercing gaze sizes each up in turn.

”I am certain I do not need to tell you why you have come tonight,” he speaks again after a moment. ”My treasure must be retrieved. You will do so.”

From the sides of the room, a silent, armored member of the Charnel Guard steps out in front of the four and unfurls a map depicting a vast stretch of coastline and interior. Several rivers pierce the lush green depicted, and a mountain range rises close to the top of the map.

”I can forever sense the location of that which is mine,” An Bhais continues, as a red rune flare into existence not far beyond the mountains. ”It is here, and has not moved for weeks. Go there and locate a heart of iron. Return it to me, and your rewards will be great.” He pauses a moment, then continues. ”I suggest availing yourself of the rivers of Sarusan, whatever your discomforts may be.” His gaze lingers a moment on the vampire. ”They are by far the most notable points of reference amidst the endless green. But your path is your own. I care for naught but your success. Now,” a gauntleted left hand emerges from the robes, beckoning as if in invitation. ”Have you anything you wish to ask before I send you on your way?”

Spoiler: Aliyah

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A voice resounds from the depths of your soul, undeniable and yet silent.

”It goes without saying that should they attempt to betray me, kill them. Bring me the phylactery at any cost.”

Spoiler: Isabella

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A voice resounds from the depths of your soul, undeniable and yet silent.

”It goes without saying that should they attempt to betray me, kill them. Bring me the phylactery at any cost.”

Spoiler: Sir Darrik

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A voice resounds from the depths of your soul, undeniable and yet silent.

”It goes without saying that should they attempt to betray me, kill them. Bring me the phylactery at any cost.”

Spoiler: Lady Mirielle

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A voice resounds from the depths of your soul, undeniable and yet silent.

”It goes without saying that should they attempt to betray me, kill them. Bring me the phylactery at any cost.”

[HereBeMonsters]

Isabella passed through the tunnels without a glance to anything that would have, as a small child, scared her in life. In death she found these accommodations quiet comfortable for her daily retreats. Her garb was that of a red and black dress with her long black hair pinned on one side to keep the locks from obstructing her vision. The red and black dress seemed more the style of an aristocrat than an adventurer though it didn't drag the ground as those dresses oft did. Nor did it give away the mithral metal woven under the finery, a protective measure she had used in life and was slow to ride herself of.

As they entered the throne room, she found herself impressed with the grandeur of the place, but her eyes were swift to find and rest upon the lord of this throne. She bowed her head in greeting as he expressed his need for their services. She listened intently to all he had to say, and would listen to her compatriots if they chose to speak up first. But Isabella would make her concerns known herself.

"My Lord, I am Isabella Bathory, what befell this heart of iron? How many hands secreted it away from this most well guarded of locations." She was curious how much of a force took this. Was it a hundred men or one crafty one? "Whatever the cause, we will retrieve your lost possession. Do you have any lore on the jungles and forest we face? Of what we may encounter along the winding rivers heading to our goal?"

[Raunchel]

There is an unsteadiness in Mirielle's stance. The elegantly-dressed young woman leans on her staff, her thin fingers wrapped around the pale wood. Her breathing is soft but betrays a slight wheeze. Her eyes however project a deeply intense strength and will. She smiles gently, just as she has always been taught and there is a deep haughtiness inside her. Mirielle looks intently at the lich, at the power and immortality that she craves so deeply. The splendour of the throneroom is meaningless to her. She has known wealth and luxury all her life. But power is something else. It is beyond anything else.

She tries not to betray it, but the walk has left her winded. It was a long journey and she loathes having to go like that when she can be carried instead, like she always is. On her way, the mage has taken in her companions. One, clearly a knight, one a lady of blood. And a third she can't quite place. But she is alive. Not that that matters. None of them can be trusted even though Mirielle knows that she will have to rely on them. She takes a few moments before she speaks, giving space for the vampire to ask what the lich knows of their goals and how this came to be. If she's honest, this is what scares her the most about their quest. Someone who can steal from a powerful lich like An Bhais must be a great danger in general.

But still, she speaks: "You speak true, my lord, in such woods the rivers tend to offer the greatest speed and security. So I would ask if a vessel more suitable to a river could be supplied. And I have one more question, with your permission, but is there any way in which you can reach us should your iron heart be moved?"

[Janwin]

As he and the others make their way through the tunnels of the lich's fortress, the metal plates of Darrik's armor clatter and echo through the silent halls. The graveknight makes no attempt to converse with the living at this time.

If this was what it took to finally reclaim the glory of his house, so be it. The task would be completed, one way or another. Not everyone relished the idea of returning a phylactery to a lich, so he would have to remain wary of his companions.

As they enter the throne room, the undead knight lowers himself to genuflect on one knee accompanied by the clatter of his armor. Liches loved signs of respect. It made them feel important.

[The_Snark]

"This is a bad idea, Aliyah," Madgar said to her just before she left. "I just hope you survive to regret it."

In hindsight, she's starting to agree. It's one thing to correspond with a lich at a distance and meet with his agents; quite another to sail to his forsaken island, populated only by the restless dead, and descend into the catacombs, knowing that if he so chose nothing in her power would let her escape. Not that she actually expects treachery; there was no conceivable reason for An Bhais to be interested in her specifically, and if all he wanted were live victims then there were certainly easier ways to acquire them. But she still hated the sensation of putting herself in somebody else's power so completely, knowing that her life or freedom could be taken away on a whim. Too many bad memories attached.

At least the passages beneath are clean and well-lit, nothing like the dark tunnels or musty tombs she'd imagined when she first caught sight of the island. She supposes the undead must not like darkness or filth any more than the living do... or maybe that's a quirk of An Bhais.

The days when Aliyah dressed in a dancer's silks and veils are long gone (save for rare occasions, when she dons her old role to infiltrate an enemy stronghold). She's dressed in sturdy traveling clothes threaded with mithral chain, a curved sword hanging from her side and a blue kerchief keeping her hair drawn back. She examines the others with her out of the corners of her eye as they walk. One of them is alive, at least; she doesn't know much about the undead, but she's fairly sure they don't suffer from shortness of breath. By contrast, the taller woman doesn't seem to be breathing at all, and as for the armored knight... impossible to say either way.

She winces slightly at Bathory's question. Not that it's a bad thing to ask, if the lich knows anything about who took his heart then they had better know it, but when dealing with an unknown and possibly touchy employer, Aliyah would have preferred to ask more tactfully. The last thing they want is to offend their employer's pride... or imply that they're probing for information about his weaknesses. Maybe if she knew An Bhais already, and had some of his trust... but she's guessing that isn't the case.

"Can you show us what the heart looks like? Are there any unique identifying marks that might help us distinguish it from a counterfeit?" she asks, starting to list off questions. "I assume you're using magic to learn as much as you can about whoever took it; can you contact us to share new information as you discover it?"

[Henry the 57th]

The glowing eye slits of An Bhais' mask show no initial reaction to the various questions put to him, indeed he simply seems to wait until everything that anyone has to say is out in the open before responding.

"I am well aware of who you are." he tells Isabella. "None of you would be here tonight if I were not. As to the jungle you are to traverse, my intelligence is merely rudimentary. Few expeditions I have sent have made it far past the shoreline. But the fragmentary whispers of ghosts and devils tell me of primitive tribes of ruthless reptile and toad men that stalk the waterways. In battle they favor the use of ambush and deadly poison. Bloated crocodilians, amphibians, and insects also make the rivers their home. The deeper jungles are haunted by all manners of reptilian and insectile monstrosity, swollen to titanic size and hungry beyond measure. There have been unconfirmed rumors that there may be entrances to the Abyss and creatures of fiendish blood stalking the deepest jungle, but I have never received any verification. Territories change hands ceaselessly in an endless cycle of violence, and so I cannot inform you of where you might encounter what tribe or beast. Sweltering heat and festering tropic disease are ever-present, and I hypothesize there are more mosquitoes and leeches on Sarusan than the rest of the world combined. Not all are of ordinary size. Regarding your other question..."

An Bhais almost seems to hesitate, though his mask betrays nothing of any expression, "I do not know. I was away in Tian Xia when the thieves struck. The moment I sensed a single hand upon that which is mine I raced for home, but too late. Several of guardians were destroyed, and my treasure taken, within the scope of a mere few minutes. My Charnel Guard reported at least five squirming figures diving into the oceans from the cliffs. They pursued, but lost them amidst the dark and churning waters." His gauntlet's grip on the staff tightens noticeably. "The bandits knew too much. I believe they had help from someone who dwelt upon my isle. My subordinates here have been dealt with accordingly." As if on cue, a wailing, ghostly moan echoes down the tunnel behind the four.

Next, the lich shifts his gaze slightly to the frail-looking human woman. "I have already considered both of these things," he assures Mirielle. At the slightest of nods, the guard holding the map offers her a single sheet of paper, folded into three. "Merely write upon that, and I will receive your message. Watch, and you will receive a reply. If I wish to speak with you, it will alert you to that fact. And the vessel I intend to lend you is suited for river travel. It possesses a shallow draft and a sail forever filled with the winds, to aid your fight against the currents." He glances at Isabella once more. "But shelter aboard is limited by its size. Whether you wish to sail in the light of day I leave to your discretion."

Finally, An Bhais turns his attention to Aliyah, piercing witchfire eyes boring straight into her living ones. "It looks like this." He taps the butt of his staff onto the stone floor once, and a floating image of a heart appears before her. Obviously made of solid metal, it is branded with the same red rune that marks its location on the map. Anatomically accurate, the illusion is made even more disturbing by the fact that it is, however slowly, still beating. "The aura of necromancy about it is strong. You will not mistake it when you locate it." The illusory heart seems to beat faster in response. "If and when I learn more, you will be informed through my letter." He nods at the guard offering Mirielle the paper.

"Now," his eyes sweep over all four once again. "Is there anything else?"

[HereBeMonsters]

Isabella wouldn't have expected anything different than this. But she had done this because it was the proper way to speak with a lord. It was how they where used to being addressed. She would think as he spoke and she considered what threats that they would be facing. She would need to consider how her magics and her skills could be employed against a foul tempered lizard or toad. As he spoke though she did come to the same conclusion.

Traveling on the river would mean traveling without tree cover, tree cover meant sunlight. She might be best to employ at night, but during the day she would need something to deal with her glaring vulnerability. And with a look she knew that the Lich lord was considering this vulnerability as well.

"Indeed, we will need to consider when we travel." She looked to the others before making a simple comment. "An iron box will do to shut out the sun, if the vessel does not have a sufficiently darkened room." She smiled "Unless someone can inscribe a tattoo of Penumbra" it was not a snide remark though some might have considered it so. It was just dark human, a vampire's off hand comment of needing to be locked in a box to keep from getting crispy.

[The_Snark]

"Are you willing and able to arrange for resurrections, in the event that some of us die in the process of retrieving the heart? Assuming we're successful, of course." Aliyah has no illusions about what will happen if they fail; the lich will discard them and move on to his next attempt. Fair, if a bit ruthless - you can't expect to be paid for services not rendered. "If resurrection proves infeasible, can you ensure that compensation is delivered to... next of kin, or the closest applicable equivalent?" It's a little more complicated in her case, and she has no idea what sort of payment the others have been promised.

[Henry the 57th]

"You are asking me to provide you with an iron box... for travel on a light riverboat?" From his tone of voice, one gets the impression that if An Bhais had any eyebrows left, one would be raised. "It is easily accomplished, but the it hardly seems of the appropriate weight."

"Should enough of you be left to recall from the Boneyard, then yes I will see to your resurrection should your comrades return with what is mine," the lich says to Aliyah. "If not, then if there is appropriate compensation it will provided upon your mutual success."

[Raunchel]

Mirielle listens to the others. She doesn't believe the lich. After all, the dead tell no tales. He will need to teach her, but that's it. He won't bring them back. And next to kin? She doesn't care. She can't care. All that matters is herself and her life that will last forever. In a way at least. What she truly doesn't comprehend is the vampire. Of course, vampires are creatures of desire, but still, one would have expected them to take precautions against the sunlight that can so easily destroy them. The mage however accepts the parchment before adding: "Perhaps a simple tent will do, dear lady? I would propose traveling during the day, as an ambush in the night is accomplished much more easily. Even those whose eyes are attenuated to the darkness are not nearly as effective as they are in the night".

[HereBeMonsters]

Bella was not a fool, she knew that an iron box would be a little foolish but she needed some way for them to keep her coffin at the ready. She did have her coffin stored in her bag of holding, and so yes without air she was still perfectly safe in the bag. But, she also found herself out of the loop if they needed her during the daylight hours. Sure she could be nightbased watch, but that was hardly what she was best suited for.

"Indeed I have a way to protect myself, but I do want to be of use. Sleeping through the journey is hardly what I would call being of use." She explained with a crooked smile. "A large parasol, to block direct sunlight would be of help. Perhaps a wand or two of penumbra. I have the gold if we can get access." She hoped stacking the natural shadow of the parasol and the penumbra would help as the penumbra could infuse a shadowed state, but already being in the shadow of a parasol might actually make it dark enough so she wouldn't be entirely useless.

[Henry the 57th]

"A parasol is simple enough to procure," An Bhais says after a moment. "You will find one on your craft. If you wish to add magic, that will be your burden to bear." His masked head moves slightly, and one of the guards posted across the throne room peels off, vanishing back down the tunnel behind the group.

"Now," the lich's witchfire eyes sweep across his employees, "Is there anything else or are you quite prepared to be off?

[The_Snark]

Aliyah shakes her head. "No further questions." She glances to see if her erstwhile companions have anything to add.

[HereBeMonsters]

She would nod her head in agreement to the question. "I agree, nothing further my lord."

[Janwin]

The walking pile of armor bows his head to the lich, still remaining silent.

[Raunchel]

Mirielle makes an elegant curtsy, even though she can feel the movements in her bones. "I stand ready to depart, my lord".

In fact, she's more than ready to lie down again. Standing around and walking is far too exhausting for a civilised person like her.

[Henry the 57th]

"Then go at once," the lich says simply, pointing his flame-tipped staff at the tunnel behind the four. "Stop at nothing, and your rewards will be boundless."

The polished skeletons of dead humanoids and reptilian creatures alike immediately fall in around the four mercenaries, while the Charnel Guard holding the map unceremoniously presses it and the letter into Mirielle's dainty hands. With that, their audience over, the undead minions insistently herd the adventurers back through the twisting underground passageways. The trip through the brightly-lit lair takes only a few minutes this time, silent guides escorting all four of them to one of the seaside caves burrowing into the rock. Long ago concealed, widened, and magically modified to act as a dock, on this night the cave is playing host to a small, sleek, shallow-looking wooden boat. A single mast hold a lonesome, weather-beaten white sail. Just barely tall enough to have a single cramped level below deck and not even ten full paces long, it certainly isn't design for comfort. Incongruously, an elegant-looking palanquin with a pair of humanoid skeletons is sitting towards the bow, and a black parasol is laid out neatly on the deck.

For all its tiny size and the palanquin taking up almost half of its upper deck, controlling the little ship turns out to be simplicity itself. Merely grasping hold of the little wheel causes the sail to fill with wind, squeezing it tightly increases the speed. The wheel itself turns easily, and the ship's movements are smooth. Getting used to maneuvering the sleek little watercraft takes very little time, and quite soon the four find themselves heading for open water, not eager to burn moonlight.

Not that there seems to be much moonlight to burn. The night skies are slowly turning nearly pitch-black from an ever-expanding cloud bank the closer and closer the little boat gets to the Sarusan mainland. Gradually, the moon and stars seem to vanish altogether from sight, leaving the night lit by only intermittent flashes of lightning from overhead and the faintest traces of silvery light that can slip through the cloud cover. It's when it finally begins to rain that the waves start to pick up, bobbing the small boat up and down with a gradually nauseating regularity. Those wishing to escape the increasing rain find that while the windowless hold may be too cramped to stand up straight and rocking constantly back and forth, but with the trap door closed it is at least dry.

For those amongst the living or dead that do not mind the darkness, the wind, and the rain, the few hours it takes to sail between the lich's stronghold and the continent of Sarusan seem to being passing unpleasantly, but uneventfully. The magic of the sail seems to work perfectly even in countervailing storm winds, pulling the ship onwards through the waves with dogged determination. It has been like that, wet, dark, and miserable for almost three hours when suddenly the waves rise drastically. Waves half as high as the mast crash into the ship from the side, threatening to topple her. Those below are tossed about and slammed into the hard wooden walls, those above must cling tightly to the mast or railing as not be swept overboard. At that very moment, a violent burst of lightning from above illuminates the ocean, and for a split second those above can just make out something titanic amidst the dark waters. A length of dull turquoise scales slides just beneath the surface, easily thrice the size of the small riverboat by itself.

After the terrible creature has struck fear into the hearts of those who still have them, the moment passes. Darkness returns, and the waves return to their lower ebb. Whatever vigilance any of the adventurers may exercise, they can see nothing more of whatever beast could churn such fierce waves. Fortunately, it seems to have taken no notice of them at all. The next half hour of sailing is a tense affair indeed, before at long last the rocky shoreline of Sarusan itself comes into dim and distant view. Even the most perceptive of the four find it difficult to make out exactly through all the wind and rain, and reading the map is no easy task while being endless rocked, but still it only takes another hour or so before they are able to locate what is most likely the mouth of the correct river. With the seemingly endless torrential rains still pouring down overhead, they steer their ship into the racing waters.

The current is powerful in this river, and progress slows from that of the open ocean. The sky is still all but pitch black overhead and the rain continues to pour as the four adventurers make their way past the worn stone of the beach into the towering jungle beyond. Though hard to make out in the night, it can clearly been seen that the trees of Sarusan are strong and tall, easily hundreds of feet high and forming a canopy so thick as to be almost solid. Or at least that's what the incessant sound of pouring rain smacking into broad makes it sound like. While the rushing water and seemingly-endless rainfall make up the overwhelming majority of the noises the four can make out, every so often there comes a great cry, shriek, roar, warble, or wretched moan from amidst the foliage. Unnerving perhaps, but nothing yet bounds out to attack.

After almost a hour sailing up the river, it seems as though the sun might be starting to rise. Or at least the storm clouds still merrily beating down upon the boat are changing from pitch black to merely an incredibly dark grey, still blocking any substantial trace of Golarion's star. But dawn slowly does offer more illumination to the mercenaries. Enough illumination, in fact, to spot their first true obstacle on their journey.

Up ahead, just around a curve of the mighty river, the water is split by a small field of jagged grey rocks jutting out from the murky depths. Complicating matters further, several of the towering jungle trees appear to have been felled by this latest storm and have become wedged in between the rocks, making the course ahead even more treacherous to navigate through. The muddy shoreline still has gaping holes visible where trees once stood, but perhaps these might make it wide enough for the small boat to be pushed through?

[Raunchel]

Up ahead, just around a curve of the mighty river, the water is split by a small field of jagged grey rocks jutting out from the murky depths. Complicating matters further, several of the towering jungle trees appear to have been felled by this latest storm and have become wedged in between the rocks, making the course ahead even more treacherous to navigate through. The muddy shoreline still has gaping holes visible where trees once stood, but perhaps these might make it wide enough for the small boat to be pushed through?

Mirielle takes the map and letter, rolling them up to hold them more carefully. The pace is a bit quick for her, but Mirielle manages to keep up with the others. She's panting by the time they reach her palanquin again and she makes her way aboard, lounging as she usually does. Some might see it as a sign of decadence, but it's a necessity. She just isn't made for walking. There, she puts the parchments with her other papers and lies back. Her eyes aren't suited for the darkness and so she lights her lamp to read by as they travel. The sickly woman does look at the others, but doesn't yet take the step of conversing further. She can't trust them.

As the storm worsens, she remains in place, protected by her enclosed cabin. Her heart is thundering. What if they sink? She can swim, she has the magic, but would it be enough to survive until she can find land or rescue? The mage becomes sick. She's not a sailor. She isn't sure, and that makes it a horrible peril. She holds on tightly, protected by her countless soft pillows and furs. Finally, she feels the ship nearly topple and lightning flashes. Briefly, she looks outside, seeing a monster from her worst nightmares. It takes all of her strength of mind to not scream. Instead, she thinks of how she could escape such a being. Mirielle can't help it and throws up, fortunately unseen by her companions.

When they reach the shore, Mirielle uses her magic to clean her surroundings, still feeling horrible. She finally opens her palanquin a little to the outside world and the clearly seasick mage comes stumbling out. She has the map with her and a cover floats above her, shielding her from the rain. There are so many sounds, but she's sick. Far too sick even, despite her empty stomach. For a moment it fills her with curiosity. She hasn't eaten in weeks, so why should there be anything in her stomach?

She turns to the others: "Does any of you have experience as a sailor to navigate safely? And is there anyone who can go forth and explore if we can continue here?"

[Janwin]

Manning the helm and unmoving from his post neither concerned with death or the weather (after all, if they sank he'd just sink to the bottom and walk the rest of the way), Darrik Highwater navigates the vessel as best he can through the treacherous waters. It had been a couple hundred years since he last made this journey, and things certainly haven't improved at all since then, but if this was what he had to do to achieve his goals, then no weather or monsters would stop him.

As the island finally comes into view, a single thought courses through his head: Hello again, accursed hell. You shall not be my downfall twice.

He navigates the vessel up the river until they come to the blockage, at which point he lessens his grip on the helm so that the wind leaves the sails and the vessel comes to a stop.

His voice finally emanates from underneath his helmet, a gravelly grating sound: "I always had men to do the sailing for me. It seems there are two options: clear the trees to make it so we can get between the rocks, or push the vessel through the mud to the other side. If we get off the water, we will need guards to watch for danger while we work the vessel up the bank."

[The_Snark]

Aliyah spends most of the voyage from the island napping beneath the decks. The armored knight has claimed the helm, the ship is small and enchanted enough that it doesn't seem to need anyone in the rigging, and she suspects she'll be glad of the rest once they reach the jungle. Actually sleeping proves tricky, as the waves grow more and more violent the nearer they get to the coast... but poor rest is better than no rest at all.

"I have ever sailed a ship before," she replies crisply, "but as a deckhand, not the helmsman; I'd prefer not to chance it. Let's try working our way around the banks - that at least won't scuttle our ship if it doesn't work."

[HereBeMonsters]

The woman looked between the two objects and she thought for a moment. "Hmm, I think it might be best if we tried to mud. If we mess up and puncture the ship on those sharp rocks we will need to journey across the jungle on foot. And while the sun might not touch us in there, I dare say the dangerous multiple ten fold."