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what do you mean it has a basement
our best attempt at narrativizing the events of Samora's tabletop game
Permalink Mark Unread

Here's the thing about astrology: the stars are not, in fact, located upon the planet of Golarion, where prophecy is broken.

 

Now, mind you, that still doesn't make it at all useful, most of the time. The prophecy noise is not completely localized to the planet and even at significant distances from it the situation is not nearly the equal of what it was a century ago. Astrology even in situations of completely functional prophecy very much has 'predicted fifty of the last five near apocalypses' syndrome despite the fact that around here there are really quite a lot of genuine near misses with apocalypses. It has no combat applications whatsoever, not even the little tricks a divination specialist wizard can do. For nearly all applications, an augury will be more reliable every time, and usually cheaper to boot.

What an augury-- or for that matter a divination-- can't do, though, anymore, is predict the future in vivid detailed color several years in advance with very little divine intervention cost, clearly enough to give you a specific course of action you had better take. Astrology can do that, even in the Age of Lost Omens. It doesn't, usually; you have to get quite extraordinarily lucky. ("Lucky" here meaning "something important enough that Iomedae and Desna both think it's worth it"; the intervention cost isn't zero, it's just a lot cheaper than any other kind of prediction.) 

But it can.  

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In the winter of 4713 AR, in a little logging town called Otari, notable mostly for being at roughly the halfway point between Absalom and Diobel such that its taverns are greatly beloved by the mail service, the astrologer wakes up in a cold sweat, and scrambles for her letter-writing pen. 

(...) I know you know I wouldn't say it was important if it was just a silly intuition about matchmatching, you know me, tell them (...) a teenage girl with dark hair and silver eyes (...) by the uniform and holy symbol, gotta be one of yours, I think she must have graduated this season (...) 

(...) all manner of weird nonsense if I'm right and you're just the weird nonsense expert for the job (...) I know it's a long trip up here from the desert but I promise it'll be worth your while, maybe get some circles out of it, if Lastwall gets back to me (...) they like answering theology questions, you'll like her (...)  

The thing that makes Wrin sure she hasn't just had a really odd dream is that she goes outside, letters in hand, trying to figure out how she is possibly supposed to find the third one, a dead man with unrecognizably worn-off heraldry and no holy symbol who she has never met in her life, and he's standing outside her door. (She could not possibly have recognized him, except that she saw him in her head about fifteen minutes ago and all the little tiny scratches in his armor are in the same places and that cannot be a coincidence.) 

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"Good morning madame Sivinxi, Captain Longsaddle sent me to ask for--" 

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"Oh my gosh I had a dream about you!" 

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??? ? ?? ?? ?? ? ? 

".....did it, by chance, tell you who I am?" Pause. The face-concealing helm that goes with his full plate, which he never takes off, makes it difficult to discern whether he is making some sort of facial expression. "I ask, you understand, because I have no idea." 

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Wrin's facial expressions are clearly understandable at approximately a hundred yards. She is bewildered and delighted. 

"No!!! Maybe we can find out together!!!!" 

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"--well, certainly I would be honored to have your assistance in this matter. Though first I should deliver my message..." 


 

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"Our armored mystery? Yeah, he's been here a couple weeks. Keeps trying to politely introduce himself and then stopping because he can't remember his name, it'd be very funny if it weren't tragic. Gets more words into the sentence every few times, though. Hopefully soon he'll get to a name, the boys are going to agree on a nickname any day now and knowing them it'll be something stupid." It's not a big town, the average age of his little ragtag pile of kids who sign up for the militia for lack of available work at the logging mill is, like, fourteen. Mystery Armor Guy keeps gently correcting them when they're little teenage shitheads to each other and they actually listen to him because he sounds like your fondly disapproving grandfather instead of, as in the case of Longsaddle himself, your annoying boss. "If you are about to say some kind of wizard shit about mysteries being dangerous--" 

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"No! I love mysteries! I just want to hear all about him! Tell me tell me!!" 

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Suspicious squint. "...turned up claiming he woke up in the Cairnlands with no memory of anything. Talks like my granddad, all proper posh Oppara, I think he must have got in trouble down south and that's why he won't take his helmet off, but he's real good to have around. Strong as an ox and never complains about boring tasks, just seems to want to make himself useful. Here's hoping we don't find out for a good long while but I'd bet my hat we'll want him around next time there's wolves out of the woods." 

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"Huh. .... well I do need to borrow him for mysterious astrology reasons but not for a couple of weeks at least." 

Even if Lastwall sends the right person on request, she doesn't have nearly enough information to convince them this is teleport-grade serious, not for a first-year new grad out of seminary. Whoever the mystery cleric girl is, she's going to have to walk, and that's going to be weeks. Wrin has a lot of penpals and so happens to know that mail will travel from Vigil to Absalom in about three weeks minimum in good weather. (Well, unless you get really lucky and there's extremely little high priority teleport mail that day; the Iomedan teleporters tend to be sticklers about annoying nearby systems into not using teleports with less than their full weight capacity allocated and they will totally just grab the entire stack of cheap-stamp personal letters out of the mail depot while they're there if the alternative is not doing Anything helpful. But your odds aren't great, especially in the winter when the Worldwound eats up a lot of northern Avistan's teleport capacity on tanking 'a blizzard ate our commander' type emergencies.) 

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In the Age of Lost Omens the country of Lastwall does still, kind of, have the infrastructural capability to respond to Prophetic Bullshit. It gets a lot fewer resources allocated to it, nearly zero of them in fact, because wow do they ever not have resources to spend on anything, but you do sometimes get clerics of Desna and occasionally Nefreti Clepati turning up with dire warnings and so on just often enough that you don't completely turn off that institutional response even though it gets triggered pretty rarely. 

Wrin's letter filters its way through various security procedures, shepherded by a note from her paladin friend that says he's reasonably sure she's legit, and eventually it turns into orders. 

No one is going to tell Samora, a teenage first-circle cleric newly graduated from seminary, that there might be Prophecy Shit. The institutional response policy says that you don't do that because usually if you tell a baby adventurer that they got Prophecied About, either they get really cocky and die instantly or they get one million anxiety and die instantly, neither of which is a desirable outcome.

They're just going to tell her that she's been assigned Adventurer by Triage Resource Allocation. Which, to be clear, does happen all the time for perfectly normal reasons! Lastwall does care about things other than Tar-Baphon containment and the Worldwound, and there are a lot of problems on the continent. Many problems have a hazard rating of "well, it's not the literal end of the world if this problem doesn't get solved and we don't have the slack to assign someone who will definitely manage it, but it would produce sapient flourishing if it were fixed", and that is where you send people you think will do well as independent adventurers (i.e., either too temperamentally Chaotic to do well in the army but competent to do Good elsewhere, or, as in Samora's case, sufficiently Wise that they're competent to make reliably Lawful Good decisions without a CO in shouting distance), since trying to fix things you aren't strong enough to definitely handle and might die of is a great way to get more circles and Lastwall could always, desperately, continuously, use more people with more circles. 

Samora is advised that: 

1) Since being an independent adventurer is not formally part of a military or civil service command structure, they are, legally speaking, giving her advice for what to do. Almost nobody takes this assignment straight out of seminary/war college/wizard academy and goes and does some random other thing on purpose, obviously, because this is Lastwall, but if she gets, like, sidetracked by an emergency on her way there or something, that's fine, that's a normal thing that happens to adventurers, don't panic about failing to meet your legal obligations that you do not in fact have, etc. 

2) She's welcome to join the military on purpose later, obviously, she's not banned from doing that or anything, but the considered recommendation of the resources allocation people is that she come back in, oh, say, five years, by which time if she's still alive she'll probably have hit third or maybe even fourth circle, faster than she'd get them at the worldwound on average. 

3) That said, and again this is not an order (it is really important to them that the people of Lastwall in general understand that instructions from military command are only orders if you are actually in the army because otherwise the concept of a civilian is a fiction and that's bad), they would appreciate if she'd grab the outgoing Vigil-Absalom snail mail, hop a caravan south, and meet up with the astrologer in Otari (they'll show her where it is on this nice map of the Isle of Kortos). Apparently Sivinxi has some kind of Cursed Lighthouse Situation and some other baby adventurers who are in need of a cleric? Good luck, godspeed, here's how to address mail through the church in Absalom if you need to write for advice in future, try not to die.  

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She is aware that none of that is orders but she has no reason not to do it and plenty of reason to believe that things go better when everyone listens to the resource allocation people, so sure! The Fourth Crusade lasted fifteen years; if this one goes well she's not going to miss out just because she took a couple years to solve some other problems. And maybe she'll come back with another circle or two and some nice gear, who knows.

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Leaving by caravan is a very different experience than coming up to Vigil was. She doesn't need a brother to escort her now; she's a grown woman with a holy symbol and a soldier's steady gait. The load of furniture she rides out with is happy to have her along as long as she's going their way, to provide a bit of deterrence from bandits and a bit of healing if anyone gets stepped on by a horse and as much water as they want without having to stop for it.

She detours by her hometown on the way south; it's not far out of her way and her parents want to see their little girl all grown up, and she wants to see them. They hug her and exclaim over how tall she's gotten and show her the whole stack of letters she sent them, neatly sorted in a little basket. Little Keren is fourteen now, and she and the miller's son keep looking at each other and then looking away when the other notices.

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"Come with me," says Jann after the fanciest dinner Elinda has cooked in weeks. "I have a present for you." From a high shelf in the forge he takes down a plain leather scabbard and draws out a beautiful sword, rippling like water in the light of sunset, silver-inlaid and strong and light and sharp as a moment of insight. "I made it when I got your letter saying you'd been empowered, but I'd been saving up for the silver since you left. I knew you were brave, and wise, and good, and that you'd live the kind of life that needs a sword. It's a dangerous world and I want to make you as ready for it as I can."

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"Dad, this is amazing, thank you. And--you've been getting me ready to face the world my whole life. You and Mom, your example--I'm going to make you proud."

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"I know you are."

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She leaves the next morning, after hugs all around, and walks and hitchhikes and walks some more, around the Fangwood, down to Lake Encarthan and across it by boat, south through Druma and Andoran and by boat again to Absalom, stopping just long enough to drop off the mail, and then west across the island to Otari.

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A ways south, in northern Garund, the desert nomads are settled in for the winter, though they'll start gearing up to move in the spring soon enough. They have had a visitor, this season, who as visitors go has been a very pleasant one, especially during the slow season when there's not much hunting or gathering to do and it's not much of a hardship to be interviewed. They're a little dubious, generally, of gnomes, who are prone to being... uh... gnomes, but they don't eat much, and 'polite and friendly' goes a long way toward people being happy to talk about their personal and tribal history, their dialect and what the connotations of thus and such phrase are, what they know about obscure types of sand elemental, et cetera, et cetera. 

They don't get mail often, being as they are rarely in the same place, but sometimes folks have family who went off to the city to seek their fortune, or such-like, so sometimes in the winter when they're stationary for long enough somebody'll swing by, if they got paid to. 

There's a letter for their visitor! All the way from Absalom! 

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Ooh, it's from her astrologer friend! Ooooh, she had a weird dream! Ooooooh, there's a cursed lighthouse! Yeah she'll absolutely hitchhike to the coast and get on a boat north, this is way more interesting than whatever she was doing five minutes ago. Byeeeeeeee!

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O...kay then. Uh, travel safe?? 

Gnomes: They Sure Are. 

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About half an hour's walk into the swamp, where no one goes if they have a lick of sense, there is a lighthouse. 

A bit less than two hundred years ago, an adventuring party defeated an evil witch there. They lost their rogue in the fight-- a fellow by the name of Otari Ilvashti-- and rather than find another, they retired from adventuring, founded a village nearby, and named it after him.

The lighthouse hasn't done anything particularly interesting since, but the local legend persisted. These days, it's a little nursery rhyme sung to children to discourage them from straying too far into the wilderness: 

When the fog is creeping,
And the moon is low;
When the town is sleeping,
Gauntlight starts to glow!

That’s when she arises
For her midnight lunch.
Naughty kids are prizes
For her teeth to crunch.

But if you obey me,
And obey the rules;
You’re safe from Belcorra;
She just eats the fools!

None of those things, of course, are true. 

Except-- 

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At the end of Calistril, it glows. 

Just for a few minutes, and nothing else happens. But it can be seen from everywhere outdoors in Otari. 

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It's all anyone in town will talk of, for weeks. It's real! Should they be worried? Is all the rest of the rhyme also true? Should they be writing to Absalom? Does anyone know anyone in Absalom that might volunteer to do something about it if they asked??

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"Don't worry! I have a plan! .... an idea of a plan. Something resembling an idea. Maybe."


 

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Tris and Samora, by sheer coincidence Because Wrin Is Super Good At Adventurer Matchmaking, Thank You Very Much, arrive in Otari at very nearly the same time, just a few days after the ominous light. 

The astrologer very cheerfully invites them, and the third one, to tea. 

"So! The lighthouse!" she says. "You've heard the talk in town, of course. Our lighthouse is haunted and we would really love for some adventurers to investigate." And by 'we' she means 'her' because everyone else wants it to be someone else's problem and Wrin would love it to be her problem except that, like, she wants to know abstractly, actually going into the actual swamp herself sounds hard and scary. "I like to think I know a thing or two about guessing if people will get along and I am very excited to introduce you folks to each other! Go ahead and tell each other," and her, hopefully, "a little about yourselves!!" 

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"I'm Tris! I have psychic powers! I cast from Cunning but I'm more like a sorcerer, I don't prep in the mornings I just do whatever. Mostly stuff related to the mind but I can also make my crossbow shoot through walls and around corners. And I'm interested in" general gesture in the direction of the lighthouse "occult happenings".

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"I'm Samora! I just graduated from seminary up in Lastwall and came down here because I heard there was adventuring to be done. I heal, I spellcast, I am and I quote 'not a complete embarrassment' with a sword."

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Oh no. They're so small? Why has he been assigned these small and earnest children? They shouldn't be-- okay, no, there's no way, they're obviously going with or without him even if he tells them they shouldn't. 

Welp. Guess these are his small and earnest children now. 

 

"........A pleasure to meet you, miss Tris, miss Samora," says the suit of armor. To Samora's sight, he has a faint aura of Evil. "I know very little of magic, myself, but with any luck shan't need to, as I am for swords." Pause. "Well. I am not entirely sure I remember how to swing a sword, actually, but I suppose I will soon find out." He shrugs, and considers, and attempts, optimistically, "I am called--" 

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"--Marshall." Huh. 

Well, that's probably auspicious on the remembering how to use a sword front. 

He had a family name, once, he thinks. Maybe that one will come back eventually too. 

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"Why don't you remember if you can swing a sword? Did something happen to your memories? Can you tell me about it?"

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Having constant Detect Evil is going to be very handy for adventuring, but it does mean that sometimes you learn that someone has done some things they regret and would like to make up for well before the natural point in the relationship for learning that sort of thing. And if he's telling the truth about the memory problems he might not even remember what it was. She ponders the awkwardness of this and sets it aside for later while Tris is asking her questions.

Ah, so it's the casting from cunning that makes you A Wizard and not the spell prep. Honestly pretty reasonable questions. "Would you like to spar with me before we go look at the lighthouse, see if it refreshes your memory a bit?"

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"I suppose something must have happened to my memories, yes, but naturally I cannot remember what it was." Shrug. "It will return in time, or perhaps it will not. I would be happy to spar a bit, though we should not take too long at it and find ourselves forgetting to pursue our true objective." 

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Marshall, it transpires, does not super remember how to use his sword. He moves like he's expecting his limbs to behave very differently than they do and every time he reaches for a specific trained move, the way Samora can do because she has been drilling on them daily for years, it's not there. He spends most of their sparring time grumbling to himself about how he is absolutely not in any way up to standard and this is embarrassing and he's very sorry. 

It will by about five minutes into this be obvious that his standards for himself are, actually, insane. If they were trying to have a real fight to the death in an antimagic field, he'd win. 

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(a brief aside on game-mechanics facts) Fun fact: It is approximately the case (modulo the fact that we're back-propagating later characterization decisions to a game state that never actually existed and no one in this room has a legal character sheet), that until they reach level 2, Samora has a better base attack bonus than Marshall. This is mechanically caused by the fact that her racial hit die is that of a full-progression martial and his isn't, but in-world it's caused by the fact that he can't remember jack and/or shit while she literally just graduated Sword School Where They Teach You Swords On Purpose. His total attack bonus however is still higher because he has 18 Strength.

 

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Well, memory problems or no memory problems he's clearly good enough to be an asset to the party. "I hope you get your memory back soon, not being able to remember things sounds really rough." And they can thank the astrologer for the introductions and go check out that cursed lighthouse!

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Pharast (March) 21st, 4714 AR (Absalom Reckoning). 

The sound of frogs and mosquitoes mixes with water sloshing against muddy shores, all muffled by the ever-present mists that linger in the aptly named Fogfen. As the mists clear, a shadow looms from the cloying swamp vapors—a sprawling ruin of stone and wood squats atop an island in the soggy marsh. The upper floors have largely collapsed, leaving only the stone walls of the ground floor intact. Above these ruins towers an out-of-place monument—a colossal lighthouse whose painted walls and iron-cased crown have resisted the corrosive effects of the surrounding swamp.

(and as they get closer...) 

Swaths of mildew and mold cover the damp surfaces of this watchtower, appearing as green and black smears on the dull stone walls. The door frames in the walls to the north and south rotted long ago, while a few collapsed chairs lie on the floor amid small heaps of foul-smelling gray lumps. Thick sheets of dusty cobwebs hang from above, obscuring any view of the ceiling.

Well. Obscuring the view of ordinary people, anyway. 

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Samora is both on the lookout for threats the normal way and has her Detect Evil up.

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Tris has an even cooler trick: she can cast Message with a target of "someone nearby who's not either of my party members" and see if that hits anyone!

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Three mitflits lurk above the cobwebs but can’t resist a chance to torment and trick the heroes once they enter the room below. By crouching down on the planks and vines and peering through the cobwebs, the three mitflits wait until at least two heroes have entered the room below before calling out in their best imitation of high-pitched pixie voices. They welcome the heroes into their parlor, warn them about the mean bugs that live in the nearby keep, and suggest the visitors partake of the “magic pixie mud” on the floor-- 

They're not Evil. (They are chaotic neutral gremlin creatures.) They are nevertheless spotted (and/or psychically detected) immediately and do not get to do any of that.

the mitflits shriek in anger and fear. 

Time for your first combat, baby adventurers! 

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... are they ... attacking ... though ... or just yelling ... 

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They're throwing rocks at him. 

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Ah. In that case it is sword time, time for swords. 

mechanics Fun fact: this is the first official actual d20 roll that was made in this campaign as it began! Marshall immediately rolled a critical hit.

 

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Now there is one mitflit corpse and two mitflits. 

 

They run away! 

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Attack of opport-- dangit the other ones are out of reach. 

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"I guess . . . that's that problem solved for now?" They'll probably sneak around and try again later but she's not going to chase them down while they run when all they did was throw rocks.

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"Nuts, I was hoping they'd talk to me." Shrug.

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"Woulda been nice." That's gobliny-types for you.

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"An admirable hope, if oft ill-advised." Through the gatehouse, then, with reasonable alacrity, in case they've gone to fetch the sort of backup that you don't want to have gotten much time to prepare. 

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Past the gatehouse, there is: 

A wooden drawbridge, its timbers gray with age and decay, spans the twenty-foot gap between the outbuilding and sprawling ruin on the island. Rusty iron chains hang from the ruin’s northern wall to the drawbridge’s southern side. The chains look ready to fall apart, giving the drawbridge’s structural integrity an extra layer of dubiousness.

In the water, Tris can detect that there is Some Sort Of Mind, Possibly. 

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"I don't trust that bridge as far as I could throw it. Marshall, hold the other end of a rope while I cross?" She'd ask Tris, but if the bridge gave out she'd just pull Tris into the drink with her.

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"Certainly." He's reasonably sure he can lift Samora even with attached shield. 

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"There's some kind of mind in the water, but it's not responding to me."

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Rope is definitely a good idea then. She gets one end tied around her waist, makes sure Marshall has a solid grip on the other, and ventures forth.

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The mind in the water is this guy! 

 Slurk - Monsters - Archives of Nethys: Pathfinder 2nd Edition Database

It tackles Samora. The bridge goes CRONCH. 

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Marshall will hold fast onto the-- 

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Marshall is yanked completely off his feet, rather as though he weighs about 14% of what he's expecting to. 

 

mechanics He rolled a 2.
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:( 

Now he is on the ground scrambling for his sword, as his newly assigned baby cleric goes crunchsplash into the muddy water. 

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ACK SPLORT STAB!

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Ow? Ow. Frog would like to contend that: look at all these teeth it has, which-- 

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Ethereal crossbow bolt to the face. And while she's at it the frog can forget how to do violence. No violence for you!

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Ow!

... see it wants to eat the tasty mud-covered prey though. What if it does this anyw 

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When you do violence while the Do Violence lever in your brain is psychically disconnected, this hurts somewhat. Like, almost as much as being stabbed with a shiny silver sword.  

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OW???? 

Well it is already committed. Cronch the tasty mud-covered prey and maybe it will stop being quite so sharp. 

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His cleric is bleeding. This Is Dispreferred. 

Marshall drops the rope and jumps, more-or-less sword first. 

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With a horrible squeaking croak, the large spiked frog dies. 

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Oh good.

"Are you all right? I apologize, I did not have nearly as good a grip on the ground as I thought I did, apparently." 

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"I'm alright, it didn't get me that hard." There's a bit of blood on her mixed in with the mud, but it really is mostly mud. "Hey Tris, does your kind of spellcaster get presti or am I going to be offending both of your noses for the rest of the day?"

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"No dice."

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"Fair enough." Samora slogs up onto the far bank, that being where she was previously trying to get, and wipes her sword mostly clean of mud and frog innards on some combination of the grass and her shirt. 

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He is fully unable to detect her having a scent of any kind but according to his sense of propriety one Simply Does Not Ever comment in Any Way about whether a lady might or might not smell like anything, so Marshall will say nothing. 

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Into the building proper with them! 

Piles of rotting timbers and loose stones lie in heaps throughout this large, L-shaped hall. Clumps of moss and tangled vines spill down from gaps in the wooden ceiling above each pile of rubble. Several doors lead out to all sides, most barely clinging to their hinges and frames. Debris completely blocks a wooden stairwell that leads up to a large hole in the ceiling. Here and there, the stone walls bear the scars of fire or damage from an ancient battle.

(the ancient battle of course being the one where Otari Ilvashti died.) 

In this room there is: this guy. 

spoiler: bug

 

 

Technically this creature has a mind that Tris can detect but it is not a very big one, even compared to the frog. The frog contained some degree of basic violent cunning and ability to make decisions. This is a maggot. It contains Hungry. 

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It looks stabbable! Stab!

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It does. Crossbow!

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Side note: Why is there a bug, you ask? 

Well! 

Originally, all the Mudlickers lived in this large room; now, only three mitflits remain here. The Mudlicker leader, Boss Skrawng, has an audacious plan. After discovering the giant maggots in area A5 and the giant fly in area A6, he ordered his mitflits to start training and breeding more maggots.Once the insects have fully grown, he intends on leading his entire group, mounted on trained giant fly war steeds, down to Otari to raid and rule. Three mitflits are currently engaged in training their first maggot, hoping the pallid creature retains its training after it matures into a giant fly. None of the gremlins know how long it takes for a maggot to grow up
big and strong, but upon sighting the heroes, they immediately order their “pet” forward to attack. After all, giant-fly war steeds need to develop a taste for people to grow up nice and mean.

Wait, but there's no mitflits here, only a bug? 

That's because one of them is in half over there in the gatehouse! Mitflits are not a brave people. When the other two came through screeching of SWORDS, the ones in this room very sensibly also ran away. 

The giant maggot is too big for the doorway though. 

 

Anyway, it tries to murder them but it doesn't do a very good job; between the three of them it's down in a round or two. However, as it dies, it barfs up the contents of its horrible bug stomach all over Samora. (And only Samora; Marshall is just slightly farther away at the time due to having been in the process of trying to flank it, and Tris, of course, is a ranged combatant.) 

Where would they like to investigate next, now that they're in this large apparently empty room? 

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If she survives this quest the town laundry wizard is going to murder her. Ah well, problem for Future Samora.

Any reason not to just do left-hand-on-the-wall? She's not detecting any Evil nearby so that's the best she's got.

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Fine by her! She's not detecting any more minds in this room either.

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Does Marshall want a Cure Light before they move on? It looked like the maggot got a hit in and better now than in combat.

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He has a poorly understood but confident conviction that that's a Bad Idea. 

"No thank you, I am all right." 

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She doesn't quite know him well enough to be sure he isn't one of those men who'll turn down healing well past when they ought to because they want to look invincible, but she doesn't know that he is one either. She'll take his word for it. Onward!

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Immediately to their left, there is a door which opens into a room that's the south-western corner of the building: 

A collapsed wooden staircase in the northeastern corner of this room winds up to a moss-shrouded hole. The expanse of the Fogfen is visible through a total collapse in a stone wall to the west. A dead frog the size of a horse lies sprawled in this collapse, its back legs bitten off at the hips.

There are additionally more horrible bugs. 

Now, it's very important to note, while the party is rolling initiative against yet more horrifically enormous bugs, that there are two giant flies, which descend upon them as they're squishing the maggots. 

Under Boss Skrawng’s orders, the mitflits captured the cornerstone of their plan to rule Otari—a magnificent, green-and-blue fly the size of a pony that the gremlins call Buzzybuzz. They keep it here believing that the fly can’t escape this room; the mitflits don’t know about the trapdoor, but their fly prisoner found it right away. Buzzybuzz can leave whenever it wants, but the food in this area keeps it satisfied here.

In fact, this room is slightly too convenient, as a second giant fly with brown and blue coloration sometimes comes in, too. The two giant flies get along with one another since they both have plenty of food. However, the mitflits have never seen both in the room at the same time, so Boss Skrawng and his followers believe there’s only one giant fly. (They don’t understand why Buzzybuzz seems to change color from time to time.)

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The little adventuring party sets about solving the problem of fly mistaken identity by reducing the number of giant flies! Do they have anything against the giant flies, not really, but better to ambush than to be ambushed and it's good practice figuring out where to stand so the enemy can't see both her and Marshall at once.

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And they're not much smarter than the maggots, so: crossbow again.

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Right! Big dead frog is a problem for later, big live bugs is a problem for now. 

Maybe this time he can flank properly? It really should not be that difficult to simply stand in the correct spot instead in of the incorrect spot, that feels like it should be an atomic action... 

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Alternative proposal: clack clack horrible mandibles. 

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Well that hurts... weirdly a lot. Why does he have pain on the inside of his bones. Ow. 

    mechanics He failed his fort save vs fly pox and now has a Strength penalty.    
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Well, nevertheless: stab. 

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They have been stabbed AND shot and then stabbed AGAIN and that's too many. Down go the flies. 

 

Once they are not in combat, the party can observe the dead frog and try to figure out what on Golarion happened to it! Does anyone in this party Know anything about (Nature), perchance? 

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Nnnnot really.

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"River drake. Nothing else lives in swamps and has that size and shape of teeth and is both small enough and arrogant enough to eat half a meal and then wander off. And it smells right."

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"Huh. How dangerous are those?"

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"Enough that I hope it's not in the next room." Shrug. "Maybe it'll talk to us."

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Huh. "I suppose dragons are sometimes known to do that." 

Onwards north, then. 

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The collapsed ceiling at the middle of this room has left a ragged hole in the wooden roof. Rotten tapestries, their designs completely obscured by mold, hang in tatters on the walls between arrow slits and ruined side tables. The remains of a fancy dining table lie mostly pulverized by the fallen ceiling.

When living creatures come near, 

A half-dozen ghostly kobolds rise from the rubble in a howling vortex.

 

Why, you ask? Great question! 

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About five years before the death of Aroden, the last of the Roseguard, Aesephna Menhemes, died peacefully of old age. She is therefore mercifully spared the sight of her home aflame, when much of Avistan descends into chaos. Her children flee to Absalom, with as many of their people as they can save, and the city is left uninhabited, for a time. 

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Naturally, a tribe of kobolds moves in. Look at all these fabulous buildings! Those are way better than hide tents! Some of them even have STAIRS. Luxury. Wealth beyond imagining! 

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Well, if you're going to be a civilized member of society no one will bother to squish you, probably. 

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Great! They're going to use this awesome logging setup to put lights up by the water and lure in passing ships to ambush in the night and steal their cargo. They are so clever and doing so great at commerce. Look at all this money they have, that is how you Commerce, right. 

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... hey Otari expats do you guys wanna, like, do something about that. 

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They are so on it. 

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KOBOLDS ARE VERY UPSET ABOUT THIS. THEY WERE JUST MINDING THEIR OWN BUSINESS. 

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Then they can be upset while they're dead. 

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THEY SURE WILL. :< 

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This is why there are very angry dead kobolds. 

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Very angry dead kobolds, it transpires, deal horrible soulbrain damage in a radius around themselves. 

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WOW that hurts what the h


mechanics It deals twelve psychic damage! Marshall came into this fight entirely uninjured due to he has a way to nonmagically heal himself, but he currently has as many as ten (10) max hit points.

 

 

 

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The sound of Marshall hitting the floor has the distinct and deeply unsettling sound, not of the thump of a heavy fleshy human body, but of the rattling clatter of bone. 

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What the shit

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Yikes! Also wow their minds are all globbed together into one big mind.

HEY. HEY YOU. WHAT'S YOUR DEAL.

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A N G E R Y 

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Tris has a spell for this! Which is to say: she has One Spell and this seems like the time for it. She listens to the kobolds' anger and their fear and their confusion in the moment of death, and accepts it, and sends back calm and understanding. 

The people who killed you are long dead, now. They were afraid for the people on the ships, as you were afraid, and now they are gone. There is nothing left to be angry at. Time has taken the only revenge there can be. Set it aside. Let the past fall away behind you and rest

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a...ng...er.....

 

... 

...

oh. 

 

hello, new friend.

... okay. that sounds nice actually. it can be naptime. it has been so long since it was naptime. 

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Members of this party who Know things about (Religion) may note that the kobolds will not stay resting on the strength of this and this alone. It does, however, stop them from emitting horrific lethal psychic shrieks for long enough that something might reasonably be done about that. 

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"Woah. Thanks Tris!" She's going to need to give the Kobolds a decent burial if she doesn't want to have the same problem again next week, but first: what happened to Marshall?! She bends over and pops open his visor to see if he's dead or unconscious or what.

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"Oh no, what--"

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How could the ghosts have turned him into a skeleton!?

Wait. Hang on. How could the ghosts have turned him into a skeleton?

"Tris?"

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"Yeah?"

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"Do we actually have any proof that he wasn't. Already a skeleton. The entire time?"

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". . . No. His mental signature was always weirdly muted, actually, but I didn't say anything, because what was I going to say, hey your mental signature is kinda muted, is there an interesting reason for that such as you secretly being a skeleton?!"

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"Yeah, no, right . . . It would explain the Evil aura too. Which I also didn't mention because what was I going to say about it."

"There's no way he's a lich, right, a lich would have had a much worse aura and wouldn't be running around in a swamp pretending to be a fighter."

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"Well I haven't met any liches either but that logic sounds pretty solid?" She peers into the open visor again, this time not just with her eyes.

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To her psychic senses, he's actually only slightly less present than he was an hour ago. Just... quieter, along a different angle than the one where he's normally blurrier. It's a little bit like the way people's brains feel when they're asleep and a little bit like the way they feel when they're very far away, just at the edge of her ability to sense them at all and a little bit like the way a particularly clever tree is only mostly located in its own roots. 

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"Whatever he is, I don't think he's totally gone. I think he's just . . . knocked out. Or the skeleton equivalent."

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"That's a relief. Or at least I notice myself feeling relieved. I suppose even if he isn't a lich he might be bad news. But he didn't act like bad news. So. Relieved."

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"I don't think he's bad news either. I think he's just . . . a guy. Who's a skeleton."

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"I hope you're right. Let's bury these kobolds and then . . . wait a while to see if he wakes up, I guess." Maybe if he doesn't she should prepare an Inflict Light Wounds tomorrow and see what happens.

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"Yeah."

Tris and Samora gather up the Kobold skeletons and take them outside to where the ground is soft and swampy. Among the bones and rubble Tris finds some coins, a magic dagger in the shape of a wolf's tooth, and a vial of mysterious black substance with "YUM" scrawled on the side of it, all of which she pockets for later inspection.

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Samora digs a shallow grave in the marshy turf as best she can and lays the bones at the bottom. There's no way to tell which head went with which ribs went with which limbs, so it's just a neatly organized pile with all the skulls in a line. She prays to Pharasma to protect their souls on the way to judgement, and to Sarenrae and Desna that they get good lawyers and end up somewhere decent, and to Shelyn and Erastil that, if they do end up somewhere decent, they all end up there together if that's something they would want. 

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Tris can repeat the prayers in Draconic; it's what they would have spoken when they were alive and maybe it will help.

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What an excellent and helpful and uncomplicatedly alive party member Tris is.

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Most adventurers don't do that, by the way. They destroy the pile of cursed undead-generating bones to stop them from regenerating, usually, or at best haphazardly bury them. 

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... huh. 

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(Marshall is just over here slooooooowly reassembling on the floor. It'll probably be, like, eight hours. Or so.) 

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Neither Tris nor Samora wants to walk back into town with a questionably dead body and an unfinished quest, and Samora is an entire watch schedule all by herself, so they just . . . wait. In the room where Marshall is and the kobolds are not. 

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Eventually Marshall gets back up, vaguely bewildered. The world continues to not be done needing him to do his duty, apparently.

Today his duty is: this building. What's next? 

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Their next obstacle according to the left-hand maze rule is: 

... 

... 

a door

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Armored guy in charge of going first says: 

A... locked... door? 

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It actually just appears to be stuck. You may attempt to solve this by attempting to apply Strength

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He has plenty of that! 

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Nope. 


mechanics

 Due to the undead fly pox, he has a quite large Strength penalty at the moment.

 

 

 

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:( 

anyone else want to try? 

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Actually she's just finished deciding how to phrase this. The fact that he didn't try to kill them for finding out has her feeling a lot better about the whole thing but it's still awkward.

"So, given that we're party members, can you explain how you ended up as a skeleton? I can refrain from spreading it around, but Tris and I really ought to know that sort of thing."

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Yeah, seriously.

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"Ah. Well. Certainly you have every right and I apologize for not discussing it sooner; I worried that it would cause undue panic among the civilians. Unfortunately I have... no explanation whatsoever for the circumstance in which I find myself. I imagine I must at some point in the past have been a living man, as elsewise I could not have had a horse? They do not generally like the undead, and... I think I must have had a horse." Illustratively, he taps the lance strapped rather comically unwieldily to his backpack, an absolutely insane weapon that no one would ever wield on foot if they could possibly avoid it. And he could avoid it if that was the only reason, he also has a sword. 

... Marshall is suddenly strikingly aware that he misses his horse. He doesn't even remember having a horse but as soon as he looked for it he found that there is a clearly quite specifically shaped hole in his soul where one is supposed to live. Why this. 

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"Huh. . . . Do you know when it happened? D'you think it has anything to do with the lighthouse situation?"

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"If I assume that it was right before I started to form memories again, then about two months ago, which as I understand it precedes the lighthouse beginning to behave alarmingly by at least several weeks. I don't know anything about magic to guess how I'd know if they're related." 

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"I guess there's not really anything to do but keep an eye out for answers."

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And also kick this door down, that's something to do.

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Nope. 


mechanics
she currently has her normal amount of non-poxed Strength, but at this time that's a nice round average 10, and she additionally rolled, like, a 4.

 

 

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She has a very small chance of accomplishing something very funny. Shove!

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Alas, no, even though it would have been really funny. 


mechanics
Tris is of perfectly average Strength for a gnome (i.e, 8). It was, technically speaking, possible for her to make this DC 18 Athletics check. She did not, however, roll a 19.

 

 

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Yeah, alright. What's in the next room past this one?

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Having been defeated, in the grand spirit of first-circle adventuring parties everywhere, by a completely nonmagical unlocked door, they proceed clockwise round the floor of the lighthouse. The next room is what might once have been an office: 

The ceiling has collapsed in the southwest corner of this room. The walls bear several shelves, but the books and papers once kept here have rotted to ruin long ago due to exposure to the elements, as have the wooden desk and chair in an alcove to the northeast.

There's a door to the north, and the most passively Perceptive member of the party (Samora) will notice that there's also some kind of mechanism concealed in one of the bookshelves on the east wall. 

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"Oh hey, look at this scratch on the floor, I bet this swings out." Time for that other classic first-level adventurer activity: poking random bits of things!

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Indeed it does swing out, and behind the secret door there is: a secret staircase leading down! 

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And this is the point

        at which 

                they start

                        going

                                down.

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The stairs empty into an abandoned guard post: 

Three plain wooden chairs sit along the east wall of this otherwise empty room.

There's three doors in immediate evidence: two normal exits to the north and west, and on the east wall, behind the middle chair, an extremely obvious (to Samora and Marshall) "secret" door which is evidently not actually intended to be secret from this side. 


mechanics
it's Perception DC 12 from this side and DC 28 from the other side. Both Samora and Marshall have a class skill rank in Perception and notice things at DC 12 on a take-10 passive; Tris has as many as 1 cross-class skill rank in Perception and would have to actually be paying attention, i.e., roll for it. It would, interestingly, actually be impossible for any of them to hit DC 28; at level 1, Samora with 1 rank + 3 class skill bonus + 3 wis is one point shy even on a nat 20. But worry not! Samora's very first steps toward being the kind of adventurer who specializes in having a Perception skill are a surprise tool that will help us later.

 

 

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They can all agree that secret doors, even ones that aren't secret from this side, are more interesting than regular doors, yes?

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Absolutely. Onward!

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This puts them in a long, dramatic hallway, which they're entering on the south-west side. 

This long, ten-foot-wide hallway has a vaulted ceiling arching to a dozen feet high. Three broken metal brackets hang from the ceiling; one to the south, one to the north, and one in the middle, although what the frames once held is unclear. The floor is strewn with pieces of rotten wood and twisted metal. To the north, pale green light shimmers around a closed door's frame. 

No critters are in evidence. It's almost eerily quiet, really. 

It's also quite dark, once they're underground and the last of the light bouncing down the stairs from the open ceiling of the main lighthouse floor is cut off by two turns around walls. At least one member of their party might... notice this at all. 

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Marshall is used to having magic darkvision (unbeknownst to him this is because his instincts are used to a higher level of ambiently having wizards to cast communal darkvision as needed, rather than because he has always had it) and he normally tracks the light level as a strategic matter by the length of the shadows on the ground. 

Neither he nor Tris actually has a shadow, though, and he doesn't happen to be looking directly at Samora at this exact moment, so he fully does not notice. 

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Samora is in theory aware that other people can't see in the dark, but she's too busy scrutinizing the hallway and the weird green light to remember to track the light level more generally.

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"Hey, uh, it's really dark in here?"

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Oh right that's supposed to be her job. "Sorry. Light." Now it's a bit less dark. "What d'you think that glow down there is?"

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He cannot per se squint without face muscles nor would they be able to see him doing it through his faceplate if he could, but the suit of armor is nevertheless visibly inspecting the mysterious thing. "Don't know and we should probably find out."  

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Now that Tris can see well enough to navigate the hallway, she agrees. Thataway.

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At the northern end of the hallway, there is: a haunted bathroom. 

This ten-foot-square washroom features an iron bathing tub to the north and a commode to the southwest. The northern wall glows and shimmers with rippling ribbons of eerie green light.

When Otari Ilvashti became trapped in the Abomination Vaults, he did his best to find an escape route. Unfortunately, at that time, many of Belcorra’s dangerous minions still guarded much of this level. He made it to this room only to collapse from his wounds. Fortunately, Belcorra’s death had thrown the dungeon into chaos, and he wasn’t discovered. When Otari woke some time later, no longer on the edge of death from his ordeal, he crept out of the room and made his way west... 

(...) 

 The first time the heroes see the glowing energy, it slithers into letters to read, “I was Otari... save me from below!” A moment later, the words slide off the wall and form a green ribbon of light that slithers across the floor like a serpent. 

It is going west, past some double doors and down another hallway, at about as fast as Tris can run (a little slower than Marshall and Samora can run). 

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Ah. Well. Clearly we are going that way, then. Hup. 

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Running!

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Running! (Does it have a mind, this thing, or is it more like an animated letter?)

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More like an animated letter. 

Other moving things in the vicinity which do not have minds per se include: 

* The pile of bones on the floor of this room which begins to rattle and float ominously as they pass through it, but doesn't quite manage to assemble itself into a threat before they exit through the opposite door.  

* The black pudding at the bottom of that short staircase over there, which is wholly undetectable to every member of the party but the editor would like to mention just so we all understand how funny it is in six months when they still haven't stepped on it. 

* Another secret door, under which the animated green light has just slid, operated much like the one upstairs by a wholly mechanical pressure plate. 

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They'll need to do something about the bones eventually but they gotta save this guy before they lose the trail. Stomping on the plate!

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The plate opens the door, and beyond the door there's another staircase, down which the tail of the animated light is just visible scurrying away. At the bottom of the staircase, our heroes find themselves in a long hallway, littered with bits of splintered rotten wood and debris, as though a fight took place here.

(Tris can tell, by looking at the degree of decay, that it was relatively recently; a scale of days or weeks but probably not hours nor months.) 

The green light slithers west, and disappears into a cloud of fog.

(Samora can see, since she has been exploring with detect magic up, that the fog is magical in nature.) 

To the east, there is a door.

(Everyone here can tell that there's something on the other side: Tris because she can sense the presence of minds, Marshall because he can faintly hear voices whispering in a language he understands, and Samora because she can detect evil.) 

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They all quietly point out that there's someone behind the door, and are about to follow the green light into the fog, when--

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Huh, sounds like some kind of fucked-up ancient Osiriani. ... weird-ass thing to know, thanks, brain, we'll circle back to th-- 

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The door opens.

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Behind it, there are several ghouls, tensed for the possibility that there are enemies on the other side. Ghouls are usually depicted in textbooks wearing the tattered remains of whatever they might have been buried in (which, in fairness to Samora's recognizing-types-of-things-with-evil-auras class, is usually correct), but these ones are wearing long, pale-blue robes, like the acolytes of some peculiar church. 

The suit of armor doesn't smell like food? But it has food with it? Suspicious squinting ensues. 

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".......Good evening," hazards Marshall, doing his best to engage hello_fellow_undead_with_skateboardlance.gif. Necril comes as naturally to him as though it is his mother tongue, an unsettling sensation he will also be circling back to later and not right now. "We come in peace to your, uh..." he glances around now that, from his vantage point, he can see through the door. 

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Hundreds of stone shelves are carved into the walls of this fifteen-foot-wide hallway. While there are many gaps in the collection, a staggering number of books, scrolls, and folios remain. Signs hang above several doors off of this hall. A faint, blue glow flickers beneath a sign to the south.

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"...your lovely library," he manages to say without ending that sentence with a question mark. Why the fuck is there a ghoul library under the evil lighth okay that question kind of answers itself actually nevermind. 

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Huh. "Good evening, friend knight! On behalf of our lady Nhakazarin, we welcome you to the library of our queen Belcorra! You may of course peruse the stacks at your leisure, as soon as we take your," gesture vaguely at Samora and Tris, "donations of flesh for the Canker?" This does have a question mark because those guys do not look very, like, tied up, but they cannot think of any other reason an undead knight would bring fleshy live humans with him to visit the ghoul library. 

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There is a very brief pause, while Marshall would have been sighing deeply if he had lungs. "Ah. Well. Those are my friends and we will not be doing that." 

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In that case, roll for initiative! 

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This seems like a time for positive energy!

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And making the ghouls unable to conceive of violence without getting magically stabbed in the brain!

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Why the fuck is anything touching their brains! That is illegal! The positive energy also stings a little but it is not so INCREDIBLY ILLEGAL and they don't need ALL of them to engage the sword guy, he only has two hands-- 

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(Marshall takes a swipe at one of them on their way past him, and this hits solidly but doesn't slow them down. Damn. He's getting a bad grade in battlefield control and needs to get better at that. Sucks to be level 1.) 

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It turns out that it is possible for things to conceive of violence hard enough to power right through their Thoughts being Forbidden. Paralytic claws for the squishy psychic. 

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Oh no now she can't do any somatic components 

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Oh no she should have gotten between Tris and the ghouls! She'll try to do that now. And channel again and just barely miss Marshall with it.

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Paralytic claws for this asshole who keeps making his fort save or something? 

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Marshall is too dead for paralysis! He has no muscles, you see.

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Well, fine, but the claws are still sharp

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Ow gotta keep their attention on him. Sword, sword, planting himself in the middle of the narrow room where he's hard to run past and engaging as many of them as he can. Ow. Look how threatening he is. Pay no attention to the healer over there chipping steadily away at the strength of anything she can get into range of.

(Her positioning is quite good for a first-circle, he thinks. Usually it takes them longer than this to get the hang of 'exactly how far is thirty feet' under live fire conditions. She had great sword form, too. Maybe he's forgotten the schools being better than he expects?) 

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(That's because her teachers were awesome! Also when you have to drill every maneuver an extra several hundred times to reliably get enough power behind it you end up getting lots of practice at everything else.)

Stab stab slash six channels is objectively a lot but it really doesn't feel like a lot right now!

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Tris is going to help her friends even if she can't move! What can she still do. She can Message them. Here, have a second perspective on the battle so you know exactly where everyone is and can decide where to step that much faster.

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He sure is threatening! That sword hurts! The consequence of trying to corral everyone's attention is that now you have everyone's attention! Which means you are surrounded by horrific undead screeching! And claws! Can't forget the claws. There are really quite a lot of claws. 

mechanics A single ghoul is a CR 1 encounter.

 

 

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Ow these things might be dead but they are made of flesh and bone and he has a sword in hand and a shield in front of him and casters behind him and if there is anything he is for it is for putting things that should be dead back in the gods-damned ground. 

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Speak for yourself! We're dead on purpose! 

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There's three ghouls on the floor and only one more and in his mind's eye he can see exactly how to step to stay flanking. Multiple perspectives on a single battle should probably be deeply disorienting to process all at once but it feels strangely like for the first time since he remembers everything is right in the world-- 

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If a fight here lasts more than 4 rounds or is unusually loud, the two ghouls in area C15 come to investigate.

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shit. 

mechanics Marshall has, at this point in the combat, I think one (1) hit point.

 

 

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Hey! You (re)murdered our guys! Revenge of the claws! 

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He's so close to winning this fight on simply not getting hit for enough seconds in a row but he's just. not. fast enough. 

 

Clatter. 

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Oh look! Squishy casters without their tank one of whom is already paralyzed! Hello have you heard the good news of c l a w s.

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Ow ow channel argh stab channel heaven help us

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They can hold off the ghouls for longer than you'd expect, with their shield-bearer gone. They kill most of the ghouls.

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But not all of the ghouls. 

Soon she's out of channels; moments later she's out of hit points.

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And a few moments after that, Tris and Samora's souls come loose of their bleeding corpses.

The thing is, though-- 

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They're under the Gauntlight. This will be important, in a little while. 

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But first, they'll feel a sort of rushing sensation, as they fall into the current of a great River.

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The River is not really located anywhere and it would be really difficult to draw a map of it, but it nevertheless does have a sort of extraplanar variation in locations that is almost like having a geography. In this particular something-like-a-place, the walls of Creation are thin, if indeed they could be said to exist at all. When there aren't daemons here, there are often other, worse things. 

But there are daemons here, today. 

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And Heaven does not, as a rule, abandon souls it can save, just because someThing from outside the Sphere might object to that. 

(Neither does Hell. Today we will not be interrogating their reasons.) 

 

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"Nine-twelve-six," shouts a planetar (or something like it, in Celestial, indicating four-dimensional polar spatial location), voice like a thunderclap. 

Two cornugons teleport across the battlefield; an astradaemon dies, about three seconds before its teeth would have contacted the River's flow. They do not high-five, because they are professionals and devils do not contain the capacity for fun; they turn immediately outward again, hunting for targets. One shouts something in Infernal, in a tone of warning.  

The deva several hundred yards away flickers in response and flattens itself to a nonexistent ground, narrowly avoiding a shard of pure negative energy the size of a warship aimed like a javelin at its head. It pops back up a moment later, making a cheerful clicking noise not recognizable as any language known on Golarion. (Angels do contain the capacity for fun, and the ones who sign up for River defense even though you gotta hang out with devils about it are the ones who really like fighting.)

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From the proximity of the projectile, or perhaps in another sense from nowhere, a stream of daemons sprawls into the river. 

Defenders dive for them at once; from the vantage point of the river, it's clear they're going to be about two seconds too slow. It's hard to think, as a soul in the river, hard to observe and form memories, but one gets the distinct and unpleasant sensation of rapidly approaching horrible doom. 

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Then a shadow falls across the battlefield, sending a cold shiver through everything. A ring of seven great eyes, each precisely the same distance from the other in every dimension, orients itself. 

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"EMPTY DEATH," a chorus goes up, and the angels and devils as one reverse direction, backpedalling away, out of the eyes' field of view.

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Shadows spread out from it like hungering teeth, and daemons dissolve, as though they had never been. 

 


Then its gaze turns, to look at Samora and Tris, or at least the important part of them. 

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As it does, the sensation of blurred reality falls away, and for a moment they are aware, with very sharp clarity, that they are not flowing down the River in the correct direction.

 

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They are sliding back down it, pulled inexorably by the tether of a great silver chain, winding itself taut against the current. 

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hm. don't like that. 

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h̷̯̀̄ḿ̶̺!.̸̖̃͜ ̴͌d̸̘̈́o̸̜͌ń̴̼̘́'̵̛t̶͊ ̸̈͝ l̵̻̥̽͊i̵̦̿k̶͎̖̈́ẻ̶̳̎ t̵̢̹̉h̷̹͚́a̶͉̥̽t!.̷̬͆ 

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hey! look at that! you guys agree on something! 

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D̵̞̜̆͝Ǫ̵̗̉N̴͍̏T̶̺͗̃ ̴̭̈́L̷̤̈Į̶͙̓K̶̡͚̓̈́E̷͍̥̎͠ ̶̜̲́͘T̷͍̲̉̏Ḩ̵̒̇Ȃ̷͙Ṱ̸̺̓̕ ̸̝͌Ȅ̵̥̥I̷̟̿T̵͊̈͜Ȟ̶̬̂E̷͚̐͑R̸̜̈́͠ 

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go away, Nethys, I do not need your opinions on illegal Things from beyond my Creation

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but they're the main characters :( 

 

sorry, sorry. 


 

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Whereupon Samora and Tris wake up, feeling like absolutely incredible shit, in a haunted bathtub. 


 

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(thirty-six hours earlier (solar time on Golarion)...) 


 

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The fleshy corpses get dragged to the Corpse Pile. They still have some morlocks to finish eating and you gotta eat the oldest corpses first or they get back up as inadequately religious ghouls and after you re-kill those they have this annoying tendency to disappear for some reason. There is an ongoing debate about whether there is a secret second coming of ghoulhood and they're walking away under their own power or they're being stolen by someone somehow. 

The pile of bones, containing no flesh and therefore useless to them as food regardless, is stripped of gear and shoved haphazardly into a library corner. 

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Marshall regains consciousness about eight hours later. 

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Well. That is in a number of respects Not Good. 

What is the ghoul situation. 

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There's ghouls. 

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Right. 

 

 

 

Does anything go horribly wrong if he just... lies here... for another eight hours, until his bones are correctly attached instead of only very tenously attached? 

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It does not! And in fact when he does this he'll notice that the ghouls are beginning to wind down in a nighttimelike manner suggesting they might go to bed soon. They don't seem quite aware, as they go through the motions of a daily chore rotation, that the brooms have all lost all their bristles and do not really appreciably improve the cleanliness level. The robes distributed from the laundry pile (to replace the ones stained with a lot of human and gnome blood) are clean, though. 

 

(they don't actually need to sleep, but they're too undead-inertia to have stopped; the Schedule says that you go to bed at a specific time and get up eight hours after that to pray, so they do.) 

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Then he will wait. He's not in a hurry. 

 

 

Three hours later, when it is quiet, he gets up, and goes stalking through the dark halls. 

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One advantage of having had your armor taken away is that when this happens you will suddenly find yourself considerably more able to make a Stealth check. 

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Great, this situation has one (1) upside. He'll take it. Stalk stalk stalk.  

 

 

Okay. He can move around without raising an alarm for at least a little while if he's careful. Anyone here paying a modicum of attention to the possibility of threats must reasonably expect threats to be alive and therefore to smell like something. He slinks about, builds a sketched map in his head, guesses the fastest way out at a run if stealth is lost. Corpse pile over here; Samora and Tris are in it, unconscious, alive. Storage pile over there; all of their armor and weapons are in it, undamaged.

He can't carry both his unconscious allies and also wield a weapon in their defense if he gets caught; he only has two arms. (This sure would be a great time to have a horse instead of the distinct and unpleasant absence of one.) Samora can carry Tris and Tris cannot carry Samora, so Samora first, but as soon as he's carrying a person he will be moving slower and louder and he knows how to throw a punch but it won't be a good one, his bones still feel distinctly and increasingly like jelly, so zeroth, Samora's sword, less replaceable than his and no less useful. 

Delicately, carefully, he slinks into the storage room and slides the silvered sword out of the pile, leaving the rest of the pile quiet and undisturbed. 

 

Then, down the hall-- 

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Ghoul situation: There's ghouls. 

 

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--orrr dodge the night shift into a side room.  

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While this room might have once served as a writing studio, today its condition has been all but obliterated by dozens of tiny swatches of skinned flesh marked with tattoos. Judging by the workspace on the table in the middle of the room, these tattoos have been placed postmortem, with a swath of pale skin stretched over the desk sporting a half-completed image of a sinister woman.

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Whyyyy are ghouls Like this?-- ooh, unattended silver hatchet lying on a table where moving it won't send a whole pile clattering, that's his now immediately. Shove that in his belt, skulk round the slightly longer way to the corpse storage... it feels like an eternity but it's probably only a few minutes, before he reaches the corpse pile. Wild that the ghouls tossed them in it without checking if they were still breathing but maybe ghouls just don't know anything about mortal biology? Not important. Time to heft Samora over his shield shoulder. Ten minutes, he thinks at Tris as loudly as he can, just in case she's conscious and wisely playing dead and can hear him. I'm coming right back for you, run as soon as you can walk if I don't. 

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There's no reply. 

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Up the stairs, then. 

He puts unconscious Samora in the least horrifically unsafe place on the upper basement floor, i.e., the haunted bathroom; re-entering the tiny room doesn't set off a new message, which suggests it is not well-trafficked. Also in the event he gets flattened downstairs and/or she happens to regain consciousness in the next five minutes, waking up alone and covered in blood and rotten morlock flesh in a bathtub is probably very slightly less monumentally unpleasant than on a dungeon floor even if it is a haunted bathtub. Probably.

Since he has a hatchet now, he leaves her sword with her. A hatchet's a little worse but it's a weapon and he'd definitely want the sword, if he was her. 

 

Fetching Tris is, incredibly, similarly uneventful. She barely weighs anything. Arcanists are such worryingly delicate creatures even when they're human-sized but at least it means it's faster to get upstairs with her without making any noise. 

So he goes back to the storage room. 

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Puts on his armor, slowly, carefully.

Hangs Tris's hand crossbow off his belt, slings Samora's shield over his back, straps his own into place-- there's a rattle of metal against metal as he shoves Samora's chainshirt into her backpack-- 

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"Hey, what was that?" 

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--runs. 

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Some hours later, when Samora and Tris regain consciousness, they will find the door of their tiny sanctuary held shut by Marshall sitting against it, presumably in case of pursuit. He is asleep, or something vaguely resembling it, with the distinct body language of someone who could really use, like, a solid week of bed rest. 

But, and this is critical, ghoul situation: There's not ghouls. 

 

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Blrrrghlrgg, she feels like shit. Oh gods, did she die and turn into a ghoul and now she needs to re-kill herself--nope, thinking that thought caused her heartbeat to make itself helpfully obvious. She's alive, and what else? Half-stuck under something. Oh, it's Tris. And Marshall is--? That's going to require moving her head. She can do that. Heeee's over there. Great. Okay. Does she have her channels back yet? Nope. At least she still has Create Water because wow does she need some. That's going to require figuring out how to move more of the rest of herself.

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Tris becomes aware of her own existence and then of Samora's and starts extricating herself from the bathtub.

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This enables Samora to drag herself vertical, take stock of some things, and . . . how about (as soon as her sword is set down out of the way) it can just be raining in this bathtub now. "Soaked with clean conjured water" is a much better state for both her clothes and her body than the current one.

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Oh if that's what's happening Tris is going to get back in the bathtub actually.

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Once they've both gotten rinsed off as much as they're going to get: "So, do you remember what I remember?"

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"I remember something? Bits of it. There were angels? And other things. And--something big."

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"Yeah. I don't know what to make of that. Other than--I think we may have been dead for a minute."

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"I'm pretty sure we're not dead now, thank goodness." She looks at Marshall. "Uh. No offense? Thanks for getting us away from the ghouls."

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Exhausted salute. "None taken, and of course." What kind of party fighter would he be if he abandoned his casters. "Can at least one of you walk? I think that perhaps we had best return to Otari and make sure neither of you have the ghoul fever before we attempt anything else at all difficult." 

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"I think so, yeah."

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"Yeah. Not all the way back to Otari without stopping," says the shortest member of the party, "but we can at least get out of this awful building."

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From how Marshall looks and she feels, they're all going to need a break at some point, but it can wait until they're yeah, out of this horrible building.

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And so the little band of adventurers returns, damp, smelly, bedraggled, and not at all triumphant, to the town from which they set out.

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The town is very sympathetically welcoming to their bedraggled baby adventurers. They're still alive! Everyone is very impressed by this! Aesepha and Zarmavdian were fifth circle when they defeated Belcorra, and of course Belcorra is dead now but even the haunted empty house of something rated for a fifth-circle adventuring party has a pretty solid chance of killing the shit out of a first-circle one. Everyone was much more optimistic when they left with Wrin's endorsement but they've been gone for days.  

Plus, they've accrued a little bit of dungeon loot. Nothing terribly exciting, mostly, odds and ends the local alchemist might be interested in, very slightly shiny rocks, et cetera, but enough that they are now equipped to get an inn room and a bar tab. 

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Options for this include:

* Crow's Casks, run by the aforementioned alchemist, Magiloy, a human-sized crowperson; by far the comfiest beds in town, stuffed with shed feathers, and also the chance that the building explodes in the middle of the night is, while not objectively that high, distinctly nonzero.

Best place to find:

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Worliwynn, the local druid, when she treks into town (mostly for incomprehensibly poisonous liquor);

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or Keelo Lathenar the proprietor of the general store (mostly to sell her weird things he picked up from passing adventurers).  

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* The Osprey, run by an elegant lady by the name of Yinyasmera; cheap beds, great food, always popular and busy, and gives off a certain vibe that you had better pay attention to your pockets.

Best place to find:

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Carman Rajani the blacksmith (usually gambling);

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or Vandy Banderdash the local Sarenrite after her evening channel (usually doing dramatic readings out of the quarterly scrivened periodical she gets from Absalom of inspiring adventurer stories of heroism and redemption; fully unaware of any hypothetical risk to her pockets, to which she has complete social immunity). 

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* The Rowdy Rockfish, run by a stern dwarf matron called Brelda Venkervale; a bit more expensive than its competitors, but much quieter than its name suggests, with a sign up on the wall boasting that it has been over six months since the last bar fight, and the favored haunt of 

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the local merchant nobility;

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and also the Mayor. 

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Any preferences? 

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Lathenar's all right but Marshall votes 'neither thieves nor explosions.' 

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Quiet sounds really good right now. They can afford it, at least for a day or two, and then they'll be able to go back to the Gauntlight and maybe find some more loot in parts of it that aren't the horrible ghoul basement.

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Indeed they can. 

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Marshall needs to lie down for a while until his bones stop being undead flypox jelly but in the meantime maybe Samora could go see if the blacksmith will pay her anything for this silver hatchet? Silvered weapons are decent money and they do already have Samora's sword if they need to stab a werewolf or something. 

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She can totally do that! She's seen enough smithwork that she should be able to tell if she's getting horrendously lowballed.

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Tris will tag along to look at things!

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Most people, at this stage in her career, look at Samora and see first a teenage girl in cheap-for-an-adventurer armor. Some, now she's got the confident body language and the sword and the holy symbol, are starting to see first a priest of Iomedae. (Most people don't see Tris at all, if they're not looking very hard. She's quiet, until she isn't.) 

The man in Otari's forge gives her a quick once-over, marks the easy familiar way she moves through the space and the sword on her hip with lovingly carved detailing in the handle that says the smith cared about that particular work a lot more than they usually do at that price point, and sees you're from a family like mine.

 

He accordingly makes detectably zero effort to turn on the Customer Service Voice(tm). "Yo, whatcha need?" 

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It's messier in here than her dad's workshop ever was, with more half-finished projects scattered around, but everything is well-maintained and the mess is controlled enough not to be a safety hazard. And it smells like home.

"Got some loot to sell off! Want to buy a silvered hatchet?" She holds it up to catch the light.

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Squint. 

...

Hm. Well. That's an enchanted silver hatchet, if he doesn't miss his guess. 

...

This is gonna be a tad smidge of a Dick Move, however, the thing is, he really needs the money. 

 ...

He'll quote her what a silver hatchet is worth. Minus a quite generously small turnover fee, because-- and this part's true-- "I know a guy who'll want it, easy flip, happy to take it off your hands and offload it next time I see him." 

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Samora knows what a silver hatchet is worth and has not yet developed the canny adventurer's habit of casting Detect Magic on everything. 

"Deal!" That was easy.

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"How does this work? What are all the different sizes of hammer for and why are they shaped like that?"

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Samora will give their host a second or two to call dibs on explaining. If he doesn't, she will happily discuss the nature and purpose of a bellows and a cross-peen hammer and that some tasks call for precision and others for overwhelming force.

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He kind of wants to a little but that would require caring about things and he's currently pretty depressed, but also he does not want to emote Depressed too hard because then the baby priest might want to talk about his feelings and they are absolutely not friends enough for that, thank you very much. 

(To Samora this mostly comes off as a slightly disgruntled 'I don't wanna, go ahead' face.) 

 

He will gratefully resume doing tasks, and listen with half an ear. He still does not want to talk about his feelings but his feelings are slightly soothed. It's almost like listening to his dad again. 

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Cheerful explanations and then leaving so Rajani can get his work done! How is Marshall doing?

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Marshall has evidently spent this time in their inn room applying sharp objects to himself. There's a variety of bone shards and dust and bits of marrow that are definitely the incorrect color all swept tidily into the compost bin, the bones actually attached to him do not seem to be made of jelly anymore, and he's in a much better mood. "Great news! I know how to fix myself. Please do not attempt this strategy on yourself at any time especially without supervision." 

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"Don't worry, I won't!"

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"Woah. How does that work? Does it only work on undead or could you theoretically do it to a living person? Is it magic? It doesn't look magic."

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"I can prepare some Inflict spells tomorrow." Preparing Inflict spells is a bit weird but there's nothing actually wrong with it.

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Thoughtful toothclack. "It is not magic, except in the sense that I am myself in some way held together by magic. I am not sure how to answer how it works-- this is I think a bit like asking you how you cast spells? I just... fix things, when they are broken, because I can see how they ought to fit together. In principle I could do it just as well on either of you if you were in a state of being put together incorrectly, I expect, as you also contain bones, but there is some risk of error so I should not like to attempt it without need."

Also it'd probably hurt, but he's seen his children party members in lethal combat, now, and will not insult them by wrongly implying they couldn't tank a little bone surgery if they had to. 

Grateful nod at Samora. "I shall of course endeavor not to need it, but we saw how well that went last time." 

mechanics The Heal skill works on undead because it isn't positive energy. It doesn't say you do this on animate skeletons by being a horrifying bone surgeon but it also doesn't say you don't! :)

 

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"Better to have it and not need it, yeah. Do you think all your problems are a sort a ch—an Inflict can fix, or no? If they are and if Tris and I are lucky enough not to have caught anything we could do a bit more exploring the Gauntlight tomorrow."

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"Better the day after tomorrow earliest to be sure," says Marshall, who was once in his life the kind of person who would bravely sally forth into the unknown while feeling like all his bones are made of horrible jelly, and then irresponsibly incurred some very expensive Raises about it and learned an important lesson that his decision-making module remembers even if he, personally, does not. "Do not let my temporary incapacity stop you doing anything, though. Perhaps the Sarenrite's library may contain something of use?" 

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"If you need to rest we should wait, yeah," says Samora, who has just learned her own metaphorically-expensive lesson on doing too much adventuring too quickly. "Hanging out at the temple library sounds good."

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Library!

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They spend the next two days in peace and quiet, reading everything they can find in the Dawnflower Library that might be relevant to the Gauntlight and a bunch of stuff that probably isn't.

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Samora has finite tolerance for reading things that probably aren't relevant and all night to do it in, so she also spends some time befriending the Sarenrite priest Vandy Banderdash and offers to split or augment the channel schedule while she has nothing else on.

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Vandy (a halfling, has lived here her whole life, beloved by all) is immensely pleased to have a cleric friend!! She will happily give Tris and Samora a tour, and then leave Tris in peace to read and chatter to Samora about the needs of the locals. She usually does a morning channel and an evening one and saves the third for emergencies, and a town this size very rarely needs more than that, but this turns out to be a good day to have extra healing around, because in the late afternoon, another adventuring party drags themselves back into town, lightly perforated by a fight with a large boar. 

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A human woman around Samora's age, with well-oiled chainmail under Sarenrite orange-and-golds and a backpack full of battered dictionaries. She is wearing two identical holy symbols, one lightly singed. Behind her: 

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a half-elf ranger is patiently combing out the bedraggled feathers of an armored eagle, eyeing the new people with a very general-purpose sort of guarded suspicion; 

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a lightly armored dwarf with spectacles and a wide variety of tools and weapons strapped to himself is eyeing Samora with a very distinctly specifically Rahadi sort of guarded suspicion; 

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and a kobold, wearing a tiny clearly-not-professionally-made almost-perfect duplicate of Thida's outfit, with a spellbook nearly the size of his torso on a shoulder strap and holding a miniature bladed staff that may once in its lifetime have been a human-sized dagger. He has no suspicion whatsoever, only enthusiasm. 

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"Oh dear," says Vandy, surveying their collective level of injuredness. No one is actively bleeding to death or anything but some of those gore wounds look like they hurt. 

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"Oh!" says Thida, upon seeing Samora. She is immediately way more interested in A New Friend than whether she is currently mildly injured. "Hello! I don't think we've met! I'm Thida Aubade, paladin of Sarenrae," she is so pleased to get to say this, it's been true for like three weeks. "These are my friends and my squire--" she introduces them each by name, gesturing. Yuliya and Vuzi nod politely.

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Billie waves, grinning and showing all his little draconic teeth. He is so proud to be A Squire. He's gonna be a Knight. He knows like five words of Taldane at present but those are two of them. 

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"Pleasure to meet you all! Samora, cleric of Iomedae." Funny how they're both switched from the more common one. "You guys look like you want a channel and then small talk, yeah?"

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Nooooooo small talk is her faaavoriiiiiiite 

 

She is responsible for several additional entire people's health and safety now and she needs to be a grownup about it. "That would be amazing, yeah, please, I've only got the one smite and no channels yet." 

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Channel! Channeling while not surrounded by ghouls is so much nicer than the other way even if it does cause her to remember being surrounded by ghouls. Which she presently is not. 

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New people! "Hi new people! I'm Tris! What's your story?"

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"Thank you!" Quick inventory of her limbs and everyone else's. Excellent, all nice and healed. How fortunate, to live in a world where the Good churches can all be friends and (she beams at Tris) so can the disparate peoples of many places. "Hello! Nice to meet you!" Let's see, how to answer that question-- 

Thida surveys her party, determines that Yuliya and Vuzi are both making oh god dont make me have a social interaction please talk for me thanks love you facial expressions, and gleefully launches into a Narrative. She's an excellent storyteller, even with the mild flow handicap of periodically pausing between sentences to repeat-slowly-and-enunciate key words with Draconic translations for Billie. 

It's quite a story

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"I'm sorry about your brother. And—Billie, I'm very impressed by your courage and good sense." Realizing that your people are in the wrong and immediately turning to protect their victims takes a lot of both. "I'm glad you have each other."

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Solemn nod. "I will see him again someday in Nirvana, but thank you. I am very glad of this too!" 

They can chat a bit more about their respective religious education, etc., but eventually it is time for everyone to return to their adventuring-related tasks. 

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It's nice to make friends! It's also nice to get their errands done by dusk. 

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The main errand is that Tris wants some locksmithing gear, because there look to be a lot of locked doors in their future. She knows how to use it, but she traded her last set to a guy in Diobel for a book on the romantic customs of dragons and then once she had read the book she traded it to a guy in Qadira for some very interesting mushrooms. Anyway, the point is, lockpicks, she wants some.

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Later, back at the Rowdy Rockfish: 

"We should talk over how to not almost die anymore."

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"Agreed. It seems to me that our primary error was not necessarily following a cry for help, which I do think we should in general do though at first circle one has to be realistic about scale, but rather following it quite far very fast. Thoughts?" 

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"Yeah, I think we should have paid more attention to what sort of environment we were going into. And now that we know how much stuff is in the basement—and how much basement there is—we should be more prepared next time we go in there."

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"And no more sleeping in the lighthouse. It's clearly not going to be a one-day job, we should come back here to sleep and prepare spells and things. Just because we didn't get ambushed last time doesn't mean we won't."

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Oh thank fuck the tiny earnest spellcaster children have reasonable risk tolerance. 

"Yes, I completely agree. With this in mind, I suggest that our next priority should be addressing anything else that may be in the lighthouse itself, before we go back into its basement. If there is anything dangerous there, it is better faced than left at our backs." And they can probably handle the ghouls if at least one of the two casters gets to second circle, ideally both, though it's bad luck to say that out loud. 

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"I don't like ignoring the call for help for that long but we'll be no use to whoever it is if we can't get there, so, agreed."

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And all his bones seem to be back where they belong, so: dungeonward with them. 

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Their next obstacle remains: a door. 

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Great news! All of his bones continue to be in their correct locations. Worry not about where the muscles are located. 

 

mechanics (that is to say, Marshall has 18 strength again like he usually does.)

 

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As long as the door gets opened, she's not gonna question it.

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The party sees: 

The smooth walls of this circular room are painted a light gray with no indication of seams between blocks of stone. A set of iron stairs winds upward along the curved walls before terminating at a trap door in the ceiling nearly a hundred feet above. A red bloodstain glistens on the floor at the room’s center, as though a human-sized creature bled to death on the floor very recently, despite there being no body in sight.

Why's that, you ask?  

The Roseguard finally defeated Belcorra in this room nearly five centuries ago. As she died, Belcorra’s spirit was drawn down into the depths of the Abomination Vaults through Gauntlight, but the bloodstain she left on the floor remains as fresh as the day she died.

All of which is to say: 

This room is really haunted. 

It is, however, daytime, which means it is inertly haunted. The blood shifts and moves like the surface of a lake, but does not bestir itself to attack them in any exciting manner. What would they like to do about this? 

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Detect Evil. Detect Magic. Stare at the creepy blood. 

"That's not actually fresh blood. I think it's some kind of haunting. I'll try an exorcism."

 

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She's practiced exorcisms before, but this is her first real one. She walks in a circle around the bloodstain, chanting, invoking Pharasma as the foe of undead and the restorer of the natural order, and Iomedae as the foe of all Evil, calling for their aid in ending whatever distortion of life and death has taken place here. 

The concept of exorcisms is an old one, but the procedure has been refined over the centuries to make it stronger and more efficient, both in terms of the ability of lower-circle clerics to deal with larger hauntings and in terms of the wisp of intervention budget, not quite the same as a spell but not so different either, provided by the gods being prayed to.

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Yes, yes, all right.

Iomedae can be so incredibly annoying about Justice and Efficient Resource Allocation but "ma'am respectfully you have a metric quintillion god dollars and I have like thirty-two and I understand that you care about different things than I do but would you at LEAST bother spending them on things YOU don't like if I TEACH MY PEOPLE TO HELPFULLY POINT YOU DIRECTLY AT THEM" was, you know, fair. 

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Most things like this, against a first-circle cleric, get up again later; but it is not power, that moves Pharasma to look exactly where you are pointing. It is skill. To do this exactly right, what you need is to be the sort of person who sits through the very boring classes in seminary where you drill a thousand fine variations of language for each possible thing that can go wrong in the world, most of which you'll never meet, and devote exactly as much seriousness to each one as to the exciting ones about military history, and who calls up that knowledge not because you happen to be very gifted at memorizing things, but because it's very important to you, to do things right, when you do them. 

 

Which is to say, you need to be Samora of Lastwall. 

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This particular haunt will not be moving again. 

mechanics (she rolled two nat 20s in a row here. also, note that this is not a legal use of the Knowledge (Religion) skill in PF1E but in PF2E making a Religion skill check is straightforwardly the RAW solution to haunts and this comes up so often in this module that it seemed best to simply import the rule.)

 

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Detect Evil. Detect Magic. Staaaare.

"Okay, now it's just a regular bloodstain."

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"Oh, well done," says Marshall, in the mildly bemused tone of someone who did not think it was possible to do that but does in general expect magic to do things he didn't think were possible like five times a day. 

What next? 

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Onward and upward! The next door is locked, but when they poke around, the key turns out to be in the rubble near where they fought the giant bugs, so that's no problem. What's at the top of this lighthouse?

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Rows of black metal bars encase this circular chamber like a cage. Shimmering waves of force flicker between the bars and gives the illusion that softly glowing glass encases this entire area.

The room appears empty save for a human-sized encasement of glass and iron that flickers and glows with an unsettling, almost nauseating pale blue shimmer—Gauntlight’s lantern!

There does not appear to be any way to interact with the lantern from here; it is very obvious, both to detect magic and to detect evil, that it is powered from below. 

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Well, they had to check. She reports this and they can . . . go back down, she guesses, because there's nothing else up here. Time to go looking for trouble somewhere else above ground.

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Further searching will yield: in the adjacent room to the one with the ill-fated staircase, there's what was clearly once a secret door, covered by a rotted tapestry which no longer particularly hides it. It goes east, into somewhere they have not been. 

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Does anything on the other side show up to Detect Evil? They're going in either way, but it's nice to get a hint about how much combat to expect.

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There is definitely something Evil over there. 

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Alright. This time they're going to do a good job and not mess it up. She warns the others and they head in, Samora and Marshall first with Tris behind them.

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The air in this large chapel feels colder and damper than elsewhere in the ruins. Condensed beads on the walls run in rivulets across the countless skulls carved into the stone. A moldering human corpse lies slumped against a wall, his hands wedged into a crack as if he died trying to pry a brick loose. Three short flights of steps lead upward to a wider chamber to the north, where a semicircular dais supports an altar of white stone. Beyond the altar loom four stained-glass windows, each twenty feet tall and depicting four haunting scenes of ghosts rising from overgrown graveyards toward a four-pointed orange star high above.

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Along the walls south of the stairs-- invisible from the main entrance, but perfectly obvious from the angle of their approach-- there are a pair of much older corpses, skeletons that have been here long enough to grow moss. Those get up, as they approach, and shamble toward them in a threatening manner. 

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Wait for it wait for it wait for iiiiit CHANNEL.

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Violence for me but not for thee! Forbidden Thought.

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Channeling is weirdly ineffective on one of these guys and not the other. A reasonable and Perceptive person might suspect this of being related to the amulet that that one is wearing. 

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Violence also for me! 

 

...Marshall hits them very ineffectually several times, and then one of them hits him quite hard with a heavy crunching slam, and as several of his bones fracture his nonexistent brain rattles itself in its metaphorical jar and drops several tactics facts back into place regarding proper weapon selection against corporeal undead and he says aloud "Oh, right, I'm an idiot," and then his sword is on the floor and he's stepping in closer and swinging at them with a gauntleted fist. 

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Return bonk for y-- hm, bonk is banned? Oh. Well. Great news! We have an alternative. 

The mossy skeletons (or whatever is inhabiting them, because skeletons do not generally do that on their own) glow brightly from the mouth and eyes, and an unpleasant blue light washes over them, attempting to suck out their vitality. 

 

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No and also fuck you, have a crossbow bolt.

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Auuugh

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She doesn't actually have gauntlets but she can try getting around the other side of the no-amulet one and tagging them with a Cure Light.