"Ahh, yes there's been a lot of that going about lately, an after-effect of the shake up caused by so much subterranean magic glitching during the interregnum." Temple agrees, turning a glance up and then down the street before subbing a more serious expression "You always have an answer, Mr Temester, it's simply that sometimes the answer is 'no'."

 "But not today, hopefully. I'm in the market to know a great deal more about a large, bald and apparently 'greasy' man dressed in fine garments who used - for some time, up until the interregnum - to use a palanquin to travel between Old Market and Southgate. They had four bearers notable primarily for never interacting with anyone, including other palanquin carriers." pausing, he weighs the next piece of the question carefully - a reassurance of sorts, rather than a greater inquiry, serving as a promise of sorts that he's not about to start a small - or large - war over this "He also had quite serious enemies of the sort who would like confirmation of any ill fortune he has experienced, but who do not at this time intend the cause misfortune for others."

Darthalis leaned back against his wagon, his facial expression changed to one of pure seriousness.

"You're punchin' up a bit there doctor..." He said with raised eyebrows.

Temester cocked his head sideways and held Temple's eyes. He blew out a sigh, then looked past the doctor.

"Greasy." Darthalis pursed his lips as he let that word resonate in the air.

"A lot of palanquins come out of Oldtown. Most of them carrying fat men in fine clothing. But greasy. Now that word carries some weight."

Again Temester grabbed Temple's gaze and held it.

"He also hasn't been seen in months. Six at least. Maybe more. I'm assuming you don't know who he was connected with, right?"

The "book seller" nodded at Temple's confirmation.

"Listen. I would be real careful here. Your group has survived this long because you haven't hit anyone or anything too important..." He let the warning hang on the air for just a moment.

"Word is he's dead, or gone. He always went to a house on Perfect Lane. You'll know it once you see it. It's anything but perfect. It's not a White House Temple. But you would do well to avoid those."

Temester leaned his head forward, raising his eyebrows to accentuate what he just said.

 "I am fully cognizant of the risks, Mr Temester. Distressingly aware of them. It is an entanglement with people who have deep" - for a moment his eyes drop to significantly indicate the street beneath them, and by extension that which is deep beneath those streets "pockets."

 "But Perfect Street it is, and I'll be sure and to double down on warning my associates to avoid the White House. You are quite correct in warning that there's trouble to be found there that we simply don't need."

 "I take it from your not suggesting that there's more to be had that there's no more to be had, with all that that implies?" he proceeds to ask, largely unnecessarily - they're both men of the world after all - but Asho is at stake here, after all.

"Just that no one who has ever visited that house nefariously has ever been seen again. And that anyone who has taken peeks around the grounds describes the place as a horror show. It just has that greasy, slimy feel to it. Or so they say..."

The duo concluded their business. Some coins needed to change hands for the information exchanged. Darthalis' final words to Temple were simply, "I hope to see you again."

placeholder

Temple departed the Book Wagons new location and made his way back through the streets.

He knew the others were out searching for the house but now he had the exact street to check.

So he set out to find his companions to inform them of what he had learned.

 Which - for once - is exactly what Temple does, lighter to the tune of a dozen or so good golden thrones but also weighed down with both what was said and what wasn't said - the latter as important as the former when dealing with the owner of the book cart.

 Joining them, Temple rapidly confirms the details they've been gathering "The target hasn't been seen for several months, prior to which they mainly commuted between a property on Perfect Street and The White House. I was very explicitly warned off the White House, but the former has been the focus of several attempts by small time thieves, none of which has ever been seen again... Making it likely that the target is indeed deceased, but that his home remains protected."

The Doc’s confirmation sealed it.  Perfect Street.  Ash was certain they would find this house there.  So, are we ready to go, or does anyone need to make some preparations before we head over?
This message was last edited by the player at 15:42, Sat 04 May.

Once the group was all together again and they had the street name Cruch was ready to proceed.  "I am ready to go, can't do any prep not knowing what we will need before getting there."

Night had fallen in full by the time Temple met up with one group, then they gathered the other and were all together once again.

As they made their way down the wide Center Street they saw a rare sight, three people on horseback. Few people rode in Ptolus. The streets were so congested very few tried to navigate on horseback.

The trio were not out of town merchants or wealthy aristocrats trying to keep their expensive boots clean, but rather they were three warriors arrayed in fine plate mail bearing the mark of the Knights of the Pale. A group in Ptolus who fought the supernatural. They were a small order, but renowned.

Perfect Lane was a few extra turns off Center Street. As they neared the great southern wall of the city, air from the bay pushed the smell of the nearby stockyards and slaughter house across their nostrils. Animals crammed together combined with the smells of their death were strong in the air. Normally the south market area had more pleasant aromas than the guidlsman district, but here they were right on the edge of the market.

Another smell assailed them as they passed by Blackstock Printing. The chemicals used in the printing process were potent. There was no sound coming from the structure. With nightfall the presses had stopped.

Finally walking down Perfect Lane it didn't take long for the group to find the house. Slimy. Greasy. Wrong. All of those words seemed right, along with a host of others.

Kray immediately felt it wash over him upon laying eyes on the dilapidated two story structure. He knew this was the right place. He had seen it. A large wall ran all around the place, but it was broken in places and shorter. The house itself looked like it had been abandoned for years, not just 6 months. But all the foliage around the house seemed, wrong. Everything about the house seemed... Wrong.

 Temple's expression, when the building comes into view is a grim one... He spends a long moment just looking, his nostrils slightly flared as he drinks in the scent of the street - a kind of fetid, potent aroma of rot and long-dead dreams cut through with drifts of the scent of the harsh abrasives and strange inks used in the printworks (odd that he's never come down this street before, but their operation smells less like his print room and more like his workshop and it's a detail added to the back of his mind to inquire after one day).

"Well." he remarks, after a few moments of quietly uncomfortable staring at the dark windows and the discoloured wood and stone of the structure "I don't imagine we'll have much competition. I'm also suddenly very glad of that potion I asked for back when we rescued that orphan."

 Ahhh yes, Fastidiousness.

The decrepit, two-story house, was likely once a grand facade. Now it was a haunting reminder of its former glory. Weather-worn boards creaked and groaned under the weight of time, while cracked windows leered like vacant eye sockets, offering glimpses into the darkness within. Gnarled ivy snaked its way up the walls, its tendrils entwined with the decaying wood, as if claiming the structure for its own.

The overgrown weeds that encroached upon the property writhed and twisted in the faintest whisper of wind, their tendrils reaching out like grasping fingers, as if seeking to ensnare unwary trespassers. Shadows danced ominously across the cracked and uneven path leading to the front door, where the once-polished brass knocker hung askew, its surface tarnished and pitted with age.

But it wasn't just the physical decay that permeated the air; there was a palpable sense of wrongness that hung over the house like a shroud. Whispers of malevolent energy seemed to emanate from its very foundations, as if the very essence of evil had taken root within its walls. Those who dared to venture too close spoke of strange noises echoing from within, of fleeting glimpses of movement in the darkened windows - many of which were shattered - and of a sense of dread that clung to the air like a suffocating fog.

This was no ordinary abandoned house; it was a beacon of darkness, a testament to the sinister forces that lurked in the shadows. And those who dared to unlock its secrets may have found themselves ensnared in a web of terror from which there was no escape.

The dilapidated wall encircled the entire rectangle property. Buildings on either side looked shockingly normal, and well kept. The alley separating them seemed to be enough space to stop the spread of whatever tainted the home. An alley behind the home separated it from buildings which faced Van Mitten Street.

Crow gathered the group together, out of sight of the building, and summed up the situation.

"This place.  This will not be like the inn, or the lake, or even the malachite fortress.  Yes?  We are looking at a trap of abyssal evil.  This could be far more dangerous than anything so far, and not best suited to our skills.  We need to be careful.  And prepared.  We come back tomorrow, in daylight.  It's power will be less, robbed of the suffocating night.  Yes?  We prepare what we can.  Anything to protect against evil, necromancy, or the un-living."

Crow considered the situation, and added. "Temple and I can scout it a little more tonight, but we do not enter, then we had back to the den to prepare."

If no objections, Crow will take a flight around the place then head back with the group to plan.

Perception 33

At the mention of more undead, Jinx shook her head.  She was basically useless against them.  She would need to speak to the spirits to see if they could make her more effective.  "Sounds like a good plan to me."  Just standing outside the place gave her an uneasy feeling.

 "Cover of darkness gives us some protection from the guards... But I'm leery of entering that property during the day myself. I'll skulk around a little as carefully as I can and meet you back at the inn." the good doctor agrees uncomfortably, stepping back two paces into the shadow of a nearby alley and more or less immediately vanishing in the way he does - after which he heads around the district, moving as cautiously as though he were actively being hunted and doing his absolute level best to pick points of observation for the house and the residents of the area that let him make his best assessment of it while exposing himself as little as possible.

Crow led the group back to the Den for dinner and discussion.  The meat stew was hearty and filling after the busy day, and the warmth did a little to chase away the unnatural chill the house had put into her bones.

"This house, it looks to have eaten others who have gone in to investigate.  Yes?  Let us not make for a midday snack.  What do we need to prepare for this job.  Thoughts? 

Kray considered the question while he spooned chunks of meat and potatoes from the soup into his beak.  Nobody ever asked him how he chewed up food without molars.

He did't.  But nobody asked.

"Protection from evil and the undead will be critical.  My bow here can do some of that work, and a spell or two should do the rest.  Ash has the right of it, we should spend the morning shopping for anything that could be of benefit, then hit the job around noon.  Jinx, Cruch... any thoughts on what else might help us?"

Picture of the property:

 Temple's gone for rather more than an hour, but like a bad penny he returns - looking somewhat uncomfortable with the results of his little expedition, but nevertheless determined to see it through.

 Seating himself, with a small bread-bowl of stew which he picks over he listens, the makes his own contributions "All the lower-floor windows are barred and the structure of the house looks solid despite its state. Nothing too remarkable there... What was concerning is that the nearby homes are also barred, or rather boarded up. Lived in, but boarded up. It looks as though the locals think something's preying on them and I had the uncomfortable feeling I was being hunted more than once." he informs the group, eating a spoon of stew, then licking his teeth before adding "There's a small underground space too. Maybe the size of the house itself but not, I think connected to the larger undercity. And whatever's in it is hungry and reeks of sickness. No signs of food deliveries in the last few months either. If I had to guess, the reported death of the owner has left his staff... Off the leash, so to speak."

 Another spoon, then another and soon he's tearing up the thick-crusted bread, soaked with stew juice to send it the way of the stew as he reaches into the small bag at his side and produces a pot, then another just like it - sealed with wax.

 "I made these as an experiment, rendering down some petty relics into a paste. They'll work on blades, but they're best used on arrows or bolts. They don't remain potent for long, no more than a minute but in that minute they'll absolutely wreck the ties between unclean things and the planes they draw power from. Undead, demons, that sort of nonsense, ghosts as well. Should be enough for ten uses." - he eyes the bag, then sighs - "Beyond that, I have some treatments for sickness and some fairly good weapons, but the ingredients are expensive and time-consuming to assemble so I'm going to need to ask for coin for them. The balm for example is an easy thirty thrones if you can find any, I'm asking fifteen. I can produce most other alchemical goods for half what you'd buy them for anywhere else, if I have some time. I'd particularly recommend 'Antiplague', it's a balm of antiseptic and cleansing herbs and astringents as well as some modest tonics. Makes it far harder for disease to infect you during the hour or so it remains effective."

 ---

 The pots contain:
 https://www.aonprd.com/Equipme...Holy%20weapon%20balm
This message was last edited by the player at 02:50, Sat 11 May.

Crow nodded at Temple's description.  His description left her a bit queasy for no good reason, and his additional voraciousness with the stew made her a little sick.

"I have a feeling that what we seek will be in that under chamber.  It would be too good if it wasn't.  These balms are good.  I don't know if we will get any clink from this, but it must be done.  Take what you need and make what you think is best.  Kray and I can use as much of this balm as you have. 

Crow fished out a purse, and handed it to Temple.  It contained a value of 500 gold in various denominations, platinum making up a good chunk.

"We should go sooner rather than later.  Whatever you can make before tomorrow noon.  It might be a long night still for you."

Ash fished in his pack and pulled out some gold coins, sliding them over to the Doc. 55gp in total for 2 of the holy balm pots and one antiplauge. As the night wandered on and the conversation ran, Ash got an idea of a couple of items he would buy on the next morning in preparation.

He rose early (for Ash) and made his way to Rastor’s weapons in Delver’s square, where he figured he could find the items he was searching for.  When asked what he was looking for, Ash handed a list to the lion-maned fellow at the counter.

Ashes Shopin List:
1 Weapon Bakpak
1 Silver Morninstar
1 silver sikle
1 adamanteen anytool



Ash will try to buy the folllowing at the given prices:
1 Weapon Backpack - 25 gp
1 Silver Morningstar - 98gp
1 Silver Sickle - 26gp
1 Adamantine Traveler’s Any Tool - 500gp
GM please let me know if he is able to acquire any of the items.

Kray and Crow got an early start to the day, eager to get the metaphorical worm before heading back to the haunted house.  That included a packet of bread and cheese squirreled away from their later dinner the night before at the Den.  Crow always insisted on them taking these trip alone, without the rest of the crew.

Kray knew this was a control tick of his big sister's... she liked to do things when she wanted to, how she wanted to, and including the others would limit that.  She would have to operate on their schedules and their shopping needs.  Not to mention Ash's idea of an early start was anytime before the sun hit the halfway mark... to sunset.

And so, it was just the two of them munching on sandwiches of cheese as they weaved through the thickening throngs in the wee hours of dawn.  There wasn't much to it honestly.  Crow knew what she wanted, and they headed directly to where they could find it.  An herbalist for more of that balm Temple had set them on to, and a tincture for protection against disease.   Kray had worked with them previously on one of his "apprenticeships" while at Pent In, and engaged in some light shop talk before Crow dragged him away... he may have been about to share a little too much about why they needed such specific supplies.

Next was a fletcher of magical arrows and other missiles.  Crow hand-picked several magically infused shafts and a few bundles with custom heads.  She clucked at the prices but did not hesitate to pay the piper once the haggling was done.  They had both come up against the start reality of fighting undead with just regular arrows, and neither had enjoyed the powerless feeling.  This time, they would be better prepared, whatever the cost.

Crow made sure to buy Kray a quiver like hers, explaining the benefits of the enchanted pockets while brushing away his insistence that ANY arrow could do whatever he wanted, with the proper application of his will.   His protests were weakened by his own experience of being down to the last of his power facing an undead monstrosity and praying it would be enough.  Next time, Crow was making sure he would have other options to help his husband with his own resources.

Once they were done with their shopping, they headed back to the Den... a full day done before most there had even lightened from their pillows.

  Purchased 4  pots of balm for 30 GP each (15 each if Temple can make it).  2 Antiplague for 50 gp each (or 25 each if Temple can do it).  Antidotes (+2) - 7 for 3 gp each, 4 bane arrows (undead, +1 arrows with undead bane enchantment) 166 each, 20 Cold Iron and 20 Silver arrows for 40 per 10, 40 blunt arrows for 4 gp.  And an efficient quiver for 1800

Cruch had no use for the balm since he had to be put on a melee weapon and since he was the weapon it wouldn't work.  He made certain that his gear was in order but also that his sister was as well.  When everyone was ready to go Cruch was ready to lead the charge.

After getting back to the Den Jinx went upstairs.  She needed to construct some of the alchemy that they had talked about.  She felt useless against the swarm of worms that attacked Ash and she wanted to be more of use to not only Ash but the others as well.

She pulled out her mobile alchemy lab which was nothing more than some test tubes and beakers and vials with a few other things and then the ingredients she needed to make some alchemist fire and some acid.  It didn't take her too long to produce 2 of the vials the alchemist fire, but on her first try of the acid the vial just didn't look right so she tried again.  This time the mixture was right so she made another the same way.  2 vials of acid joined the two vials of fire into a pouch she had just for them.  The pouch had extra padding inside and slots where the vials would not bang into one another.  Once everything was done she put her lab away again and fell asleep.

The next day she joined the others as expected and said she was ready.

Buto wandered alone in the city after leaving the Den.  For most this would be a dangerous prospect, and for Buto it might still have been, but most lurkers in the dark would look for easier targets than the shuffling blue monstrosity that was Buto.

Buto likely wouldn’t have noticed a pickpocket who approached, he was deep in thought.  They would delve into danger again, not for clink or for fame, but to save the lizard man whose mouth was too big for his own good.  Nevermind that Buto’s own stubborn, brutish way was just as likely to get him into trouble.  Buto hoped this risk, for it wasn’t really a job, not in the normal sense, was worth it.

Buto had considered going to the market with Ash and the others the following day, but he was saving his precious coin for now.  He wouldn’t really admit to himself consciously why, but his heart knew.  His head also knew, and those thoughts of unworthiness sprung up unbidden often.  Did he really think he could buy his way into her graces? The family’s graces?  They’ll never accept one like you. So be it.

Buto was not meant for standing still and doing nothing, though.  Always moving forward, towards a destiny that he couldn’t quite see or understand. And on that front, something was happening to him.  Ever since his bouts of anger changed he could feel it.  Something was there that wasn’t exactly him, but at the same time, it was.

Buto eventually found his way back to his spartan room at the Citadel and, curling up on an extra large bed they had thankfully been able to procure for him (it seems many of the fighters at the citadel had similar problems), the big blue meanie promptly fell into a mostly dreamless sleep.

Buto rose early the following day and, after a hearty breakfast and filling his pack with rations, made his way back to the Den to join the others.