Chapter 9: It's For Charity

Marcel: (Is there any way I can intuit where Sophronia may have hidden the phylactery?)
GM: Your knowledge of the occult leads you to believe the phylactery is nearby, perhaps within the current or adjacent rooms. You know that a lich’s phylactery can take any shape or form.
(You will need to investigate specific items or groups of items to determine their status.)
Marcel: I examine the room once more, looking for hiding places, anything that seems out of the ordinary.
GM: You survey the black-stained room once more. At your feet lie the bodies of Tyko and Sophronia Wort. Sophronia’s skull sits upright and facing you, it’s embedded stones suck in the dim light. To the north is the gift table and the frightened swan. Three leather hides are hung from the southern wall. Four exits: North-west to the time-frozen wedding ceremony; North-East to the amber ghost battleground (previous death room South-west unknown room (Imp Tyko emerged here South-East unknown room (Sophronia emerged here)
Marcel: I pick up the skull and quickly rummage the gift table, using the skull to help clobber my way through the presents, swan be damned
GM: You look down at the skull and are caught in its gaze momentarily before picking it up. As you hold it you feel a sensation not unlike those you feel while harnessing your sapphire, emerald, and ruby. As you smash the gift boxes apart with the skull the Swan finally escapes through the north-East door. Various gifts fall out of the ruined wrappings. Expensive jewelry, a quill and ink set with brilliant colors, a saucy pair of men’s leggings, and other exquisite, yet mundane, items.
Marcel: Upon not finding the phylactery, my skull, my toad, and I head towards the south eastern room.
GM: Skull in tow you pass through the orifice of darkness and you find that the shadows begin to fade. You are standing just inside a sparse library about the size of the previous room, although a bit less wide. Surrounded by mostly empty bookshelves and dusty tables stands a large, empty black suit of armor holding an ebony halberd of considerable craftsmanship. You consider the tale of the Evil Knight spun by Sophronia, but what was fact and what was fiction? There are no other exits to this room.
Marcel: I inspect the black suit of armor.
GM: It is empty and appears fitted for a large man. Inspection reveals it is enchanted, but is not a phylactery.
Marcel: I take the halberd out of the knight's hands and inspect it.
GM: You begin to pull the halberd away but the knight’s grip tightens and a hollow, echoed voice rings from the armor, “Thief! Unhand my halberd!”
Marcel: I step away, hands up "I do apologize, Ser Knight. I was merely appreciating the craftsmanship of your weapon. Who made such a marvelous halberd?"
GM: “Lies. You meant it for your own! Disarm thyself and submit to my arrest.” The empty suit points towards your weapons and then to the ground. Its voice is odd and the accent is very old.
Marcel: "Ah, fair enough Ser. Believe what you may." I sit the blade down on the ground in front of me. "How does an honorable knight like yourself find himself in a dusty place like this?"
GM: “Enough, criminal. I shall now escort you to the nearest goal so that you may await trial.” It firmly, but carefully, takes your arm. There is a quiet pause where it seems the armor is frozen.
Marcel: I attempt to tear away from its grasp, pick up my blade, and run out
GM: You struggle at its grip, but are unable to break free. “Stop resisting.” The knight pauses once again, “We are here.” The gauntlet on your arm releases you.
Marcel: I slowly step away, picking up my blade, not turning my back to the suit of armor and slowly walk up the steps.
GM: “Indeed, report to the warden immediately for your incarceration. Now to return to my patrol.” The armor has not moved from its place. You step back into the room where you fought Sophronia.
Three directions: the southwest door “Tyko” emerged from, the northeast doorway the swan escaped through, and the northwest door to the time-frozen wedding.
Marcel: I note to get back around to the halberd later, and I go through the southwest door.
GM: Beyond the door is a room filled with piles of broken boxes and torn wrapping paper. The gift tables are upturned and the floor in mostly covered by destroyed presents. In the center of the ceiling hangs an immaculate, asymmetric golden chandelier lit with twenty-three candles. A wooden door is closed on the opposite side of this square room.
Marcel: Do I see anything that would let me lower the chandelier?
GM: There are no devices, but the chandelier is hanging from a silk rope.
Marcel: I pull off one of my stars in order to throw it at the silk robe.
GM: You carefully aim your star and throw it at the rope, easily severing it. The golden chandelier falls several feet onto the floor, completely undamaged. The candles, however, snap and extinguish on impact.
Marcel: I begin to examine the chandelier closer since it is now much easier to do so.
GM: The chandelier is spotless, a perfect example of fine craftsmanship. You imagine it is likely solid gold because of its weight. If you could move it, you think you could sell it for over 10,000 gold pieces. You sense an enchantment on the chandelier as well.
(Spell craft check to learn more.) Marcel: 20
GM: The chandelier is enchanted with a spell that makes it impervious to damage and corrosion. There are no other magical effects in this room.
Marcel: I search over it for any trace of a phylactery or a place on it where it could be hiding.
GM: You spend the next 30 minutes tossing the room for any trace of the phylactery. Once you are flipping through a torn gown the tiny voice reappears in your mind. “I do not believe it is here. Perhaps another room?” The tiny familiar squeaks. Somehow it has made its way inside your clothes and his sticking to the skin on your side.
Marcel: I unstick Carnifex Jr, tucking him away into my robe pocket, and leave the room.
GM: You leave the room and renter where you fought Sophronia. Everything is still the way it was.
Remaining areas: follow the swan, Go to the ceremony.
Marcel: Ceremony!
GM: You step back into the rotunda where the ceremony was and is still being held. When you reach the point where time begins to slow around you, your familiar begins to sing its frogsong and you are washed in Carnifex’s magic. You are immune to the time spell while the frogsong is being sung. At the center of the circular room is a tiered platform where the bride and groom are locked seconds away from their kiss. Around them are the guests seated in a ‘C’ shape around the platform. Near your entrance, away from the crowd is a large wedding cake featuring miniatures of the bride, groom, and a swan. There is no minister or officiate in the scene before you.
Marcel: I examine the cake and the miniatures that stand on top
GM: The dessert is three tiers of white cake covered with vanilla frosting and sugar flowers. Ringing each tier is a circle of bright red cherries. The figurines of the man and woman are recognizable as the bride and groom, but the details are dull and the faces are abstract. The swan miniature is extremely lifelike and sits between the two humans beneath their interlocked hands. The deeper you look the more you are drawn into the swan miniature.
You sense the cake is enchanted in some way. Spell craft check to know more.
Marcel: 4
GM: The cake and the cherries have separate enchantments. You have no other insight.
Marcel: I inspect the swan miniature
GM: The swan is well made, perhaps out of clay. The slender neck delicately curves down to its elegant body. The wings gently nestle against its sides and each feather tapers down to a precious point. You wonder if swans hold a special significance to whatever culture this is, or perhaps to someone from the wedding party.
Marcel: I head back to the previous room.
GM: You re-enter the nexus of mystery. Where could the phylactery be? There is one room left. You hear the swan honk gently from the northeast room.
Marcel: I go towards the Northeast room.
GM: This room is lit with white light on marble floors. Along the western wall is a dark sofa covered in empty chains and shackles. Nearby is an empty cage and a dustpan filled with ash. Across the room stands a massive balance scale wrought from brass. The swan patters on the marble floor while pushing around melon-sized amber orbs. It honks softly with its wings outstretched, possibly still agitated from the previous engagement. There are seven of these amber orbs littered around the room. There is one open door on the opposite wall. Through it you can see a familiar ornate, golden machine with which you were once run through.
Marcel: I go to the sofa and feel between the seats and look under the cushions.
GM: You reach your hand under the seat cushion and feel a sudden sharp pain on your fingers accompanied by a snap. Jerking your hand out you see a miniature bear trap clamped on your fingers. The swans’ honks tauntingly as it pushes an amber ball into a corner.
The sofa does not appear to hide any secrets aside from novelty torture devices.
Marcel: I go over to the swan and pick up the amber ball
GM: The swan hurries away from your approach and attacks a different ball. The orb reminds you of the amber spirits that had previously killed you in the fight with Crucem. It is a little heavy, about 5 pounds, and feels like it has a magical residue around it.
Marcel: I approach the scale and set the ball on the scale and approach the new ball that the swan is attacking, with intent to pick it up.
GM: The ball tips the scale down with no other apparent effect. Approaching the swan again causes the bird to patter off into the room ahead containing the machine.
Marcel: I grab the orb and feel it's heft in my hands in comparison to the last orb.
GM: It feels the same, perhaps a little smaller.
Marcel: I go back to the scale, pick up the ball, and then place both balls on the ground. After that, I'm going to go grab another amber orb.
GM: You put both balls down and the scale balances back to neutral level. There are five other balls on the floor. Each seems nearly indistinguishable from the others. You hear a clang in the next room followed by distressed honks. It sounds like the swan has broken something.
Marcel: I peek in the other room to see what the swan has gotten into.
GM: This room is also lined in bright white marble. In the center near the golden machine, you see a pile of gold dust in the shape of you that has been partially trodden through by little swan feet. Along the walls are two bottlenecked metal vases on either side of the room. The southeastern most vase has been knocked over and the swan has somehow gotten its head stuck inside.
Marcel: I go back to the room and pick up an amber ball, feeling how hefty it is in comparison to the other two.
GM: The ball is lighter than either you weighed before.
Marcel: I take that ball and set it next to the others, the one to the space of the lighter one. I proceed to collect all of the balls, ordering them from heaviest to lightest.
GM: They are all about the same weight, but You order them:
1 - heaviest 2 - lighter than 1 3, 4, 5 - equal, lighter than 2 6, 7 - equal, lightest
All together you appraise them to be about 35 pounds of pure amber worth about 50,000 gold.
Marcel: I look at all of the balls and look back towards the swan.
GM: The balls haven’t moved. The swan is still stuck. It has grown weak in it struggle against the mighty vase, and has begun to tire.
Marcel: I go into the room and approach the swan
GM: You stand over the panicked swan. It honks cry out slowly as it comes to terms with its new life as a potted swan.
Marcel: I pick it up and weigh the swan attempting to estimate its weight sans pot.
GM: You reached down to lift the swan. When your hands make contact with its snowy down you immediately feel an immense magical presence. “You have found it!” The tiny frog croaks in your mind. “Now, do what must be done.”
Marcel: "Junior, are you saying that the swan is the phylactery?" I say with a knot forming in my stomach.
GM: “Do you not feel the magic it possesses? Make your decision. You are running low on time.”
Marcel: "Aye " I set down the swan and draw my blade to slaughter the fowl.
GM: You raise Sunshine over the stuck swan’s vulnerable neck and drop it. There is a resistance against the blade as some unseen force pushes back against you. You drive your blade harder against the swan causing sparks and a black mist to emit from the magical barrier protecting the swan, but you feel the protection weakening. The barrier gives way and your sword cleaves the swan. The swan does not bleed, rather it oozes black ichor that quickly evaporates into a foul-smelling mist. The bird’s body shrivels and blackens until all that is left is a husk of hollow black bones and withered fibrous feathers. A cacophony of cheers and applause erupts from a few rooms away back towards the wedding, but it is overtaken by the booming guffaws that echo in your mind. ‘Ahaw! Ahaw! Ahaw!’
Marcel: "Huh... I was skeptical, but good eye there Jr." I sheath my blade, go back into the previous room, and tap one of the amber balls with my foot. "Shame I can't bring these back. I'm sure other-world me would appreciate them." And then proceed to head back into the nexus.
GM: You re-enter the room where you fought Sophronia and see that her skeleton has crumbled to dust. You check your pocket and confirm that the skull you took has also crumbled, leaving the magic jets loose and free. The time spell has been lifted off of the wedding ceremony and the couple has just completed their first kiss as Husband and Wife.
Marcel: Does the audience applaud and/or cheer? GM: They began cheering when you slew the swan. Now the excitement is dying down as couple thanks everyone for coming. You overhear some beginning to question where the minister has gone.
Marcel: I sneak out to the golden machine room
GM: Back in the machine room. The first time you arrived here you entered from the northern door through a room that connects to a bedroom belonging to a woman named Charity. The connecting room contained several glass pods hanging from the ceiling, some containing living, albeit unconscious, people.
In Charity’s room you left her with a love obsessed ghost against her wishes. You never made eye contact or spoke to her, you simply broke down her door to get to the secret entrance inside, which allowed her stalker inside. When you entered this room the first thing you did was operate the unknown golden machine. The machine promptly sucked you in and killed you. There is now the you-shaped pile of gold dust below the “exit” end of the machine.
Marcel: I examine the machine once more, seeing if I can figure out anything I didn't find out last time.
GM: The golden engine is held aloft by a network of struts, eight inches on either side. It luxuriates in a kinetic spray of heavy gold. Pointed spires and idly expanding traction systems branch out from every surface. It clicks dully as a minuscule golden cog teeth spin and tick. There are two levers both in a down position. Last time you pulled lever one down and were killed immediately after. On close examination you see ten wheels of lettered dials beneath the levers that currently spells out: ME. This room has two exits: the door leading to the amniotic tubes, and an unknown, closed door leading west.
Marcel: I spin through the wheels of lettered dials, seeing if I can spell out any name, theoretically
GM: You find the whole Mirisian alphabet and many letters you don’t recognize.
Marcel: I fish out my frog and begin talking to it "Hey Carnifex Sr., ya there? "
GM: The tiger-eye toad blinks at you. You hear no voice.
Marcel: I go towards the room where I doomed that one lady towards being with the weird dude.
GM: You leave the engine behind and enter the northward room. There is a hidden door on the other end where you can see cracks of light spilling from the next room. Above you hang fourteen vertical glass tubes. Half are empty, half contain nude, humanoid forms. Of those people four are obviously deceased, while the remaining seem unconscious with bubbles of air formed around their heads. The lighting in this room is dim and poised near the ceiling, so the light shines through the tubes illuminating the green liquid inside. As a result, the whole room is cast in a green glow.
Marcel: I pass through this room, going towards the door on the opposite end.
GM: You approach the halo of light marking the hidden the door and you hear the sounds of a sobbing woman overpowered by the excited chatter of a man loudly proclaiming how their life will now certainly be perfect together.
Marcel: I burst into the room.
GM: You thrust the door open to reveal the sight of the tall, thin wight near the middle of this brightly lit bedroom. The legs down to his feet gradually turn transparent giving him the appearance of floating on air. His stiff black coat sits wide on his body, forming a cone of wool. On his head is a tall, domed hat to match the long white beard that you peek from over his shoulder. You approach the wight from behind, so you cannot see its face.
“Our coupling will be most magnificent, Charity! The ceremony will hold no rival!” He expounds to a silhouette of a woman hidden behind a folding screen. The tiny voice returns to your mind once more to drown out the man’s.
“Zygmunt Wombwell. You must kill him, but do not look upon the Torn sister
Marcel: I reach for the sapphire to channel it while Mr. Wombwell is distracted and proceed to do so.
GM: You harness the sapphire once again, feeling the euphoria rinse through your veins. The feeling is so intense that you receive the urge to make it a permanent part of yourself and you get the idea to insert the stone into your eye. With effort you think better of it and instead focus on the dharmic blue light shining onto the ghostly beard now facing you.
“You’ve brought my gems?” Zygmunt asks. “Thank you, but I no longer need them. All I need now is my beautiful Charity,” his pale mouth grins to show every tooth of his maw. You see now that Zygmunt has no eyes, only black pits that match the hole in the center of his forehead.
“The stones will not work” your familiar whispers, “For they are his own creation. You’ve already destroyed the phylactery. Do you feel it?”
Marcel: I give a knowing nod and pocket the gem before unsheathing my sun blade instead.
GM: You draw your blade but the wight does not seem to recognize your intention. “That is wonderful. Do you do performances? You would make a lovely addition to the celebration. Do you agree my sweet?” He rotates again back towards the silhouetted woman who sobs behind the screen.
Marcel: I slash at Zygmunt.
GM: You slash across Zygmunt’s back leaving a searing white gash. He staggered forward and turns his head around to ask, confused, “What are you doing? Charity, show him that he does not mean his actions.” Zygmunt moves to tear down the partition.
Marcel: I follow up with another wicked slash.
GM: The second slash ignites Zygmunt to his core. The heat of your attack causes white flames to flicker from his wounds as the wight flakes away into nothingness.
“No. No..” he pleads and hovers past the partition. “Charity? My sweet? My lovely? My... my... mine...” A silence fills the space where Zygmunt used to exist.
You hear the voice of the silhouette behind the screen, “Thank you.”
Marcel: Avoiding eye contact, I say "No problem at all." I clear my throat, remembering what I am here for: "Do you know the whereabouts of Zamia?"
GM: “I’m sorry, I haven’t seen my sister in over two thousand years. We split ways after our self-exile began.” The silhouette shifts in her bed. “When we parted, she had gone to the northern cells to hide herself. I do apologize. I’m afraid I have nothing to offer you in thanks for saving me.”
Marcel: "That's quite alright. May I ask, what are you doing in this place?"
GM: Charity takes a few minutes to consider the question in silence. “You have helped me and I suppose there is no harm in sharing the story.” Her silhouette shifts and you hear the ruffling of linen as she moves to sit on the edge of the bed. “‘Why am I here?’ and ‘Why am I Here’? are two questions with different tales. So, I’ll start with the first if you do not mind.
“I was born four thousand and six hundred years ago as the youngest of my sisters. Each of us were gifted miracles by the Astrals, and I was bestowed the gift of Absolute Peace. Any of those who look upon me will lose all animosity towards others and will have no desire to take arms on another. Most lose the ability to even comprehend the thought of violence. Such as what happed to Zygmunt.
“Zygmunt was one of those who had attempted to use me as a tool to trick his enemies into agreeing to their own slaughter. After many centuries of imprisonment, Zamia and I escaped our captors and came here to this ancient prison. We wanted to prevent us from becoming anyone else’s tools. As such I locked myself away in this bedroom.”
Marcel : "And why your middle sister hides herself away?"
GM: “Zamia... her ‘gift’ grew more detrimental than she could take. Absolute Devotion by anyone who glanced her way. Thousands of thousands pledged their loyalty and served in her armies, but others developed more obsessive emotions. They could be driven off easily enough, except for one man, Xanthoceras.”
“They were lovers for a time, and that blinded her to how he used her station to abuse the kingdoms. After they cursed our sister, Chronia, and exiled her to this prison Zamia and I realized how we had been manipulated. Like myself, she hid herself to disallow the gazes of others.”
Marcel: "If you would allow: there is someone I'd like for you to meet. My employer has sent me into this maze to request your presence." And hold out an orb of returning. "As the maze erases my memories upon entrance, I couldn't tell you why he wants to meet you. Through my notes, however, he seems like an intelligent guy that may be able help with your plight." I continue, “I know I am but a stranger to you. I'm currently a stranger to myself even, but there is no pressure. He won't cause you harm. He just wishes to meet; perhaps for a discussion similar to this one!"
GM: “I had never considered leaving, but perhaps with Zygmunt deposed and the millennia that have passed... it may be time. Would you permit me some time to consider? There are other factors of which I have not told you.” Her silhouette stands and steps away from the light behind her, effectively vanishing. “Perhaps... perhaps if you were to let Zamia know. I’d like to speak with her again. You were already looking for her, correct? Please let her know I would like to see her.”
Marcel: I bow, “Of course. I'll seek her out and bring her to you at once!"
GM: “Thank you,” Charity replies.
There is a broken door to the west, and the hidden door where you entered from the south.
Marcel: To the west!
GM: You enter the plainly furnished room with magenta carpet and sun-colored paneling where you first saw Zygmunt. A small table is lit with candles in the north corner near the only exit. A disused, cushioned lounge sits against the wall opposite you.
Marcel: I flip the lounge GM: You flip the lounge over itself, disturbing the layer of dust built up over many years. The air is hard to breath and irritating to your throat. One of the legs has broken off of the lounge in the landing, thus rendering the once beautiful furniture worthless.
Marcel: Satisfied with the destruction, I go over to the small table and blow out the candles as it is a fire hazard for those to be going unattended.
GM: The candles are extinguished. There is a door to the north.
Marcel: I enter the northern door.
GM: You enter a pleasantly laid out parlor. In its center are the shattered remnants of Zygmunt’s skull phylactery where you obtained your trio of magical gems. A jeweled, mechanical humming bird whirs around the bone shards. It shifts around like a scavenger searching a junk pile. Your entrance startles the creature causing it to flee through a small hole in the western door.
There are three exits: A closed western door leading to the floating stone fountain. An archway to the north peeking into a dim, fungal garden. A brightly lit archway to the east beckoning a collection of paintings.
Marcel: Let's go into the fungal garden.
GM: A small ornamental mycelium garden free of any photosynthetic life. A semi-visible webwork of gossamer leaves and hollow trees fill this room. A filigree of spider silk nets dripping water droplets in place of fruits. There are no other exits or objects of interest.
Marcel: I take in the sight before heading back and to the western door in the previous room and entering it.
GM: You open the door to the remains of a stone floor suspended in the air. A narrow joist connects your doorway to the platform ahead. An empty black void exists beneath the stones, and at the platforms center is a plain water fountain. The hummingbird is nowhere to be seen.
There are three exits: To the south, a stone path leads through an archway to a similar room. To the west is another path ending at a closed door. To the north the platform ends a door locked with a golden padlock. The make of the lock appears similar to the golden key you found outside the wedding.
Marcel: I go to the northern door and try my key on the padlock.
GM: The lock clicks and falls open, the door to the next room glides opens in one soft, silent swing. The walls inside are tiled in orange and grey geometric patterns. Lining each wall are shelves covered in hundreds, perhaps thousands, of ceramic jars. The top of each jar bears a face of a woman in place of a lid. Her features are soft and delicate, slightly resembling a younger version the faces formed by the kissing vines from the gardens. A few of these jars have no faces and instead have plain lids.
There is one exit in this room to the west. A closed door painted in swirls of blue mingled by orange orbs. Marcel: I take a jar off the shelf with a woman's face on it and examine it closer. Like... Can I take the face off the jar?
GM: Lifting the jar you can tell that it is empty, but finely made with a pale grey glaze. The faces are sealed onto the jar, but have a noticeable seam where they were once separable. Tilting the jar to view the bottom causes the above face’s eyes and mouth to animate. “Five-hundred gold pieces.” The face chimes in Charity Torn’s voice.
Marcel: "Excuse me, miss. I didn't realize you were for sale. What... Exactly is on sale here?" I say to the pottery.
GM: The face does not respond or even acknowledge your question. It remains stoic until it becomes tipped again where it repeats, “Five-hundred gold pieces.” Despite your interaction with this jar, there is no reaction among the rest of the ceramics.
Marcel: I set the jar on the ground, not wanting to be viable for a 500-gold bill, and inspect a jar with a plain lid.
GM: Searching over the collection you pull a plain lidded jar from its shelf. It’s hefty and obviously full of coins.
Marcel: I open it up and inspect its contents.
GM: You confirm that this jar is in fact stuffed with gold pieces. Each coin’s obverse is embossed with the portrait of a woman similar to that of the jar faces. The reverse, concentric rings of letters of what you assume to be abbreviations. You can pick out “CTY•TRN” as the largest among them. Do you take the coins?
Marcel: I take out one and examine it.
GM: As described, there is an image of a woman’s profile, and the rings of letters. The coin is thicker and broader than an Illivani korrin. Estimating the volume of the jar, you wager there could be around five-hundred pieces inside.
Marcel: I put the coin back inside and bring the entire coin jar over to the jar with a woman on it. I pick up the jar with Charity lid and tilt it to trigger the message.
GM: You tilt the jar and Charity’s voice repeats, “Five-hundred gold pieces.”
Marcel: I point at the jar on the ground "There's your gold!"
GM: There’s no response.
Marcel: I set the face jar down and make it hail with gold over it. GM: (Where are you getting the gold that you throw? From your own inventory or the other jar?) Marcel: (The jar. I'm just dumping it out) GM: As the coins empty out of the plain jar, the face opens its mouth to allow falling coins to enter the vessel. Once all coins have been emptied from the jar, the ceramic lid morphs into an exact sculpture of your own face. Some coins make it into to receiving jar, though most scatter across the floor. Now empty, the jar with your face speaks in your voice, “Five-hundred gold pieces.”
Marcel: I go and look for a jar with no lid that has no coins in it.
GM: You quickly locate another of the plain jars. It’s as heavy as the last jar and is filled with coins as well. Marcel: I carry it over to my face jar and pour it into its mouth.
GM: The receiving jar accepts the transfer of gold. When the flow stops, the receiving jar transforms back into a plain jar and the now empty jar morphs to bear your face. It speaks in your voice, “Five-hundred gold pieces.”
Marcel: I take about 50 gold pieces, tuck them away and go to the western door and go through it.
GM: You skim fifty gold from the jar and it morphs into your face as well.