Game Session Log 3

The room smelled of blood and acid. The head of Dr. Oathday continued to dissolve into an undifferentiated mass of smoldering mucilage. Angelica pulled a tiny square of brown tissue from the surgical incision on Jock’s forearm. “Smells like calamari.” Jock scowled. “Fingers are stiff, but I guess I’ll live.” The party was pretty banged up, but they had prevailed against great odds. Or at least, they had won the physical combat. The gloomily silence that permeated the room was misleading. There was an internal battle going on. Zenobia saw a small child peek out from underneath a table. She crawled under and looked- he was gone. “Zenobia, come see. Follow me.” She frantically moved around the room. Where was he? The voice came from everywhere. And the she knew. He was standing right behind her. A small boy- nine or ten years old. With blistered hollow craters where his eyes had been. Black blood trickled down his cheeks in place of tears. “Why?” “Why didn’t you protect me?” Zenobia wanted to scream- but nothing came out. He vanished. Arabella starred down into one of the large wooden washing tubs, transfixed by the white bloated faces of drowning slaves. “Come with us Arabella. Come home to the sea.” She leaned over the pool as the rotting kelp entangled hands reached to pull her down into the black water. She closed her eyes and shook her head. “This cannot be real.” There was nothing there. “Where is Malachi?” Tecumseh said. Arabella turned. He was gone. “Shit.”

They moved back out into the hallway. “Juglan is gone,” Crick said. “Who cares about that nutcase?” Jock grumbled. “Lets find Malachi.” “We should check the courtyard” Angelica suggested. “Are you kidding me- don’t go into the courtyard!” Jock said with finality. “Stop bickering, I have an idea.” Arabella put her hands out and mumbled an incantation. “I can feel her… its like she is… right below us.” Jock, Angelica and Crick ran into the boiler room and made their way down into the basement. “That’s weird” Jock said. “but when I put my sore hand against the boiler door I picked up a weird sensation. Like a mental picture, or somthin. I just know she has been through here.” The three moved to the door on the east side of the room. Each of them remembered the horrible site and stench of two dozen or more rotten corpses piled in the middle of this room. Jock and Angelica pushed the door open. Malachi was there, standing quietly in the middle of the room in a trance like state. In the darkness, Jock thought he could see the dead hands all reaching for the young cleric. “What the..” He reached for his weapon but… was it just a trick of the light? “I coulda sworn… never mind.” Angelica slapped Malachi. “Sorry. Come on, lets get otta here. This place even gives me the creeps.”

Captain York escorted the group through the barricade and into the church. The conditions in the church were appalling. The 20-30 survivors looked to be falling apart- both physically and mentally. Several small fires burned around the room choking the air with acrid smoke. The survivors had depleted most of their supplies, and a few of the sick and wounded lie groaning in pain. The stock of available firewood had been used and people were tearing up planks from the floor to burn. Buckets filled with urine and feces overflowed and filed the air with a terrible stench. Garbage had piled up haphazardly- covering the small alters to the various deities that had been set up around the chapel. Arabella looked at the pitiful survivors, then at York. “I just wanted to say again, that…” York put up his hand “I know. We are all at the breaking point. I just hope there is a way to end this nightmare. We have to get these folks out of here.” “My name is Winter Klaczka, I am a sister of the Maiden’s Choir Cathedral in Caliphas. I know you must have many questions, but right now is not the time. These people depend on me, and their survival is my priority. If you

cannot help us… I’m afraid you will have to leave in the morning. If there is anything that you can do, please talk to the Captain. May the Lady protect you.” “What’s with her?’ Jock mumbled. “She is under a lot of stress” Zenobia said. “Let’s find a way to help out. “Malachi said a prayer at the statue of Pharasma, then began to clear out the trash and clean up the tiny alters around the room. A few people got up and began to help him. Crick took York aside and suggested the small fires be condensed into one, and showed the Captain a better ventilated site. Jock walked up to a tall, skinny youth. “Are you Denman? I hear you are the cook.” The man laughed. “Cook? Well I was on the scullery crew before . Don’t make me no cook. Now theys all mad at me.” Jock looked over the supplies. “Carrots, onions, two bags of flour, a bag of salt, a bit of pepper, thyme and parsley. Three live chickens. Stand aside boy.” The screams of the man were shrill and unrelenting. “Calm down Loic please, you are disturbing everyone.” The woman had what appeared to be a nurse’s uniform on and was gently holding the man’s hand. Arabella and Zenobia approached the screaming man. “Can we help?” The nurse looked them over. “Not unless you know where his medications are.” Arabella smiled. Captain York sent one of his men with Arabella and Zenobia to secure the medication. The three moved through the hallway down to the northern room. Zenobia pointed. “Careful. Bodies come alive in this room.” Quietly, they lifted the medical locker out of the rubble. One of the tiny vials dropped and cracked open. The group held their breath, but nothing came out of the dark. “That was close, lets go.” They walked past the two small storage rooms in the hallway. The guard stumbled over a crack in the floor, momentarily loosing his footing. He put his hand against the storage room door to steady himself. The door pushed open slightly. “No!” Arabella cried. The man turned to look at her just as a large shiny black centipede scrambled up his body and sank its venomous forcipules into his neck. The man collapsed to the floor, unconscious. “Cover me” Zenobia cried.

Arabella positioned herself in front of the wizard. “There’s another one in the room, I hope you’re working on something powerful.” Just then a bright flash of light spilled out of the doorway and Arabella heard the piercing screech of a giant bird of prey. Talons grasped the flattened, segmented body of the arthropod and ripped it into inky collops. Arabella pulled the man free and kicked the door shut. “Nice one.” Zenobia shrugged. “I just figured, birds love to eat bugs.” It had been another hard day, but the church was sanctified and they knew they would have a dreamless sleep. Loic was calm, and the guard was recovering. But the survivors still seemed weary and depleted. But then Arabella began to sing. A simple Varisian folk song that everyone knew. A few voices, then more. And then it happened. The loss and heartbreak, the tension, the fear- all seemed to melt away in the rhythmic clapping and foot stomping. Angelica started to dance but tripped and fell- into the arms of a very nervous young man. The crowd roared in appreciative laughter. Now, everyone was dancing. And then Jock brought out big steaming bowls of hot delicious stew. And the creeping yellow fog, the ghouls, the rooms filled with corpses, the nightmares and the tatter man seemed a million miles away. At least for tonight.

Winter gently nudged the Zenobia awake the next morning. “Get everyone up and follow me.” They went through the hallway past a large white sheet which had been hastily draped to block off the end of the corridor leading to the east. A sleepy guard stood at attention as they passed. Off the corridor was a small storeroom leading to Chaplin Setrakian’s personal quarters. As they walked through the storeroom two young children, a boy and girl, busied themselves making origami animals while a distracted adult supervised them. The children tensed when they saw the strangers. Tecumseh walked over to the boy. “May I see that piece of paper?” The young boy hesitated, then

handed the young Shoanti Shaman a square sheet of blank paper. With a blur, Tecumseh folded the sheet into a beautifully crafted paper deer. The little animal seemed to raise its head up, shake its great rack of antlers and sprint across the palm of Tecumseh’s hand. The children screamed in delight rushing to the shy young man. “How did you do that?” Tecumseh smiled, “practice, of course.” “My name is Brenton. Brenton Lieklan. And this is Maeve.” My name is Tecumseh.” “That’s kinda a strange name, I’ve never seen anyone who looks like you.” “Brenton stop, that’s rude” Maeve said. “Well, its true.” Tecumseh laughed. “Hey, can I tell you a story my people tell about this deer?” The children drew closer to him.

After the story the children grabbed Tecumseh and hugged him for a very long time. Brenton looked up at him. “Tecumseh, I miss my brother. I can’t find him and he is afraid of the dark. Will you help me look for him?” The young shaman nodded. “Yes, I will find him.” When they all had gathered in the Chaplin’s office, Winter began. “You know who I am. This is Captain Fitzroy. He commands the ferry that sails between Briarstone Isle and Thrushmore.” A hard-looking man with a grizzled beard nodded to the party. Winter continued: “I want to thank you for all you have done. Without your help… well, things are deteriorating here, as you can see.” Crick cleared her throat, then spoke, “You say you are from Caliphas. How did you get here?” Winter looked down at the little ratfolk girl. “There had been reports of official misconduct and mismanagement here. The Count of Versex County, Haserton Lowls IV, had apparently abandoned his duties and the whole county was spiraling into anarchy. The Office of the Royal Accusers asked our order for help, and I volunteered to come to Thrushmore with Investigator Omari to find the Count. When we arrived in Thrushmore, she went to Fort Halicourse to talk with the regional governor. I came to the Asylum because we received information that Count Lowls had contact with someone here. I had an assistant with me, but she was killed during the uprising.” “The uprising?” Malachi said. Winter nodded. “Yes, shortly after we arrived, I had an audience with Dr. Losandro, the head of the Asylum. She was polite, and seemed like a capable administrator, but she was also a bit evasive... So we agreed to talk further after we slept for the night. But then a group of

patients who called themselves the ‘Apostles in Orpiment’ began to kill the orderlies and nurses. They seemed to be caught up in some kind of religious fervor. They turned on the other patients who refused to join their madness. Many were butchered and we barely escaped by barricading ourselves in the church. These ‘Apostles’ had fanatically devoted themselves to a patient named…” Angelica grimaced, then interrupted: “Ulver Zandalus.” “Yes, how did you know?” “Well, let’s just say we have come across some of his followers. Is he for real?” Winter hesitated before answering. “I don’t know. He could be a charlatan, or self-deluded. They say he was a quiet man who suffered from horrible nightmares all his life. He was a poet and an artist. Dr. Losandro had some of his art in her office. It was… disturbing, to say the least. Scenes from… the end of the world.” Arabella spoke up “But what about those horrible creatures we saw… and the nightmares?” Winter paused reflectively. “That… I don’t know… some of the patients say they had been having nightmares for weeks. The yellow fog, a man in tattered rags stalking them. And then, suddenly it all seemed to be real.”

Crick spoke: “I know this place is a kind of asylum, but where exactly are we? And how did we get here? We don’t appear to be mentally disturbed. At least not too much.” Winter smiled, but then became serious again. “I cannot answer the second part of your question. If you can find Dr. Lasandro, perhaps she might be able to help you. As to where we are, we are on Briarstone Isle- really just a large rock sitting in the Danver River outside of the town of Thrushmore. Not far from Lake Encartha. The Asylum was a kind of hospice. Haserton Lowls I- grandfather of the current Count- had this building constructed on the site of the old fort as a testament to science and learning. The local people believe that the island was haunted by a witch. The Briarstone witch. They said that the witch butchered the architect when the old fort was under construction. The site was abandoned for many years. As you might know, the people of Versex County are very superstitious. They tell stories of witches to explain anything they don’t understand. They…” “Da Briarstone witch is real. I seen ‘er.” The old sea captain stood, and lit his ivory pipe. “Seen ‘er I did, down at the old abandoned tower. She was callin that black beast from da livin sea. The Watcher of da Bay. Dem old folks in Thrushmore might be fools, but day know demselves a thing or two that ye city-folk have forgot. Nigh, ye snicker and laugh. But I say to ye da land accursed and thou art accursed who tread upon it. Da Briarstone Witch walked ‘ere for many a year. And da people of Thrushmore all did follow ‘er. Ariadnah was she called den. And she did gather ‘er flock at da edge of dat blood dark sea and called to dat monstrous black goat: ‘Oh hark Triton, bellow, rise up from the foul depths wit black waves teeming wit salt foam. Smother dese young mouths with pungent slime and chock ‘em till day organs turn blue and bloated with dat bilge brine and day scream no more.’ And all of Thrushmore did disappear like it ‘ad never been.”

“The vanishing, the Thrushmore vanishing” Winter said almost silently. “I saw da Witch and da creature what did it. I saw it in a dream as real as day. I saw it rise from da black waves crowned in cockle shells wit slitherin tentacled tail and steamin beard. I saw it rise to take up its fell, be-finned arm and smite thee. Burstin ye to a blasted bloody film- nothin for the harpies and souls of dead sailors to peck and claw and feed upon. Lapped up and swallowed by the dread emperor hiself. Forgotten to any man, to any time, to any god or devil, forgotten even to the sea, ye was.”

The old man sat down, exhausted, and was silent. After several uncomfortable minutes, Arabella spoke up, “Winter, I don’t mean to sound rude, but what is out there in the hallway behind the sheet? What are you hiding?” The dark-haired woman took a deep breath and looked at Arabella, “yes, about that…” “We don’t know what it is or where it came from, it just showed up on the wall one night. We keep it covered because of the children. It was bad enough for them without, you know, this thing starring at them constantly.” The party gasped: at the center of a mass of stringy yellow fungus covering the stone wall bulged a watery eye the size of a wagon wheel. It blinked at them. “There is a door behind the thing” Winter said. “We have left it alone and it doesn’t bother us. But we have to leave this place, and that is the only way out.

“I think I can kill that thing “ Angelica said. Jock nodded in agreement. Tecumseh reached into his pouch and pulled out a handful of red powder. “Stand back.” He flung the substance directly into the middle of the eye. The powder flared and burned into the viscous eyeball, which blistered immediately. Sharp fangs sprouted out of the iris and snapped at the shaman, cutting into his arm. Loud cries beat against the ears of the party. A plurality of otherworldly voices sobbed “what am I become? What am I become?” Malachi pulled Tecumseh back out of the way of the slashing teeth. “Don’t attack it, it’s only defending itself. It’s trapped here, just like us.” “What does it want?” Angelica asked. “I don’t know, but I can sense it’s afraid.” The thing continued to cry out “what am I become?” I think I know what to do Zenobia said. She reached into the handy haversack. “What am I become?” Zenobia pulled out the mirror and showed the creature it’s own reflection. Instantly, the thing disintegrated into a thick slime that ran down the wall and onto the floor. “The Asylum’s entry room is behind that door” Winter said. “If you cannot find a way out of this place, and a way to stop this terrible fog, there is no hope for any of us.” The party was silent for a moment. “We will try” Arabella said. “We’ll get it done, you can count on us” Jock said. “Let’s get our gear.” Winter pointed back at Setrakian’s quarters. “There is a locked gate there we could not open. There might be something of use for you.” The lock popped open with a clicking sound, Crick smiled and the gate swung open. “Look at this whip” Angelica said. “What kind of stuff was the good Chaplin into?” Suddenly Arabella gasped. She held a small box covered in strange occultic symbols. She quickly threw a handkerchief over the thing. “Looks dangerous. It has some kind of puzzle lock.” Crick smiled. “Did you say puzzle lock?

Journal Entry: Crick Bluefir

We were searching Chaplain Cetrakian's room for any information about our pasts. I used some tools from my bag and picked the lock of his desk. Quickly, curiously, Ashen One removed a box. Upon opening it, she immediately threw a kerchief over it. "What is it"? I asked. "This is a source of knowledge. With this, anything you desire can be yours, for a price". My pulse quickened. My mouth went dry. My pupils dilated. My knees grew weak. I then became resolute. My hands steadied and I ripped the kerchief from the box. Faintly glowing tiles, inscribed with designs that my brain immediately began to assemble into an ancient, perhaps, symbol. Ashen One's eyes traced over the tiles, as well. Her hand slowly moved towards the box, before returning to her side. I felt the draw of it, as well. I seemed able to resist, but didn't want to. With this... Powerful Knowledge within my grasp. My own hand sprung to finish the move Ashen One had started. The first correct move in the puzzle. Suddenly, brown arms wrapped around both of us, drawing us back. The arms weren't vicelike, but the tone of his voice was. "This is not what we need to be doing right now!" Brown Man scolded. Ashen One gave him the box, despite my protestations.