RCgothic
  
   RC's Carrion Hill   
A Lovecraftian Pathfinder 1E Adventure for Level 5 Characters
Erugazel's Solo Thread
 OOC Thread  
 


Rain-laden air clings heavy, a metallic tang with the acrid bite of middenstone. The scent, a noxious cocktail of tar, oil, and something unpleasantly reminiscent of forgotten crypts, hangs thick, choking the breath and twisting the stomach. It's a stench that seeps into bone and marrow; a grim reminder of the city's underbelly. An oppressive silence settles over the cobblestone streets punctuated only by the relentless drumming of rain and the occasional distant rumble of thunder. Though it's mid-morning the sky remains an oppressive shroud of leaden grey, refusing to yield even a sliver of sunlight.

The city of Carrion Hill itself seems to cower under this oppressive weight. Buildings of weathered middenstone, their sickeningly violet hue dulled and streaked with grime by the rain, huddle together like frightened souls.

Despite the dismal weather and the usual deterrent it offers an unusual bustle stirs the streets. Anxious figures cloaked in rain-soaked garments hurry through the downpour, their faces etched with worry and whispers exchanged in hushed tones. The clatter of cartwheels and the hurried shouts of vendors create a discordant symphony of unease.

Suddenly a piercing cry pierces the downpour. Town criers, their faces grim and voices hoarse, march through the streets their bell clanging ominously. Their proclamation echoes through the rain carrying a message that chills the very air:

  "Hear ye! Hear ye! By order of the esteemed Mayor, all heroes and adventurers are summoned to Crown Manor at once! A matter of utmost urgency demands your attention! Heed the call, brave souls! For the fate of Carrion Hill hangs in the balance!"  

 


In the shadowed district of the Crown, atop Carrion Hill where the bones of misfortune bleach white under the cruel sun, a grim mockery of royalty unfolds. Here, the wealthier denizens dwell in limestone mansions, unwittingly crafting a skyline resembling the skeletal diadem of a monstrous skull, earning the place its chilling sobriquet.

At the apex of this macabre tableau stands Crown Plaza, dominated by two edifices both stark and oppressive.

The larger, an osseous monolith cloaked in an aura of sepulchral chill, is the Ossuary Church. This bastion of Pharasma, Carrion Hill's largest temple, boasts white limestone skin adorned with grinning visages culled from its labyrinthine crypts. This grand edifice consumes the southern flank of the plaza, its facade perpetually shrouded in an unsettling perpetual dusk.

Across the expanse, mirroring the temple in a grotesque dance of symmetry, looms Crown Manor. This amalgam of town hall and fortress serves as the seat of administrative power and the nerve center of the Crows, Carrion Hill's grim watch of a thousand eyes. Like its counterpart, it is carved from pale limestone, its surface unblemished yet somehow slick and unsettling. Though outwardly a sturdy manor, its true purpose betrays itself in the unnatural thickness of its walls and the barred windows at ground level, apertures too narrow for most humanoids to reasonably traverse. A pair of massive, iron-bound doors, wide enough to admit lumbering monstrosities, gape open, revealing a flurry of crows flitting in and out with an unsettling urgency. Two grim sentinels hover nearby, ushering inside anyone who looks like they might fit the summons' request for adventurers or heroes.

Those ushered inside find themselves across a cobbled courtyard, and then through another set of imposing doors guarded by unseen wards. A grand staircase ascends into the manor's guts, leading ultimately to a reception room overlooking the courtyard. Here, sunlight struggles to pierce the thick windows, casting the opulent furnishings in an unsettling pallor. Green and gold wallpaper, once vibrant, now seems to writhe with the shadows cast by the flickering flames of a monstrous fireplace. An oppressive silence hangs heavy in the air, broken only by the occasional unsettling caw echoing from beyond the inner door.

Jochen is the first to be shown into this dingy antechamber, but before his curious hand can reach the handle of the door into the next room, he is interrupted by the ushers showing in a weary knight in bronze armour, Leif, his trusty steed Tryggr having been gratefully shown to a stable in the bowels of the manor by a valet. Behind Leif is a white-haired elvish  businessman, Elthis, and a similarity white-haired yet differently complexioned drow, Kov. A sturdy oread woman, Witt, is next, followed by a catfolk woman, Zuri. A few minutes later, a man-mountain called Nicholas stumbles in, the reek of rum hanging over him like a distasteful shroud. Nick must be the last of those the mayor is prepared to wait for, because before the gathered prospective heroes can confer, almost immediately the inner door opens and an usher shows them into the great hall beyond.

In the great hall, several members of the Crows stand guard while the mayor, a distracted and worried man named Vanton Heggry, sits in a tall backed chair; apart from the PCs, there appear to be no other adventurers present.

The hall is about 100ft by 40ft with a dark-wood-vaulted ceiling that's about 20ft at its peak, aligned north-south. At the north end of the hall there's a grand fireplace about 15ft wide with a blazing fire. The fireplace is flanked by four large windows, about 4ft wide by 8ft tall, beginning about 2ft above the dark wood floor. For the northern three quarters of their length the long walls each contain fourteen identical windows, then two minor fireplaces also ablaze. The southern quarter of the hall is panelled in the same dark wood as the floor, with a 15ft double entranceway in the middle of the south wall. This isn't the entrance the group had been shown through, with various minor doorways at irregular intervals along the southern walls, the antechamber having been off one of them. A long table 8ft wide and flanked by high-backed chairs to seat 50 runs the length of the hall, but it has been moved off-centre to the west to create some open floor space on the eastern side. Despite the three blazing fires and the yellow-green glow of the gas lamps, the atmosphere is not cozy, the purple-clouded storm is just too apparent through the many unshrouded windows. Still, some effort has been made, with a number of the high-backed chairs moved into a semi-circle around the eastern fireplace, and it is there where mayor Heggry is seated in the centre of the semi-circle facing the fire.
   
Of all those present, only Elthis has an acquaintance with Heggory, born of deals for fireworks for the city's festivals. When Heggry sees them enter, he straightens up and says, “At least we’ve got a few backbones still upright in this place,” then he gestures for all to be seated, clears his throat, and continues:

“I thank you for attending in our hour of need—Carrion Hill has a long history of battle, yet always before its enemies have attacked from outside our walls. We are fortified to defend against such attacks, but now we face an entirely different threat. Our enemy is already here, dwelling in the tunnels and catacombs below and surfacing to strike without warning."

“As you may have heard, the first of these attacks occurred early this very morning, when something huge came up from below in a part of the Tangles called Slipper Market. It partially destroyed a building and killed a half dozen locals before retreating into the ruined structure. The Crows were swift to reply, led by our own Commander Garus, but when they arrived, they were slaughtered to the last."

“Since then, the thing has moved on, surfacing no less than three times in different parts of the city, crushing buildings from below and slaying anyone it finds inside. I’ve got the entire force of the city watch in reserve, and with each new event they respond quickly, but the damage is always done by the time they arrive. Already there is talk of war and invasion, but I still believe that what we face is a single horror. If we can only figure out what it is, we might be able to defeat it. And this is where your group comes in—the horror has moved on from its initial point of entrance, but if you can explore the ruins in Slipper Market, perhaps you can find some sort of clue to tell us what it is we face. I cannot spare any of my Crows to aid you, for they are needed in keeping order in the streets, but if indeed you can find something… anything… about this monster from below, I will pay you handsomely: 2,000 gold for solid information, and twice again that amount for aiding in defeating the horror.”

"If you have questions, please be quick. The situation demands your attention without delay."


 


Still smelling strongly of alcohol and now having his week-long bender catch up with him Nicholas stumbles into the manor with bloodshot eyes with a shadowy mug on his head acting like an icepack.   God I'm never drinking again  he moans (although he says this everyone and their mother knows he's lying) as he says this however, he struggles to hold back puke that threatens to come up before he forces it back down. After calming himself he asks   Has anyone given a description of the beast that is   he threatens to puke again   reliable. Excuse me a second  As he finishes his question, he puts the shadowy mug on the floor, and it turns into a large cooking pot and he pukes inside it all but ruining his first impression Infront of the mayor. As he finishes puking, he apologizes  It's been a trying few weeks  

 


Elthis had stood near the side of the room, a cool glance over the others gathered here. The dusky complexion of the drow attracted a second glance and the weary looking knight seemed  competent combatant. Eyeing the other elf he fingered arcane orb that was slightly warm to the touch nestled in his pocket. As the mayor speaks Elthis begins to feel gnawing doubt and wonders if it had been wise to come rather than copy Torben and lock the shutters and start drinking, certainly it seemed one of the would be saviours of Carrion hill had already started that approach!

When the mayor finishes Elthis slowly considers then speaks up,  "Mayor... a beast you say, capabale of destroying whole buildings and entire Murders of Crows... surely you don't expect this collection of businessfolk and travelers to stop it? I am however willing to investigate and try and find some clues as to its nature so some better equipped monster hunters can deal with such a beast. So I accept the offer, plus I liked Garus, and I would like to see some justice for whatever caused his death."  Again is hand traces a brief spiral on his chest.


 


The gods seemed to be angry or at least very distant right at this moment, Jochen also felt really alone waiting in the hall and he was really relieved when more people appeared. When they were ushered in and heard about why Carrion Hill needed people his face became ashen. He didn't even realized the amount of money that was offered still shocked by the revelation that a single... Something killed that many people.

He nodded towards the human and wanted to add something when Nicholas hurled the inside of his stomach into a pot and Jochen never in his entire life wanted to have a cleaning spell this much. He weaved his hands in a small gesture to conjure a small  Breeze  to at least direct the smell towards a fire away from Mayor Heggry.

The sorcerer needed to swallow several times, fighting down his own urge to puke till he was able to ask his question.

 How many crows, together with the commander, were send to investigate. It would be good to know at least a rough estimation of whatever this thing is capable off. And you mentioned tunnels and catacombs? Is it possible to get a map of them or do we have to get in on our own? 

Towards the others.  I'm Jochen, by the way. At least we won't have to worry about light guiding our way when we travel in the darkness. 

With that he stomped his staff on the ground to let it glow like a lit torch.

Jochen nodded towards Elthis.  Let's see what we can find out. 

 


Limestone. The bleached bones of the earth a former…  Associate 's called those once, always scribbling, always clean, conceited… Witt can tell the Crown, a bit of the Hill she doesn't amble upon much's been built to impress and awe. But alas, she's not an easy one to awe, or quite religious for that matter. The Ossuary's pretty walls get a light jab from a heavy fist. The sound's not quite what  real  bones make when cracked. A real pity. Still, she's almost amused. The bustle, the panic… This place? it's sinking. Folks are getting real courteous, even to her such, all of a sudden as she's let and led inside the Manor. They know they're about to meet halfway, somewhere in that ugly, slimy water. A thing of beauty, really. Another swig of grog goes down her throat as she strides in with the others, barely even bothering to find a familiar face among the bunch. She flips around a chair with casual ease, puts a muddy boot on top and an elbow on that knee as the rest settle down. She knows they'll let her; and she'll let them put their show on in return.

It's quite the show too. The mayor's is quite the story. And the sailor-man… She snorts loudly when he vomits. That one drinks ****. That one knows. Witt already likes him.  She nods about as he speaks, and as the others speak, as though absently, but paying good attention.   That's gold. Big thing, big money.   she grunts appreciatively.   I'll take the big money. But what's with the haste, I wonder? These are right.   she motions towards the others.   'S not like yout old us much. How's it you know it's not coming this way next? Would save us the time.  

 


Zuri made her way toward the warm fire, finding the nearest unoccupied seat to use as she attempts to dry off. The shadows played off her silhouette, the long, slender tentacle slithering back and forth created from her tail. The fire crackled quietly, offering a solace of warmth against the dark coldness of the world.

The light offered nothing against the stench of alcoholic puke. Zuri wrinkled her nose, but said nothing. Maybe the man will learn something today about limits. She tried to distract herself by focusing her ears towards the questions of the other adventurers who heeded the call. Together they made for an eclectic group. The dim light keeping their secrets hidden below the skin; flesh worn from experience. The questions finished, and Zuri turned from the fire to add her own.

"  Zuri would ask if you know the locations of where this horror has surfaced, to find a pattern in its strikes,  " the little catfolk spoke up. "  This one is also curious that you specifically call it a horror. Do you have an idea of what we are searching for?  "

Zuri thinks back if she's heard any old tales or legends about great burrowing beasts in the local area.


 


Amid the trickle of roustabouts, sellswords and would-be heroes making their way up to the pale hulk of Crown Manor, a young man in a worn leather coat and stylish leggings maintains a confident stride, one hand casually held in his tunic, the other resting upon the basket hilt of his elegant dueling-sword.

A step behind and to one side, hurrying to maintain the distance, a halfling in drab workman’s clothes and a ragged cap struggles to keep an elegant hat in place atop a folded mass of fine velvet with silvery trim.

The young man sweeps past the ironbound gate and its rain-spattered sentinels, crosses the courtyard and ascends to the reception room.  There he sweeps off his damp leather coat, dropping it carelessly on the halfling with one hand as he snatches the feathered cap and velvet cape with the other.  A practiced sweep and flourish sees the cape settled about his shoulders, the cap upon his rain-slick head, hair pulled back in an elegant curve, while the halfling does his resigned best to see over the heaped leather coat in his arms.

Thus attired, the young man reaches the great hall as Mayor Heggory is speaking, joins the company of the others assembled, listening with full attention to the details of the monstrous attack and the more-than-generous purse.  The halfling, still holding the wet leather coat, edges onto an empty seat in the shadowed corner of the hall, eyes downcast and making not a sound.


 


As Kov looked at the other adventurers scattered across the room, the slightest hint of a frown crept across his face.    How long has it been since I worked with others, I wonder? All I can hope is that they can handle themselves.    As the sailor interrupted the mayor's speech with the contents of this morning's drink, Kov threw him a stern look of disapproval, making sure the man's eyes met his before he looked away. He stays silent as the others speak, wincing slightly and averting his eyes as the sorcerer lit up the room, as he consults his memory and knowledge of aberrations, trying to think of what kind of beast the mayor might be describing.

After the others finish, Kov speaks in a quiet but gravelly tone.   "Sir, please have someone direct me to the nearest entrance to the catacombs. My magic can detect the presence of the foul beasts, so I will attempt to track it and determine its behavior patterns, if it has any."   He then turns towards the other adventurers.   "I wish to slay the terror, but I am uninterested in money beyond what I require to survive and fight. I am willing to distribute my portion of the bonus to those of you who will assist me in combat."   With that, he falls silent, waiting for the mayor's response.


 


Zuri turned slightly to hide her back from the door. Her tail held still as the late newcomer entered. When the newcomer remained quiet and attentive, the catfolk's tail slowly slinked once more at relative ease.  Interesting that a -

 Huh . And here Zuri thought chivalry left town years ago. She nods in the affirmative to the experienced traveler. Encountering the beast may be inevitable, so it would be wise to affirm her willingness to work together with them in combat.


 


Leif lifts his visor and gives a direct, meaningful look to the valet who takes custody of Tryggr, and gives his partner a comforting pat on the flank.  Please brush the road off him before I return, remove his tack, and give him a feed bag.  The half-elf's tone isn't formally a demand or a request, perhaps lying murkily somewhere in between.  Thank you. 

The weary knight clears his throat, turns and cracks his back, and stalks off to the entryway at the far side of the Crown Manor courtyard.   Clear cut all the trees, cart in tons of milled stone, and act surprised when everything falls to hell,   he tsks to himself as he takes in the seat of government for Carrion Hill.

Watching the assortment of adventurers arrive, Leif smiles, under his visor, at the drunkard's housewarming present for the mayor but is otherwise silent for the City leader's explanation of the recent urban troubles. If asked his name he responds,  Kjærgaard, Leif , in an even, but not unfriendly tone. He listens to the questions others ask, waiting patiently for the mayor's responses before volunteering,  If we can be shown to one of the enemy's surfacing spots, I can divine what happened, get us a bit more of a command over just what is going on. 

 


Elthis looks at the floor of the mansion, tapping his boot on the solid flagstones, a slight grimace,  "I'd hope the floors are bit more solid here."  Before he nods to Kov,  "I will help, Carrion Hill is my home, I'll take my share from the mayor but you don't owe me anything."  
RCgothic
Heggry's thin lips purse, eyeing the pot with a practiced indifference. "Rough night, sailor? More's the pity, considering our predicament. We have no beast to describe, only the wreckage it leaves in its wake. We know of nobody who's seen it and lived, if beast it even is. Those witnesses who survived say the buildings were pulled apart from within by something enormous. The bodies of the dead reduced to... well, let's say 'unrecognizable.' Time is our enemy, so if you're ready to stomach more than just breakfast, step up. We need answers, and frankly," he gestures at the door, "we're not choosy about who brings them."

Heggry's gaze flickers over the motley crew gathered, then to Elthis as he addresses the next question. "Unlikely you can stop it, perhaps," he concedes, "but desperation breeds unconventional solutions. Frankly, stopping it might be beyond even the Crows. What we need, my friend, is intel. Pinpoint its weaknesses, its origins, its next move. If those here can unearth such knowledge, the Crows might stand a chance. He nods at Elthis's words, a flicker of genuine grief crossing his face. "As for Garus… a good man, a pillar. His absence casts a long shadow."

Heggry grimaces at Jochen's question, the fatigue etched deeper on his face. "Lost a dozen Crows, including Garus. Brave souls, the lot of them. Found them bludgeoned, torn apart… a gruesome show. As for the catacombs, well, Carrion Hill's a built on over a dozen forgotten cities. No complete maps exist, but the Slipper Market is your best bet. The Horror breached there, so that's where your light might shine brightest, eh, sorcerer?" His voice holds a flicker of hope, desperate for any advantage.

But his eyes narrow, a flicker of annoyance warring with desperation at Witt's blunt challenge. "Haste? My dear, we've had three attacks just this morning. Each one deadly. People are holed up, fear gnawing at them. A monster is destroying buildings, and if they begin to feel their homes aren't safe, the city will crumble. The Crows are stretched thin, and if it hits a gas main whilst rummaging around underground… well, let's just say fireworks are preferable. Now, as for Crown Manor… blunt truth? We don't know. Our foundations are strong, defenses solid, but motive? We just don't know. We need answers, miss, and you lot are our only hope. So, coin purse motivates you? Fine. But understand, this ain't just about gold. This is about survival."

Witt is aware that there are various entrances to the city's catacombs and that they were the result of Carrion Hill being built in top of a previous city, but she had no idea it was  so many  previous cities and beyond a few near-surface excursions for various illicit activities, she has almost no knowledge of the wider tunnels. Witt discerns that the mayor is being as honest as he can be, and that his urgency is motivated by a genuine concern for the city and it's inhabitants. She suspects he likes things to be well-ordered, and that he believes the city's state of order hangs on a precipice. He's beginning to grow impatient for action, but he's making an effort to suppress that emotion and let everyone have their questions. Zuri is up next.

"It's struck twice more, miss," Heggry sighs, the weariness pulling at his voice. "Both grand houses on the western Tangles, seemingly swallowed by sinkholes. In both cases, the resulting pit had no apparent entrance to chambers below, but the ruins were slathered and drenched in a foul-smelling slime the likes of which no one has ever seen before. There's no clear link between these other sites and the Market or each other, though our best minds haven't exactly been idle. As for the name, well, that's what the Crows christened it, and it stuck. Fear has a way of naming things quickly. What it is, where it came from, why… those are the answers we crave. It's moving underground, that much we know.  Whatever it is, it's cunning enough to stay unseen. That's why your skills, keen eyes and all, are so crucial." His gaze lingers on Zuri a moment longer, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

Unfortunately for Zuri, there's no shortage of rumours she's heard about what might lurk in the crypts and mouldering ruins beneath the city. From malevolent humanoids like derro, drow and myconoids, through undead, carrion crawlers, and giant insects, umber hulks, bulettes, or even mind-flayer colonies and older nameless evils. Though there's little corroborating evidence the inhabitants of Carrion Hill have lively imaginations. Zuri can't think of anything huge that burrows, destroys buildings and leaves only foul slime in its wake.

Heggry's brow furrows, a flicker of annoyance warring with begrudging amusement. "Ah, another... addition to our motley crew? Splendid timing, sir," he remarks, dryly laced with both sarcasm and the desperate hope this newcomer might actually offer something useful. "We were just reviewing the rewards - 2,000 gold for solid information, and double that for bringing the Horror down. I'm sure the others will catch you up on the rest of what we've discussed." His voice holds a hint of desperation disguised as business as usual.

Heggry's considers Kov's words for a moment, appraising the half-drow's stoicism. "While your drowish ancestry may grant you an edge in the dark, brave warrior," he says, a hint of dry humor in his voice, "these tunnels are a tangled mess, uncharted for generations. Best start at the Slipper Market, the Horror's point of entry. As for your offer… commendable, truly. As you wish, your reward will be shared equally with the rest of your team." He gestures towards the group with a weary nod.

Kov wracks his memory. Carrion Hill's history is rich with whispers of ancient rituals performed in hidden tunnels beneath the city, legends speak of beings banished long ago, said to slumber and stir beneath the earth, and tales warn of forgotten gods, their power echoing in the darkness below. He's aware of many different custodians of the city, such as the Taldans, Orcs, Kellids and Varisians of multiple flavours. He's even aware that at times the city has been abandoned, or occupied by undead or plague survivors. The city's history goes back over two millennia, with rumours of still earlier settlements in the region. Unfortunately this doesn't help narrow things down much for identifying The Carrion Hill Horror. It could be a large apex predator - many aberrations, magical beasts or undead could fit the patchy second hand descriptions. Or it could be a purely ectoplasmic effect, a wizard's experiment gone rogue, something else entirely. The mayor interupts Kov's deliberations, becoming more agitated and clearly hoping the newly assembled heroes will get on their way, gesturing animatedly towards Leif.

"We need to get to unearthing the truth before our city caves in. I'll take one more question from ser knight. Leif. Excellent. A divination might be just the thing. Again, I direct you to The Slipper Market. The crows will see you through the crowds directly. If it would speed you all on your way I am prepared to offer a cash advance - 1000 gold for each of you to get started immediately. Your manservant doesn't count," he addresses this last comment to the foppish man in the velvet cloak.

Heggry claps his hands together and a smartly-dressed servant snaps forward bearing a small chest witch is presented to the gathering. "Eight thousand gold pieces to distribute as you wish. Now please, I would bid you depart at once! I can spare two of my crows to escort you to the Slipper Market if you would like."


 


Zuri considers all the answers so far; it burrows under the buildings to pull them down, there are catacombs and older cities buried below, and the creature leaves a foul;-smelling slime. The shadows that play off the light of the fireplace all blend together at the base. The  down below . "  Well, it appears one option we can attempt is to find a way down under the city. See if this... horror has a nest it returns to after it attacks.  "

When Heggry's eyes linger a bit longer than usual, Zuri's head tilts slightly to one side. She wonders what is behind those eyes. She glances around subtly if anyone else is looking upon her. No one assumes her to be cutpurse, she hopes.

Zuri finds this to be a generous offering. She doesn't immediately pounce on the advance; she agrees with a nod, but waits for the others to agree and speak up if there is any remaining questions. "  The market is certainly our best lead.  "


 

  People live, people die. Way of doing business.   Witt makes a show of shrugging, but there's a hint of something positively melancholy to her visage as she defiantly meets the mayor's gaze, her head still hanging slightly forward and down. This Heggry, he's one of the poor fools. A moron. He'd appear to mean well, and earnestly. Not of the kind that live. Sooner or later, his sort dies a "good death". Quite the pity.

Now, Heggry's finally speaking a language she likes to hear spoken. Witt pushes the chair aside and ambles forward, reaching under the chest with an arm and gives it a little shake, lifting it as though it were feathers in a pillow case. A smirk, somewhat resigned, dances around a corner of her lips.   Weighs about right.   she murmurs.   Don't bother your Crows, sir.   she dismisses the offer of tour guides with a rough wave of her hand.   We'll make do.   …or break through, if it takes force. That's really just a thing she  does .


 

 A dozen and a captain.  Jochen murmurs, shocked. He thought of himself as being pretty capable but this was still a lot.

The young man shakes his head to clear his thoughts, determination in his gaze. When Witt gets the chest from the mayor Jochen takes his share out of it, but fills one of his pouches with 9/10 of his share and gives it back to the major.

 Please distribute that to the families of the crows to lessen they're burden. I agree that we won't need an escort, keep you're man at ready. 

The sorcerer adresses the knight, Leif.  More information would be good, I would like to be at you're side when you try to divine what this thing is in case that whatever you see would frighten you.  Jochen stutters a moment before continuing.  I-I can take the fear of others unto myself, perhaps it will help you keep you're divination in order should it frighten you too much. 
 I'm ready to go. 

 


Elthis nods his thanks to the mayor and then also joins the others in a wave of his hand,  "Do not bother the Crows they are busy enough"  he waves towards where the market would be if there were no in the grand hall.  "I know the slipper market well enough as well"  he adds.

He looks in surprise the knight hands back much of the cash but doesn't offer to the same, merely dropping the gold into the suspiciously small pocket on his pack that seems to consume all of the gold without even bulging! He'll wait for the others before adjusting his blade at his hip, checking the tilt on his hat to keep the rain out of his eyes and looking at the others,  "Ready to head down to the market?" 

 


She watches the shadows dance up and down the walls as everyone claims their portion of the advance.  No escort? I get the danger, but I feel that the crows wouldn't be doing more than escort. Eh, we know where the market is anyway.  Zuri steps forward and claims her portion of coin. Now to just survive the expedition to be able to spend it.

"  This one is ready to head out,  " Zuri replies to Elthis.


 

 A rough couple of weeks unfortunately but thats life  as he says this, he pushes the pot of puke away with his foot as it slowly starts to freeze lessening the smell for all around and closes his eyes for a second as if mustering himself before reopening it. As he does so his eyes seem less red, and he seems more focused on the task.  Wow an advance already s**t must be serious then  he sighs and as he does so the smell of alcohol on breath seems slightly lessened and reluctantly takes the gold before muttering to himself   Politicians don't give up money easy unless the ship has capsized. This is going to suck.   He turns towards his current teammates? and askes a question and introduces himself  Hold up people before we all go jump at this beast, we need to list our skills so that we don't get in each other's way I'll start. The names Nicholas and I'm an expert on planar s**t and have a passing interest in history and religious s**t and I can make s**t on the fly. Also, I'm a pretty decent cook 

 


Zuri flinches at this man's manners in front of the mayor.  It would be wise to not speak the quiet part out loud,  she thinks, but Zuri won't correct him. The call was for adventurers. It didn't specify proper decorum was a prerequisite. Often it's not in any case, and perhaps this man will be interesting to work alongside! Keep positive, right?

She steps forward and bows her head. "  This one is Zuri. I am skilled in skulkery and finding the possessions that people have lost. I am fair with a blade as well, when the need arises.  "


 


A drunk that thinks he's clever and a thief, so far. Well, those and a couple shining knights. A lovely mix of desperate means, Witt thinks to herself, slowly shaking her head.   Mine's Witt, sailor-man.   she pronounces bluntly, her guttural voice sounding oddly warm, at the surface – and yet  off .   And talking's a waste of bad breath, I say.   Something like a hoarse chuckle is produced from somewhere deep within her throat, as she rolls a shoulder, letting the thicj bundles of muscle and sinew on her arm flow and ripple, still balancing the chest with casual ease on the crook of the other elbow. The worn flask emerges once more from some pocket, its content sipped, quickly.   Grog, anyone?   she holds it out, mostly towards this Nicholas fellow, as though in a challenge.


 


Jochen seems a bit surprised when asked about his skills, he thinks a bit before answering.

 Well, I can cast some spells? Do You... Do you need a list? I can heal people with my magic, which I  heard is pretty uncommon. Which reminds me. 

Jochen seems to look a bit paler and weaker, he seems to punch his chest while murmuring something and then looks better while a sprectal armor briefly appears around him.

 As I told Leif, if someone is afraid I can take they're fear unto me. I think that's pretty much it? I can point out weakpoints I guess? Oh and I take a sip, thanks a lot. 

Jochen takes Witt's offer and takes a sip of grog which is followed by a lot of coughing, heaving and after a bit of time gasping for air.   I think something died in there...  

 


Nicholas looks at it before glancing at the now frozen puke and shakes his head.
 I'm sorry miss but I will have to decline until after the situation is dealt with. Drinking on the job is how good sailors end up dead and I'm sure the same applies to landlubbers  

 

  'S how all spirit's made.   Witt snorts, seemingly in a good humour – but whether to Jochen or Nicholas, it's hard to tell.


 


Kov addresses the mayor.   "Well, I shall start at the market, then. While I appreciate the advance gift, gold alone will not keep me alive. Would you, or a merchant in town, happen to have some sort of protective charm of equivalent value that I could purchase?"  

Kov ignores the ramblings of the drunkard and the others, though his eyes flicker with interest when the human mage casts his spell. He says nothing to the woman offering him alcohol, though his demeanor makes his disinterest quite obvious.  "The good mayor wishes for us to make haste. Let us depart",   he says calmly, and begins to walk towards the exit.


 


"And I," says the last of their number, "am Marakos the Bold, swordsman extraordinaire!"

With the heavy chest cradled under one lace-sleeved arm, and a rather smug smile directed at the halfling servant, the dandy swirls his cape, sets his free hand on his basket hilt, and follows the others to Slipper Market.


 


Zuri gives off a faint snirk at Witt's joke. It wasn't half bad. She takes mental notes on the teams' various abilities and attitudes. A few seem unaccustomed to working together, but Zuri is sure that'll soften when the team is in the thick of the investigation.
RCgothic
Heggry's face betrays relief, a flicker warming his tired eyes as the group agrees to embark. "Excellent! Then waste no time!" he urges, voice taut with urgency. "I suppose the locals among you don’t need babysitting to the market." A chorus of affirmations greets him. He nods curtly, a grimace tugging at his lips. "Excellent choice then. Hurry, for every moment you spend here, that creature grows bolder. Sir knight, I understand your horse is in my stables. If you wish to leave him here I assure you he will be safe, or you can retrieve him if you prefer." A harried servant appears, whispering urgently in the mayor's ear. Heggry sighs, his shoulders slumping, and excuses himself with a curt, "Duty calls. May fortune guide you, brave souls."

As the party exits Crown Manor, the oppressive weight of the storm descends upon them. Rain lashes down, each drop a tiny hammer of despair against the cobblestones. The sky bleeds a stormy purple, choked with clouds heavy and bloated like festering wounds. Visibility dwindles, the world shrinking to a claustrophobic tunnel of rain-streaked stone and shadowed alleys. Even through the downpour, the party senses eyes upon them. Actual crows, sleek and obsidian-feathered, huddle on rooftops, their beady black eyes reflecting the dying light in an unsettling manner. They caw raucously, their harsh cries echoing through the damp air, a grim chorus sung with unnerving synchronicity. Every few caws, their heads tilt in unison, a macabre danse macabre performed by avian oracles. They don't follow, not overtly, but their presence is omnipresent and oppressive, a constant reminder that you are watched, judged, perhaps… desired. The labyrinthine streets, usually teeming with life, were deserted. Shop shutters were bolted tight, doorways gaped like empty maws, and the only sound was the relentless drumming of rain and the occasional, eerie creak of a wind-tossed sign. An oppressive silence pervaded the air, broken only by the distant, muffled shouts and panicked whispers emanating from the direction of the Slipper Market.

As the party approaches the chaos became clearer. A throng of people, faces pale and fear-etched, huddled towards the edge of a cordon enforced by grim-faced Crows. The market itself was invisible, swallowed by the rain and gloom, but the stench of something foul, a melange of decay and burnt iron, wafted towards them, its source hidden.

"No further!" a grim-faced Crow barked, his voice hoarse from shouting over the din. "The Market is closed by order of the Mayor! Turn back, lest you join the others who have met their doom down there!"

He gestures towards the gaping maw of the Slipper Market, its entrance swallowed by swirling mists and shadows. The rain, driven by the wind, lashed through the opening, revealing nothing beyond an inky blackness that seemed to devour light itself.

The crowd, agitated by the Crows' pronouncement, begins to murmur, their fear morphing into anger. "Let us pass! We have family trapped down there!" cried one woman, her voice cracking with desperation. "We must see if they are alive!"

Panic, a shapeless entity birthed of the storm and whispers of eldritch horrors, pulsed within the crowd. Faces contorted, warped by fear into grotesque masks, pushed forward. Shoves turned to desperate lunges, the press of bodies forming a churning sea of despair. The Crows, their obsidian armour glistening with rain and sweat, fight back valiantly, the hafts of their halberds forming a wavering dam against the tide. Yet the pressure mounts, the line buckling like a sapling in a hurricane. The adventurers stand at the precipice of chaos! Will they join the fray, becoming part of the writhing mass? Appeal for a return of sanity? Or stand firm - allowing the dam of control to crumble - unjamming their obstacle but unleashing a torrent of terror upon the city and, perhaps, themselves?


 


Not two seconds outside, Zuri already missed the warm dry interior of the mayor's office. She sighs and pulls her cloak over herself, drawing her shoulders in. She walks with the group, feeling ill-at-ease with the " attempted murder " of birds perched above. The soft pat pat pat of her shoes on puddles is the only sound coming out from her as she walks, keeping ears and snout at attention.

At the market, Zuri wrinkles her nose. Her sense of smell is dampened by the rain, but her tail is itching. There's danger in that maw of darkness. Zuri looks to the assembled party.

"  We are going in that hole, yes? Perhaps we could appease the crowd by convincing them we will search for survivors on their behalf. This will keep them out of our way while we investigate.  "


 


Elthis keeps hand to the hilt of his sword watching the crowd warily.  "It'll get nasty"   he mutters to the others,  "I wonder if I can get the crowds attention. What do you think?"   he asks looking to the others.  "I can make a b of a bang?"  he mutters as he holds a firecracker in his hand that he has pulled form his pack, holding it tightly to keep the soaking rain off the wax covered firework.


 

 Yes we should definitely try to calm them down, Zuri.  Jochen nods towards Elthis.

 Yes please make a little distraction that may bring they're attention towards us.  Jochen recast his light cantrip on his staff but not before shielding it with part of his cloak.

When Elthis makes his distraction Jochen raises his staff into the air to draw even more attention to them.

 Good people of Sagus cliff, don't be afraid! 

Jochen proclaimed loudly.

 You're good Major Heggry has given us the task to search for you're missing family and friends! Please let us through and do as you're told by the crows, this way you can embrace you're loved ones all the earlier. 

Says Jochen, full of hope that everything will turn out okay.


 


The crows that fly and stare don't bother Witt much. She doesn't stare back either. Her business is under the cobblestones now, or so the Mayor's gold says, not with the birds. And there's little new in the latter. Sucg crows don't break mishapen tavern chairs on her back. Don't barf the smell of stale beer into her face. Don't have gold to pay her.

The other Crows, in their armour, circling the pit, circled by the mob, are a different beast. Witt wades into the crowd, looking in face after face from close up and snorts. She lets this Jochen speak first; that's a bloody fine speech. And she just knows how to make it better yet.   Or you can come along, for all I care. If y'wanna die a stupid death's what I mean.   she snorts, as though genuinely amused.   'S not like we won't have use for some live bait, catch my drift?  

 


" Yes, we will do everything in our power to find your missing loved ones,"  Zuri added, trying to assist.


 


Nick sighs and rubs his face with his hands muttering  F***ing idiots everywhere  as dealing with mob and crowd is just pissing him off as it makes his hangover worse. He growls low  Move or be moved   to help accent Witts point not caring if a fight breaks out or not as either way the poison will be let out.


 

   It would be best for the others to do the talking,    Kov thinks, as he sees the scene unfolding before him. He is all too aware of the difficulties of trying to reason with angry surface-folk as a drow. Instead, he attempts to squeeze through the crowd and slip into the market amidst the confusion, trusting his new compatriots to prevent a riot.


 


Chaos momentarily engulfs the scene as Witt and Kov attempt to navigate the surging crowd. Shoves and blows rain down, but their practiced agility allows them to weave through the fray, reaching the wavering line of halberds just as Elthis's firework explodes overhead.

A fiery bloom paints the sky, momentarily silencing the cacophony. The sudden spectacle draws all eyes upward, creating a welcome lull. Seizing the opportunity, Jochen and Zuri address the crowd. Their voices, firm and reassuring, convey the mayor's plan and the party's role in carrying it out. Nick, with a subtle display of strength, adds a reminder of the dangers within the market. Witt, her voice cutting through the tension, just warns the crowd not to stand in their way.

The tense standoff begins to thaw. Mollified by the party's words and actions, the crowd slowly disperses, easing the pressure on the Crows' line. The watch sergeant, visibly relieved, expresses his gratitude for their timely arrival:

"By the Nine Hells," the sergeant croaked, his voice hoarse and strained. "You arrived just in the nick of time! Thanks to you lot, we can finally catch our breath." He gestures to his weary Crows, some of them slumped against the wall, tending to bruised knuckles and aching muscles. "We haven't had a moment's rest since this mess started. Be careful, friends. Whatever's lurking in that market, it's got the whole city on edge."


 


Zuri glances down towards the market, then looks back at the sergeant. "  You haven't sent anyone into the market, have you?  "


 


Jochen nods towards the sergeant of the crows.  It's the least we could do. If at all possible, it would be good to still have some crows stationed here. If someone climbs in after us, we will be more hampered than helped. 

Jochen looks from Juri to the sergeant.  You haven't right? If yes we will be for the lookout for them. 

After the discussion Jochen goes towards the market, trying to take in the surroundings of the market, looking for any collapsed buildings or other signs that were described.


 


Witt, unharmed and unfazed spits after the fickle crowd as it retreats with a habit of contempt she barely notices herself, before walking past the line of Crows with the same casual gall – albeit not crossing over into open disdain this once. These men have done their bruising today. That's well worth a grain of respect, even from her.

Their words reach her ears also. Not the words of gratitude, of course: thankless jobs suit her well enough, and a thanks that doesn't buy a drink or a roof for another day always rings empty. Rather, the words of worry.    Lurking , you say?   she says, with unbroken calm, not turning back to look at the man.   'S it still  here ?   Now that's something to think about, and more of a concern than another damn fool that stumbled in here for a promise of gold – or so she deems. She looks around, with a curious squint.


 


Glancing at wit and noticing her growing contempt for people he makes a note to pay attention to that in the future assuming he remembers after his hangover.  He nods at the Sergent  Glad to be of help. Mind giving us an update on the situation. The last thing the mayor told us is that the monster struck recently but any new InfoMation would be greatly appreciated  

 


Kov stays silent, though he clearly takes an interest in Zuri and Jochen asking the Crow captain about whether he's sent anyone into the market.


 


Watches with some joy at the flames flickering across the sky before as the crowds disperse then turns his attentions to the men. Casting at glance over them to assess their injuries. After a glance at their wounds he'll look around the market square, a question to the Crows,  "Is it still in the market?"  Elthis asks with some consternation, pulling out a metal fused ball the size of his fist in his hand as he glances around nervously.  "Have you seen it?" 
RCgothic
Erugazel has to scrabble through the dispersing throng, his halfling disguise bobbing in the tall-folk sea. A random shove, a moment's distraction, and the crimson cloak of his proxy, Marakos, vanishes. Along with him a chest still containing some 150 of the platinum pieces advanced by Mayor Heggry. A tendril of unease snakes through Erugazel's heart – has he been too trusting?

 Pre-occupied with the dandy's escape, Erugazel misses the rest of the exchange between the others and the watch sergeant. 
 
 Spoiler: DM Comment 
Erugazel splits from the party here.
 


 


Using message, Erugazel murmurs directly in the dandy’s ear:

“I hope you’re just heading to find a better vantage point from which to continue our partnership. Work with me for a little longer today, and half of what’s in that chest is yours.

“Otherwise…I can always find you. What’s inside that chest shines like a beacon to my sorcerous eyes—and every cockroach in this city is my friend and ally.”


 


Whether or not Marakos heard his message, a cunning way of conveying instructions to dandy pretend adventurer, Erugazel is unable to tell now that the man has disappeared from view and no response is forthcoming. In the square the others appear to be starting to regroup with purpose.

What now? To tag along with the others, making awkward excuses for Marakos' absence and pleading usefulness? Or to break off in search of the conniving traitor who's opportunely made off with your substantial fortune in coin before the trail goes cold?


 


Erugazel's heart hammers a frantic rhythm as Marakos disappears and no response comes to his intimidating message. Extricating himself from the dispersing crowd, he whispers a Vanish spell, cloaking himself in an illusion of invisibility. Free from the jostling distractions, his urban intuition honed by years of practice identifies a single shadowed alley - Marakos' only escape route, marked by the faintest scuff marks of hurried boots.

Separating from the party, the narrow passage swallows him whole. Relentless rain lashes down, blurring the way ahead as it funnels from overhanging buildings, creating a grimy curtain of despair. Unease, thick and suffocating, coils around Erugazel. The silence, broken only by dripping rain and unseen skittering, feels unnatural in its intensity. Crows, those ubiquitous harbingers of ill omen, initially don't observe him, but the magic of Vanish soon fades and now they perch atop precarious ledges and skeletal rooftops, obsidian eyes fixed firmly upon him with unnerving intensity. Their caws, when they came, are harsh and guttural, echoing off the damp brick walls like mocking laughter.

As Erugazel delves deeper into the labyrinthine alley, the oppressive architecture seemed to close in on him. The buildings are older here away from the main thoroughfares, their facades crumbling and adorned with grotesque middenstone gargoyles that leer down at him, their expressions twisted into mockeries of human faces. The rain intensifies, soaking him to the bone and blurring the line between reality and a waking nightmare. With each step, the air grows thicker with an intangible dread, a sense of foreboding that clings to him like a shroud.

Yet, amidst the grime, a flicker of hope – occasional, fresh muddy footprints, their pattern eerily similar to Marakos' tell a tale. He's on the right path. Or is he? A sliver of doubt worms its way into Erugazel's mind. The oppressive silence, broken only by the crows' unsettling calls, feels staged, unnatural. It occurrs to him that a cunning opponent like Marakos could be luring him into a trap.

Suddenly up ahead, the Blackened Flagon looms, a ramshackle tavern notorious for its seedy clientele and dubious dealings. Its flickering light, a beacon in the gloom, might hold answers about Marakos' disappearance. But a gnawing unease warns him that he may be pursuing a quarry into a den far more perilous than he could possibly imagine.


 


From the name alone, Erugazel can guess that the Blackened Flagon is not the sort of place where lost halfling servants would find much comfort; he rather suspects they might find themselves on the menu.

Wedging himself into a niche a few dozen feet from the Flagon’s door, Erugazel crumples against the wet wood of a post, trying to make himself resemble nothing more than a dark lump in the rain-veiled shadows. Ears and nose on high alert, he listens carefully to the voices coming through the door, straining to catch the rich timbre of Marakos’ baritone—or the thump and muffled jingle of a heavy chest.
RCgothic
 DM 

The flagon, a monstrosity of warped middenstone and rusted iron, squats like a diseased toad against the rain-slick cobblestones. Through the barred windows, sickly gaslight spills forth, illuminating a scene both unsettling and strangely festive. Silhouetted figures, at least a dozen, crowd around tables laden with steins that reek of a sour, alchemical tang. Laughter erupts in booming choruses, punctuated by the rhythmic clang of coins and the animated chatter of a surprisingly jovial crowd.

The stench that assaults the senses is a potent brew – stale ale, fermenting wine, and a faint undercurrent of something more primal and disturbing. The rain, a ceaseless dirge, hammers down upon the cobblestones, its rhythm oddly discordant against the backdrop of the tavern's unexpected cheer.

Overhead, the crows gather, their obsidian eyes fixed solely upon the lone figure huddled in the shadows. Their harsh caws echo off the slick stones, a mocking chorus that seems to possess an unnatural awareness. No one else seems to notice the crows' unsettling focus. But despite his keen perception, the barred windows offer only fleeting glimpses, leaving more to the imagination than they reveal. Perhaps a cloaked figure moves within, a phantom flitting through the gaslight. It's impossible to say for certain. If Marakos's voice is present, it's lost amongst the cacophony.

The disjunction between the expected grim den of iniquity and the boisterous reality within is stark.  This is not the atmosphere of a clandestine meeting, yet whispers of information might still be gleaned amidst the revelry. Perhaps the risk of venturing inside will yield answers worth the unease it stirs?
Palanan
Nerving himself to brave the Flagon’s interior, Erugazel is about to take the first, fateful step—

—when he checks himself, some instinct warning him of the crows.  They have an odd way of staring at him, as if they are aware not only of his presence, but his intentions…and the fact that he does not belong here.

Still huddled close in his dark niche, still unmoving, Erugazel does his best to watch the crows from the corner of his eyes, the while listening carefully to their voices, hoping to see or hear some telltale that they might be other than what they appear.  Familiars?  Witchcrows?  A host of ensorcelled eyes, through which sentinels or spies keep watch?  Holding himself still, Erugazel looks and listens unobtrusively, running through his store of knowledge of both natural and unnatural birds:


 
 Spoiler: Rolls 
Perception
 (1d20+7)[ 8 ] 

Knowledge (arcana)
 (1d20+9)[ 28 ] 

Knowledge (nature)
 (1d20+8)[ 15 ] 
 
RCgothic
 DM 

Erugazel's keen senses, honed by years of exploration and study, are put to the test as he focuses on the enigmatic crows.

Their presence unsettles him. A chill creeps down his spine as he recognizes the unnatural quality of their focus. Squinting, he attempts to discern any physical abnormalities. He can almost convince himself their gaze contains a hint of unnatural colour, red as blood, but the driving rain and the distance obscure his vision. Their stillness, their silence, and their unwavering gaze suggest an intelligence far beyond that of ordinary birds. Mythologically, he recalls that crows are frequently connected with death, renewal, fate, and omens. It’s common knowledge the gods use them as spies, messengers, and observers of mortal affairs. It'd be a very powerful mortal indeed to command beings such as these.

Whatever is stirring in Carrion Hill, the presence of the crows suggests a confluence of forces beyond moral understanding. For now they appear content simply to watch, their attention focussed solely on him.
The sounds of revelry from within the Blackened Flagon intensify, a cacophony of drunken laughter, shouted insults, and the clinking of tankards.
Palanan
Giving every indication of being unnerved by the crows—those hard-eyed, blood-tinged crows—Erugazel slinks away, back down the way he came, cowed and defeated, affecting a visible tremble as he hunches low through the rain.

Once he is around a corner and out of the crows’ sight, he slips into another darkened niche and casts Invisibility, and then retraces his steps—still quietly, still cautiously—but this time, rather than hiding in a corner, he ventures across the open cobblestones until he is beneath one of the barred windows of the Blackened Flagon, where he listens carefully for a long, wary moment.


 
 Spoiler: Rolls 
Stealth
 (1d20+17)[ 34 ] 

Perception
 (1d20+7)[ 27 ] 
 
RCgothic
Erugazel, cloaked in an illusion of invisibility that finally shakes off the unnatural focus of the crows, approaches the Blackened Flagon. The rain lashes down, obscuring his movements as he slips into the shadows. The tavern, a grotesque edifice of warped stone and rusted iron, looms large, a beacon of debauchery in the desolate night.

As he draws closer, the cacophony within grows louder. The sounds of drunken laughter, raucous arguments, and clinking tankards fills the air. Erugazel strains his ears, trying to pick out any mention of Marakos. Through the grimy barred windows, he catches glimpses of the revelry within. Around twelve patrons, their faces flushed with drink, raise their tankards in boisterous toasts.

One particularly loud voice catches his attention. "That Marakos, he's a real sport. Buying us all a round, and then another, and another! The guy's scored more gold than sense this time." Another voice chimes in, "Yeah, he's got a soft spot for this place. Anyone wonder what his hurry was though?" "Probably headed back to his dive on Rat Alley, he likes a night in whenever he makes it big. Good of him to think of us first though…" "Hah! Marakos going out of his way to do the likes of us a favour? That'd be a firs-!" The conversation is abruptly cut short as a sudden surge of violence erupts within the tavern as other patrons react to the disparagement of their evening's benefactor. A chair flies through the air, followed by a flurry of fists and curses.

What does Erugazel do? If he waits (or speeds things along) there may be some drunken survivors to interrogate and coin to recover. He also recalls that Rat Alley (a name with memorability for a ratfolk) is a few blocks further Southeast into The Tangles if he'd like to skip the violence and continue his pursuit immediately.