The Halls of Pestilence

“How you doing out there, Tomas?” Nat whispered through his Message spell. After Rolth Lamm’s disappearance, everyone had barricaded them in themselves in the room Rolth had vanished from, worried he’d come at them again from a new direction. But Tomas had taken off chasing the necromancer’s familiar.

“I’ve almost got that damn rat,” Tomas replied as he nocked an arrow to his bowstring. “Be back in a minute.” He loosed the arrow, drawing a squeal of pain from the rat. But instead of continuing to flee, the creature suddenly reversed direction and charged directly at Tomas. Surprised, Tomas was unable to avoid its attack, and it clawed at his ankle. Tomas felt the discharge of some magic as its paws struck, and his muscles began to cramp. In an instant, he was totally paralyzed.

Wren was waving madly from the catwalk above the blood vats, trying to get those on the floor to join her at a door up there. Nat nodded an acknowledgement to her, and took a step in her direction. “Wren’s found something in here,” he reported to Tomas over the magical link, “We’re going to check it out. Tomas? Tomas?” The ranger’s failure to respond worried Nat. He was sure Tomas could handle one little rat. But with Rolth still unaccounted for … He reversed direction, holding up one finger to Wren in a ‘just a sec’ motion, and pulled the huge double doors open just a crack to peek through.

Rolth Lamm was walking quickly through the glass-floored room beyond. He’d apparently come from the cultists’ dormitory, and was headed towards the entry hall with the elevator. In the entry hall, Nat could see Tomas standing unnaturally still, the rat sitting patiently at his feet. As Nat watched, Rolth drew a key-shaped dagger from a satchel on his belt.

“Shit! It’s Rolth!” Nat cried, pushing the doors open. “He’s after Tomas!” Hearing Nat’s warning, Rolth snarled a stream of obscenities at the wizard and accelerated his walk into a run. He slowed a bit as he passed Tomas, raising his dagger and seeming to debate whether to pause to use it. “Next time,” he hissed, “I’m going to take my time with you.” He continued on into the elevator, the rat at his side, and pulled down the wooden grate that served as a door. Nat blasted a volley of Magic Missiles into the necromancer through the gaps in the grate, and Jax, who had rushed to join him, added a Force Missile of his own. But they didn’t bring Rolth down, and with a rumble the elevator rose out of sight. Rolth Lamm had escaped.

Nat and Jax rushed to Tomas, then staggered backwards. In addition to being paralyzed, he was emitting a noxious carrion stench that threatened to bring up their breakfast. Covering their noses, they stayed just out of range of the stench, waiting for Rolth’s spell to wear off and guarding the helpless ranger in the meantime.

Meanwhile, up on the catwalk, Wren was getting very frustrated with her friends. She could hear low muttering from the other side of the door up there, but couldn’t seem to get anyone else interested. Erin had been there for a bit, but had run off to see what was happening with Tomas. Girrigz joined her from the other side of the catwalk, and started to casually pull the door open, but Wren slapped his hand away. “Not until we’ve got more reinforcements!” she whispered angrily, and Grizz shrugged and backed off. Shadow decided to help Wren out; he climbed the other stairs and got into a firing position on the catwalk on the opposite side of the room. Erin, apparently unable to decide which way to go, abandoned the pursuit of Rolth and climbed back up to Wren’s side. Finally feeling she had enough help in case of trouble, Wren opened the door.

It was a much smaller room than the one they were in, and crowded with equipment. An elegant operating table dominated the center of this grim laboratory. Large enough to accommodate an ogre, it was crossed with iron restraints and encircled by a gore-encrusted gutter. The macabre device sported various cranks and levers, which Wren guessed could be used to apply increasingly crushing pressure to anyone held in it. Along the walls several tables were strewn with all manner of alchemical accouterments. Their contents appeared extremely old: rusted iron tools, beakers of purpled glass, and deep pools of wax from countless melted candles.

A tall figure was hunched over a desk in the far corner, scribbling notes with a quill pen as he muttered to himself. He was totally bald, with pale gray skin and rat-like teeth. He wore a dark, high-collared tunic of heavy brocade that hung almost to his ankles. He looked up absently as the door opened. “You must be the ones making all the commotion,” he said with a heavy accent. “I have no wish to kill you, and have no love for the Urgathoans or the Red Mantis. Leave me to my work, and I will not bother you.” He turned back to his notes – as far as he was concerned, the matter was closed.

The man was not alone. A rat crouched beside the table, yellow eyes fixed on the figures in the doorway. He was a perfectly ordinary looking rat – a little mangy even. But as soon as Grizz saw him, his guts turned to water. At some deep, instinctual level, Girrigz felt he should roll over onto his back and expose his belly to this rat, to do everything he could to prove his submission.

Wren was frozen with fear. She recognized the bald man was a vampire. Not just any vampire, but a Nosferatu, a vampire sired ages ago and grown unimaginably powerful with age. She felt Erin go rigid behind her, and knew that she too recognized the threat. She wanted nothing better than to quietly close the door and pray that the creature kept its promise to disregard them.

There was just one problem. An unconscious victim was strapped to the operating table, pressed between its iron straps. He was a young man, Varisian, with curly brown hair bleached blonde at the tips. It could only be the missing musician, Ruan Mirukova. Wren remembered the promise she’d made to his sister, to do everything in her power to find and rescue him. She took a deep breath and said a quick prayer to Pharasma. “What are you doing with him?” she asked in a quavering voice.

The nosferatu looked up, surprised to find her still in his doorway. Then he stepped to the table and laid his lightly hand on Ruan’s chest. “He is an experimental subject,” he explained politely. “I believe there is much I could learn from him and those like him.” He turned away, his manner suggesting this audience was over.

“But he’s a musical genius!” Wren stammered. She wasn’t sure what else to say. But that piqued the creature’s interest. He turned back to Ruan, rubbing a lock of his hair between his index finger and thumb. “A musical genius you say? Hmmm … could that have any possible connection to his resistance? That is quite intriguing.” He hurried back to his desk and began scribbling again on his notes.

“I don’t understand,” Wren continued. “Who are you and what are you doing here? What are you trying to learn?”

The vampire studied Wren for a moment, debating whether to tolerate her impertinence. Then he gave a very slight but very formal bow. “Forgive me – I am Ramoska Arkminos, and I was sent here by my master to aid the Urgathoans in developing the disease I believe you call Blood Veil. That work is complete, but we discovered that a very small percentage of native Varisians have a natural immunity to the disease. Not a simple biological resistance to its effects, but a complete protection from Blood Veil’s spiritual essence. This was entirely unexpected. I have devoted my long existence to the study of disease, and I am the foremost authority on this subject in all of Avistan, if not all of Golarion. But even I have never heard of such a thing.”

Arkminos seemed to enjoy having an audience for his lecture, and began to pace the room as he spoke, as if he were in front of a hall full of students. “You see, Blood Veil is among a small minority of diseases that are both biological and spiritual in nature. It is a result of the disease being manufactured from Vorel’s Phage, another quasi-spiritual ailment, and is part of what makes Blood Veil so difficult to cure. But to find a population that is not just resistant, but entirely impervious – that is both unheard of and fascinating. I believe if I could understand the source of this immunity, its mechanism, it could prove useful in curing … other afflictions of the soul.” He paused and gently stroked Ruan’s cheek. “If only you would reveal your secrets to me,” he said softly to the boy. Then he looked up at Wren. “Is he some relation of yours?”

Wren shook her head quickly. “No – he’s the sister of a good friend of mine.”

Arkminos’s eyes opened wider. “Do you think she might share his resistance?” he asked eagerly. Wren gulped as she realized she might have just made Deyanira Mirukova the target of the vampire’s interest. “Um – no! I’m sure she doesn’t!”

Wren was still trying to find some way to win Ruan’s freedom, so she kept Arkminos talking. “So you helped them spread Blood Veil through the city?”

The vampire shook his head. “No. My charge was to help the Urgathoans create a new and incurable disease. I actually did most of the work, although they provided valuable raw materials. Those vats outside are full of raw Blood Veil.” No one in the party had actually examined the vats at this point, other than to see they were full of some revolting substance. “Once the disease was complete, the Urgathoans used devices known as Death’s Head Coffers to infuse the disease into coins, which the Red Mantis spread around the city. I’d love to get one of those Coffers back to my laboratory at home – I’ve never seen anything like them. Normally a disease would not survive more than an hour on bare metal, but somehow they succeeded in infusing the disease into the metal itself, where it remained infectious for several days. Fascinating! Unfortunately, those are under the watchful eye of Lady Andaisin, and I don’t believe she would part with them willingly.”

Nat had wandered back into the room by this point, and had caught the end of Arkminos’ lecture. “What exactly are you doing to him?” he asked, pointing at Ruan. Arkminos waved his hand to indicate the various beakers on the tables around the room. “I’ve been attempting to infect him with several different variants of Blood Veil, to verify his immunity. Next I will begin to infect him with other diseases, to see if his immunity to Blood Veil protects him from any of them. The last fourteen test subjects have not survived that stage of the experiment, but one can always hope for a breakthrough.”

Nat gulped, then came right out and asked the question on all their minds. “What would it take to get you to release him to us?

Arkminos patted Ruan’s head affectionately. “Ah - these naturally-resistant Varisians are becoming increasingly difficult to come by. I believe the Doctor only has a few left in his custody, and as I believe you have dispatched him …” He raised his eyebrows in a question, and everyone nodded in answer, “then I would expect he will not be obtaining any additional subjects for me. I suppose I could let this boy go for … 5,000 gold pieces?”

Nat tried not to let his mouth drop open in shock. “I suppose we could come up with that,” he bluffed, “but it might take a while. What if we could find an alternate source of test subjects for you?” Wren was so shocked that she actually punched Nat in the back – did he have any idea what he was offering to do?

The vampire’s eyes lit up at this. “You could obtain additional Varisians with natural immunity for me to experiment on?" he asked.

“Um, well, I was actually thinking more along the lines of a breeding program,” Nat stammered, making it up as he went along. Wren was speechless – Nat was offering to give babies yet unborn to a vampire for inhuman, deadly experiments. But Arkminos wasn’t interested. “Even I am not that patient.”

A silence fell over the room; they seemed to be at an impasse. When the group made no counter-offer, the vampire took the initiative. “I take it you have dealt with everyone you’ve encountered in this temple so far?” he asked, and heads nodded all around. “And am I to assume your intent is to do the same with its other inhabitants?” More nods. “I would like nothing better than to return home and continue my research in a proper laboratory with competent assistants. Unfortunately, my master’s command is clear – I am to remain until Lady Andaisin has no further use for me. However, should she perish, my master’s commitment to the Urgathoans is fulfilled. If you survive, I would exchange this boy for one of her Death’s Head Coffers. I will even agree to suspend my experiments on him until you succeed - or die. Are we agreed?” Wren looked around at the others - they weren’t likely to come up with a better alternative. She looked back to Arkminos and nodded in silent assent. “Very well – close the door on your way out.”

Wren did as commanded, and it took her a few minutes to get her heartrate back to normal levels after her meeting with the nosferatu. When she had composed herself, she turned to Nat. “Who is this ‘Red Mantis’ he kept talking about?”

Jax answered before Nat had a chance. “The Red Mantis are a notorious society of assassins. They operate all over Avistan, but I’ve never heard of them being in Korvosa before.” He pointed down at Dr. Davaulus’ body. “But from some of what I found on him, I think he and his “physicians” may have actually been members of the Red Mantis. I also found these.” He held up a leather folio full of loose pages. “I think they’re his notes on Blood Veil,” he said as Wren began to quickly thumb through them.

“Do they provide evidence he was part of the conspiracy?” Nat asked eagerly.

“I don’t know about ‘evidence’,” Wren said, growing excited, “but if we get these notes to the Temple of Pharasma and the Bank of Abadar, they might help them in developing a cure!”

Tomas was practically hopping with impatience. He’d recovered from his paralysis, and was anxious to pursue Rolth. “If we hurry, I might be able to follow his trail. We can’t let him get away!” But Wren was in no hurry. After what Arkminos had told them, she and Nat were now focused on the vats of Blood Veil. There were three copper vessels, seven feet tall, each containing thousands of gallons of a viscous, phlegm-like fluid. She and Nat compared notes, and then nodded to each other. “I think if I cast Remove Disease on each vat, it could neutralize the contents. Ignoring Tomas’s obvious impatience, she methodically moved from vat to vat, casting spells on the first two, and using a Wand of Remove Disease on the third. As the holy healing energy swept through each vat, the liquid changed from noxious green to a dull brown.

“Can we go after Rolth now?” Tomas asked when she was done. But Grizz was ready to move on. He’d already been checking out the other doors from this room, finding nothing but storerooms, and he was getting bored. “Let’s just check out these first,” he said, jerking his thumb at the two doors leading east.

Rolling his eyes, Tomas approached the door to the south and pressed his ear against it. On the other side, he could hear movement and whispering, and he alerted the others. Assuming both doors led to the same place, the group split themselves between them, drew their weapons, and threw the doors open.

The reek of burning wax wafted out of this morbid chamber, with several tall, misshapen candles being the apparent source. Workspaces strewn with tall beakers of foul-colored liquids, parchments covered in insidious symbols, and cages of whimpering rodents filled large alcoves in both the northern and southern walls. A pair of huge stone doors hung ajar to the east, revealing a long hallway leading further into the dark. At the room’s center stood four large, cylindrical glass vats, each filled with a bubbling emerald fluid that tinted the chamber’s light a noxious green. Within each suspension floated a malformed abomination — something part human, part angel, and part horse — things of half-formed muscle with dead, fleshless equine skulls. Three of the forms were motionless, but the fourth twitched now and then with some evidence of life.

Half a dozen cultists of Urgathoa were awaiting them, but their vigilance had flagged in the long interval since the sound of combat had ended in the other room, and the party got the jump on them. Tomas’s arrows sent one sliding down one of the green cylinders, and Nat’s Scorching Ray took care of another. Shadow summoned a Flaming Sphere that did no damage, but served as a distraction. Jax charged into the room and slashed one of the cultists with his sword, and Grizz ran in from the other door and got behind the same enemy, keeping him madly whirling to fend off blows from two directions.

But the cultists quickly recovered. The one flanked by Jax and Grizz slashed out with his scythe, opening a gaping wound in Jax’s chest. Two more cultists converged on the rogue, and he couldn’t react fast enough. Their scythes flashed, blood flew, and Jax collapsed in a heap on the floor.

The last cultist was standing at the back of the room, beside one of the glass cylinders. He raised his face to the ceiling, calling out to his goddess. “Oh Pallid Princess! Usher these unbelievers into your kingdom of undeath!” Then he swung his scythe with all his might at the glass wall of the cylinder. It shattered under his blow, sending a wave of emerald liquid washing over the floor. The thing inside, freed from its imprisonment, drew itself up to its full 14-foot height, unfurling a pair of mottled gray wings that seemed to crawl with insects, and let out an unearthly bellow.

Wren recognized the thing as some sort of daemon, but had no time to worry about this new threat – she had to help Jax. Grizz was keeping one of the cultists off him while Erin rushed in to harry another. Wren darted in to Jax’s side, and cast Cure Serious Wounds, and the rogues eyes fluttered open. But at that moment, the thing from the cylinder unleashed another roar, and a thick cloud of huge black biting flies flew out of its mouth. Everyone - cultists and heroes alike – found themselves under attack from the insects, and within seconds their skin was slick with blood from hundreds of painful bits. The cultist who had hit Jax fell, his corpse hidden under a thick layer of flies.

Tomas fired a volley of arrows through the cloud of flies at the thing that had created them. One of his arrows seemed to draw blood, but the others simply bounced off. Shadow blasted it with a Lightning Bolt; the room reverberated with the power of the spell, but it barely seemed to damage the daemon at all. Nat hammered it with a volley of Magic Missiles. “We need to get out of here!” he screamed.

Everyone thought that Nat had the right idea. Jax, barely recovered, struggled to his feet and dashed for the door; the two cultists beside him swung at him with their scythes, but the biting flies hampered their aim. Erin and Wren both fled the room, but Grizz retreated to the south, getting out of the cloud of flies but still filled with bloodlust. The cultist who had freed the daemon spotted him, and charged, slashing him with his scythe. The cultists who were swarmed by flies also tried to escape. One retreated out of the cloud into the northern alcove, casting a healing spell on himself. The other tried to flee down the eastern corridor, but as he ran past the daemon, it darted down with its horse-skull and bit the cultist, ripping his head off his neck.

From somewhere beneath its wings, the daemon drew out a longbow, and fired off a pair of arrows at Tomas. The arrows were dripping with green pus, and Tomas could feel their Contagion threatening to infect him as they hit, but his body managed to resist their diseases – for now. He fired back at the creature, but again saw that his normally deadly arrows did only minimal damage. “Withdraw!” he shouted at Grizz, who was still in the room with the daemon.

Nat slammed the northern door closed, and leaned his weight against it; Erin joined him, doubtful that even their combined efforts could hold the door against the huge creature inside. From the southern door, Shadow fired off another Lightning Bolt. This one was even more powerful than the one before, but again the daemon seemed to barely notice it. “Come on!” he yelled to Grizz. The wererat snarled at the cultist who’d hit him, slit his throat with his rapier, then dashed through the open door. Tomas fired two more arrows, again to little effect, while Jax fired a set of Magic Missiles over his shoulder, then Shadow slammed the door shut. Inside, they could hear the lone surviving cultist praying to Urgathoa, begging for mercy. Then there was a scream, followed by silence.

Wren cast Channel Divinity, providing some healing to those who had been injured. “We need to get out of here,” Tomas said. “We still might be able to track down Rolth and … oh shit!” The daemon suddenly appeared in the room behind them, letting out another bellow of rage. The group flew into action. Nat blasted it with an Empowered Lesser Orb of Light, burning it with pure light, while Tomas fired another pair of arrows. Jax hit it with another set of Magic Missiles, and the thing finally collapsed.

“What the was that thing?” Jax asked as he prodded its corpse with his boot.

“It was a Leukodaemon,” Wren said, and Nat nodded. When Jax didn’t look any more enlightened, Nat clarified. “The Plane of Abbadon, the realm of daemons, is ruled by the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. These things,” he pointed at the dead daemon, “are deacons of one of them. This was a servant of Pestilence itself.” He looked back towards the room with the four cylinders. “I just want to know how these people managed to capture and imprison four of them.”

After Wren provided more healing, the party debated what to do next. “We’ve come this far - let’s keep going,” Jax said, pointing back to the east, but the others quickly overruled him. “We’re beat up as hell, and almost out of spells,” Tomas argued, “and Rolth is getting away!” Jax reluctantly agreed. They returned to the entry hall. Among Dr. Davaulus’s belongings they’d found a key-like item that looked like it might fit the elevator lever, and Jax quickly spotted a slot on the wall beside the elevator door that the key fit into. They were able to recall the elevator, and ride it back to the ground floor of the Hospice.

Tomas had no trouble finding Rolth’s footprints leading through the still-sticky drippings of blood and other fluids that led from the empty hospital cots to the elevator. With a shudder, they realized that the undead bodies writhing behind glass in the temple below were probably the remains of the Hospice’s former patients. Tomas followed the tracks to the front door, where they turned down the cobblestone street. “If we hurry, I may still be able to track him!” he said hopefully.

“But what about whoever’s still downstairs?” Erin asked. “Now that we’ve wiped out most of them, the others will probably make a run for it. We can’t let them get away!” Tomas looked wistfully down the street; he knew that tracking Rolth Lamm through the city streets would be difficult even now; if they allowed hours to pass, it would become impossible. But he also knew that Rolth wasn’t the mastermind behind Korvosa’s plague. That would be Lady Andaisin. Or could the conspiracy perhaps reach even higher?

The PCs earned 3,066 XP, putting you at 26,743. You’ll start next week with your Level 7 characters.