Café de Nuit

"Interesting," says Lucien. "Is there a possibility that any of the people we've discussed tonight is one of the folks you may have 'helped,' even if you didn't realize it at the time?"

He looks in the direction in which Vincent departed. "A odd man, but then I suppose I'm not in a position to call someone else 'odd.' We've still got these candles to deal with, and Marri's quick disappearance after lighting them makes me nervous.

"Zumba, obviously the people respond better to a local resident than to someone like me. I don't wish to impose, but could you help me persuade the bartender to restore the original candles? I shall be telling a number of lies. Goren, you're welcome to join, too, since dinner seems to have reached its delicious conclusion -- and not a moment too soon as far as my stomach is concerned."

With that, Lucien stands up and walks over to the bartender. "Monsieur, first of all, my compliments to the staff. A magnificent meal. I shall be sure to recommend this place to all my friends." He leans forward and continues in a lower, more conspiratorial voice, "But I'm afraid I've learned troubling news. My new friend here--" he points to Zumba, "--says that the candles on the table were newly bought by the candle girl. These candles, they came from Port d'Elhour, I believe." He looks around, as though concerned that some innocent person will hear the news he's about to impart. "Well, I regret to inform you that a vile prankster in Port d'Elhour was recently charged with soaking candlewicks in some noxious substance, possibly from an animal gland.

"The candles burn normally for a while, perhaps for hours, but then... OH, the stench, Monsieur! From what I heard during my time there, all but one or two of the contaminated candle crates were found. The others ... disappeared. Now, I am certainly not casting doubt on Marri's honesty -- it's more likely that she innocently purchased a crate of normal-looking candles for a shockingly good price. But still... would you be able to replace these newer candles with any older ones that you currently have? If you'd like, I'll happily examine several of the new candles just to be sure.

"If I am wrong, no harm has been done, and I shall apologize to you and Marri for causing any disturbance. But if I am right... well, you may earn credit for saving the inn from a major embarrassment."

Zumba nods affirmatively to the bar-keeper.

"Yes, that did happen, true... there were some remarkable problems with candles in Port d'Elhour few days ago..."

Dining room:

The bartender gives you an incredulous look. "But..." he protests. "But Marri, she say she buys the candles from our market, here! I don't... I don't know the market imports candles from Port d'Elhour?" The bartender looks horribly confused. "Maybe," he says, "maybe I better talk to the owner about this, monsieur."

Guest rooms:

Vincent encounters few people on his way to the guest rooms. No one seems to pay him any extra attention. The guests of the Beached Alligator Inn are, at the very least, comfortably well off and none of them is very concerned with anything except having a good time while at this establishment.

"That is a wise suggestion," says Lucien, nodding encouragingly to the bartender. "As I said, there is little harm in taking precautions."

Once the bartender leaves to find the innkeeper, Lucien looks at Zumba and mutters, "Contaminated or not, these candles are starting to give me a headache. I'll feel foolish if this is for naught."

Vincent enters his room and take the necessary things for the evening. He looks at himself in the mirror adjusting his clothes and hair. A small sigh escapes his lips. Flashes of the afternoon make him pause for a moment.
After a moment he turns around and heads out again.

Souragnien "I agree with you both. I think we should retiring for the evening and be starting afreshly
in the morning, after the Morninglord graces us with his sunlight, my friends. I will bid you a good night.

Goren rises and nods to both Lucien and Zumba, heading for his room.

Zumba nods to Lucien.
"I can understand what you feel, but personally I don't think the candles will be tainted... let's hope this bluff doesn't come out badly.

Wish the innkeeper will believe us."

Lucien grunts in response. Then he says, "Regardless, let's get these candles examined. I don't have much knowledge of alchemy... but that doctor that the barkeep told you about...! Yes, he probably would."

He leans over the bar and calls out, "Bartender! Wait, please, I may have a solution...!"

Assuming the bartender returns, Lucien says, "There may be a way to answer this without disturbing or alarming anyone unnecessarily. Zumba says that there is a 'Doctor' in town, yes? Where precisely can we find him? He may have the equipment I need to examine these candles. I will, of course, not mention where the candles came from... and I appreciate your own discretion." Lucien slides a gold coin to the innkeeper. Considering that this was a free dinner, you're turning this into an expensive evening, Lucien. Oh, be quiet, I'm following a promising lead. Yes, that attractive singer is promising, too. Lucien turns his head toward where the bard, Azeetha, had been playing the harp.

Vincent:

You leave the Inn without running into your companions again. The doorman tips a rather short top hat to you as you pass. The man could have been perfectly at home in the Core in his spotless green uniform with the gold braidwork, apart from his tone of skin... and the chicken feathers he has, for one reason or another, inserted in the crown of his hat. Chicken feathers whose tips seem to have been stained with blood in the recent past, if you're any judge.

The streets of Marais de Tarascon, which were far from bustling during the day because of the abominable heat, have been depopulated even further with the onset of night. Darkness is taking a firm grip on Souragne. There are a few isolated street lanterns, so you are in no danger of getting lost. But the few people you encounter in the street seem nervous and take exaggerated care to walk in the middle of the road, well away from the various alleys that branch off from the main street.

The meal and the medical care you received at the Beached Alligator have clearly done you a lot of good; the walk back to Ezra's Temple and, beyond it, the edge of the swamp, seem to take much less time than your weary trudge to the Inn after your battle earlier today.

As you come closer to the swamp, you leave the feeble lights of Marais de Tarascon behind. Only the stars illuminate your path to the rendez-vous point. The stars, and the foul luminescence of rot coming from the swamp. There are little wavering sparks of that eerie glow all over the water. Outlined against that noisome spectacle is the frail silhouette of the little girl that was trampled by the Stitched Man's zombies earlier today. She turns as you approach, and you see starlight reflect off her teeth when she recognizes you and smiles.

Souragnien: "I knew you'd come, monsieur. I just knew it! Come over here, quickly, where it's safe!"

Lucien & Zumba:

Lucien does not see the pretty Bard where she was before. The person now providing music is an older woman in the Inn's livery, playing a xylophone with quiet skill.

The barman looks extremely relieved at the suggestion.
"Monsieur, please," he says. "If I go - I go now, douse candles - put up old ones. But monsieur, I have not many of the old candles. Stubs, mostly, monsieur! I wanted to give them to ma Grand-Mêre, my great mozzer? Monsieur, they will not burn long enough for the rest of the evening! Please - I send any other servant, and the owner will hear, she will be furious either way, you see?"

With a pleading look to Zumba, the barman says something in low-voiced Souragnie:n "If you're wrong, she'll be angry because I took away the customers' candles and put in stubs; if the candles do stink up the place, she'll be angry because the guests' stay was ruined! Brother, times are not so pleasant that any of us can afford to lose our jobs! I can't send anyone who works at the Inn, the owner would always find out. Can't - won't you and your friend with the pointy ears go to the Mad Lamordian? Please! You tell me what he charges, I'll cover it."

The barman holds out a handful of the candles to both of you, his face contorted by worry and naked hope.
"The Doctor, I tell you where he lives, yes?" he suggests. "Not far! Not far at all. Open all hours, him."

Goren:

After a day like today, it is undoubtedly a blessing to be able to lie down in a real bed with a feather mattress. Your eyes close almost before your head hits the full, bouncy pillow, and you drift off into dreams.

Dreams... and nightmares.

You dream that you are lying down, just as you had lain down in your bed. But there is no roof over your head - no roof other than the branches and leaves of giant cypress trees. The air, which had smelled of bees' wax and good furniture a moment ago, now reeks of the bog and of blood, both fresh and old. The taste of vomit and something bitter and herbal is in your mouth. Your eyes are gritty, your limbs are rheumy. Pain is pounding in your back, and you feel the seething detachment of a fever clouding your thoughts.

Your mouth opens, and you hear a voice not your own beg: "Mistress, succor me in my need."

You are elsewhere.

This place is cold and you stand upright in it. You are swaddled in darkness - no, worse; you are wrapped in thick, scratchy fabric. It covers every inch of you, restrains you as completely as iron shackles in the worst dungeon you ever heard of. You can only stand still, tied down and ringed around by this hateful substance, which scratches, scratches, scratches at your skin...!

It seems to you that voices are crying out to you from a great distance, the voices of people who need you to save them from something unimaginably foul, but - you - can - not - move!

You are elsewhere.

You stand in the swamp somewhere. It is night, but not so dark that you can not see. The stars illuminate a beautiful island in a lake of black water. A fragrant breeze dances in the branches of well-tended trees, whose leaves caress your face like a mother's hands.

But then the breeze carries a different scent, one that is vile beyond your imagination. Now you see them, standing on other islands in the black lake, sitting in canoes all around the pretty little island. Abominations, hideous hybrids of man and beast, each of them armed with a scythe-like sword and a bow. One of them spots you and rises to his feet, sending his boat rocking while he screeches with an eagle's beak and sets an arrow to bow.

The branches suddenly push at you, knock you off your feet and into the water. A feminine voice whispers: "Go! You must flee this place, the dreams are not safe now!"

You are elsewhere.

Home.

Here is the temple of Lathander Morninglord where you were ordained, where you received your instruction and your mission, where you swore your holy vows. This is home, and it does not matter that the pews are filled to bursting with Souragniens. No strange thing could matter, for standing before the altar is Lathander Morninglord himself!

You recognize the god from his statuary and all the other artwork depicting him. You recognize him - and are jolted by his face. It is the beautiful, luminous face of Lathander, but it is masked with blood. Its expression is wiser, sadder than the one you are familiar with.

And yet, this must be Lathander, standing before you with a baby in his arms - a common motif.

"Goren," Lathander starts to say. "You must..."

You are elsewhere.

But... no, surely? This is still your home temple. Nothing has changed. Has it? The light of the sun still blasts through windows of stained glass that depict Lathander's goodly acts, it still paints the faces of a vast congregation of Souragniens. Paints them a uniform red. Lathander himself still stands before you, a baby swaddled in his arms.

The god bends his head forward - and takes a big bite out of the screaming infant. Blood spatters his face. Blood spatters Goren's face. Blood spatters the community.

Lathander looks up at you, chewing. The little motions of his jaw cause his golden face to develop tiny cracks, which spread and unite, until the face of Goren's god bursts into shards and dust. Underneath is a rough mask of sackcloth, with two dissimilar buttons for eyes and a mouth of thick, black thread.

"There is no safety for you no escape no rest no succor no escape from L'Homme Broché no resistance possible you are mine in all ways for all times mine all of you no one shall save you no one defeat me bow down to the infinite power and mystery of L'Homme Broché Loah of Judgment I bring judgment to the land you must bow down"

The heavy beat of Souragnien Voodan-drums fills the temple you always thought of as home in the deep recesses of your mind. The 'congregation' is dancing, singing. The songs do not sound joyous, the beat of the drums is threatening to break your heart. The air is stiflingly hot, thick and oppressive, spiced with rum, dung and fresh blood. Before you, L'Homme Broché bows his head to take another bite out of the wailing baby.

Zumba breathes of relief as the bluff sort of pays out. He volunteers to take the box to the Lamordian doctor, and asks for directions. Turning to Lucien, he explains:

"The barkeeper wants us to take the candles to the Lamordian doctor. I think it's actually the best thing for us to do, so if you'd like to accompany me, we can get there in no time. Hoping there are not strange things on the road at night."

Goren is slightly confused, unsure at first of what to do. Then he realizes L'Homme Broché is most probably trying to control him, take away his faith in Lathander the Morninglord. "Your trickery won't work on me, denizen of evil. Is that your best? I pity you. Good always triumphs over evil, didn't you know that? I'll always worship Lathander. Nothing you say, do or try will lead me away from the Morninglord."

Goren casts Soundburst at L'Homme Broché

Vincent greets the doorman in return with a slight bow and smile. "Good evening" he says noticing the feathers and continues his walk.
Walking down the street he greets those few he meets on his way noticing their behavior. He looks to the sides to the alleys and then continues on.
As he continues towards the swamp he tries to visualize what he might expect. It's night and the adults are scared, yet she proposed to meet at the edge of the swamp. She said not to trust the priests. I wonder what she knows. Why didn't she pick Goren for this? he wonders "She" he repeats to himself. He feels a little uncomfortable as he tries to think about meeting this small and not fully grown human who proposed to meet at night. She is simply a small woman he thinks, trying to reassure himself so act like it. He does not know whether to trust the situation.
He approaches he spot, whereabouts he should meet her, with confidence, but taking a good look around. He does not want to get surprised by the parents or other unwelcome guests. A warm smile appears on his face as he approaches the little girl.

Rock wrote:"I knew you'd come, monsieur. I just knew it! Come over here, quickly, where it's safe!"

"And a good evening to you too young lady" he says sarcastically as she hastily takes him somewhere else before a proper greeting. Vincent follows her, looking at the girl and where they are going.

OOC: Since he doesn't know anything about this girl from the swamp he tries to find out whether she is genuine or that he will be in for a surprise. He is careful. Could you give a more accurate description of the girl?
Sense Motive 13
Spot 19
Listen 13

Ail wrote:"The barkeeper wants us to take the candles to the Lamordian doctor. I think it's actually the best thing for us to do, so if you'd like to accompany me, we can get there in no time. Hoping there are not strange things on the road at night."

"Excellent," says Lucien. "Yes, let's get this over with. I could do with some undisturbed sleep." He seems ready to go, but then he says, "We should tell the others. I'll write a note... oh, damn, Goren probably doesn't know the written language, either. Come, this shouldn't take more than a few moments."

Once he and Zumba are in possession of a few of the new candles, he leads Zumba back up to the stairs. He walks to the room assigned to Goren and knocks a few times. "Goren, it's Lucien and Zumba. Open the door, please. We have information."

_________________________________________
Ail, I'm making the leap that Zumba goes along with the idea of telling the others where we're going (although neither of our characters is aware of Vincent's current location).

Lucien & Zumba:

You hear Goren's voice reply from inside: "Can't it wait until tomorrow? I'm exhausted - I'm in bed already. Please don't make me get up now."

Vincent:

The little girl does not move from her spot at the edge of the swamp, she just beckons Vincent closer. She is slight, thin to the point of starvation. The clothes she wears are ragged and much-patched, and she does not wear shoes. Her features are delicate, with more than a hint of Fey heritage besides her pointed ears, but bear the stamp of Souragne very clearly. Her smile widens as you approach, and she clasps your hands.

Souragnien: "You come without the priest," she says. "That is very good! You must not trust any priests in Souragne, Monsieur. Here, come to the water. The swamp, she wants to show you the truth. There is magic in the lights tonight."

(OOC: She seems perfectly trustworthy to you.
You hear a soft splashing noise from the swamp and you see a brief ripple in the water. Whatever it may be, it isn't very big.)

Goren:

The cone of sound flies away from Goren and impacts with the abomination in front of him. The last shreds of illusion are shattered - as is the baby. Bloody red tatters fall to the ground alongside the golden dust that was the appearance of Lathander, and L'Homme Broché stands revealed.

The dark Loah rises to his full, towering height and raises fists like mallets.

"Good is irrelevant evil irrelevant all irrelevant apart from judgment I bring the judgment you will fall under the hammer of judgment I am the judgment bow down or be broken I will break you if you do not bow Lathander is irrelevant -"

The thing's voice drones on, causing your very aerdrums to vibrate. Its sackcloth-shrouded fist comes hurtling down and strikes Goren a hard blow. If anything, the creature seems to have grown stronger since your last encounter; Goren finds himself picked up off of his feet and briefly flies through the air. He slams into what should be a wall of stone, but shatters like glass.

Goren is in a dark room, a subterranean room. The air feels dead and is choked with dust.
While he is still trying to catch his breath from the horrific attack, his eyes manage to adapt a little to the sudden gloom.

Is it a grave? It feels like a grave. The walls are bare and stark, there is no carpet on the floor, the roof is low and Goren can feel the weight of the earth squeezing down around this place like a giant fist. In one of the walls is an impossible hole that leads back to the desecrated place that once looked like Home. At the far end of the room

"Free me."

is a large shape, shrouded in some thick material and bound around with ropes and chains.
There is something familiar about that shape, but before Goren can think much on what it is

"Free me."

he can hear the dull thud of the feet of L'Homme Broché. Looking back into the shrine, he sees the horror approach, its clublike hands reaching out ahead of it.

"No escape no escape resistance futile no salvation no relief not in dreams not in death no escape you can not escape"

"Free me." This is a different voice. It is feminine, as weary as anyone could be while still alive, but somehow also strong. And terrifying.

"You must bow down to L'Homme Broché no other course open to you no other"

"Free me!"

"No escape no escape you can not escape there is no place for you to go no escape anywhere"

"Free me! Release me! Set me free!"

The whole room trembles as those two voices mingle and clash. It trembles even more when L'Homme Broché steps through the wall and into the chamber. He will soon be in range again to strike Goren another blow...

(OOC: Goren takes 23(!) damage.)

Goren staggers from the damage deal to him by L'Homme Borché. The red haired priest gathers his resolve, though he has been hurt by the fiend. "I'll never bow down to you, you fiend. I am a Lathanderite faithful, and love my vows. Take this, foul spawn!" Grasping his holy symbol, Goren chants to the Morninglord, moving his fingers in intricate patterns. When done, his spell takes effect on L'Homme Broché

Goren casts Mark of Doom. DC is 16 and it is on Page 119 of the PHB but there is no save!!