Velcro Zipper presents AEG's - The World's Largest Dungeon!


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Liberty's Edge

Pathfinder Battles Case Subscriber

I'm pretty sure Lupin (the gnome) is an Arcane bloodline sorcerer. Morg is just a core ranger with no archetypes. I try to include archetypes, bloodlines, etc. when I make the current party lists.

The real reason The Rock and Legdes didn't stay with the party is because both their players stopped coming to the game. Legdes' player was moving away but decided to bring in a new character for one session instead of just bringing back Ron (the half-orc ranger,) and The Rock's player (formerly Unami and Unam) just dropped out of the campaign. I made up the stuff about why their characters left because the players left us between sessions while the party was still exploring The Shallows.


"ponderous protozoans"

Nice turn of phrase.

Also, I've enjoyed reading your players' adventures.

Thanks for the tale.

Liberty's Edge

Pathfinder Battles Case Subscriber

Greetings, dear readers! Once again it is I, Velcro Zipper, your humble herald of heroism and harrowing happenings within the Horld's Largest Hungeon...er, uh, I may have gotten a little carried away there. Anyway, if you're an advocate of alliteration, I think you'll enjoy this special entry post as I am particularly proud of one provocative passage. Why is it special? Because I'm posting two entries at once! So enough elucidation! On to the exhilarating exploits!

DAYS 375-376 ELVEN ENVOYS FROM THE DEEP

featuring the World’s Largest Adventuring Party:
Quaanth – Human Arcane-blooded Sorcerer
Grundimir Thunderbrew – Dwarf Cleric of Torag
Morg – Goblin Ranger
Lupin Periwinkle – Gnome Arcane-blooded Sorcerer

Morg felt a cold shiver run up his spine as the adventurers passed the tunnel leading south to the shrine of the night hags. The adventurers left the tritons after resting for the night and decided to explore the corridors south of the lake rather than risk exposure to Thorodin along the beach. They weren’t far from the tritons’ refuge when the goblin ranger spotted the passage and cursed, shaking a fist in the direction of the profane temple. A demon-ridden madness had clouded many of his memories of what had transpired during his battle with the crones, but he knew enough to warn his companions about the passage and where it led.

Choosing to avoid the powerful witches, the party continued east until they came to a small room containing an open cabinet filled with weapons typical of a guard post. None of the swords or spears radiated magic, but Quaanth suggested the weapons might be of use to Wroe’s people and asked Morg to load them onto his floating bed. Before the goblin could approach the cabinet, however, Grundimir caught Morg by the shoulder and pulled him back into the hall. Spying several fractures in the stone floor, the dwarf warned his companions he suspected a sinkhole had formed below the chamber after centuries of degradation.

Quickly devising a new strategy, Quaanth cast a spell of flight upon himself and pushed Morg’s bed into the room as the goblin stood on top of it. The ranger gingerly attempted to lift the weapon cabinet onto the bed and things seemed to be going well until its shifting weight caused the floor to shatter out from below the floating mattress. With no ground within three feet of its frame to support the levitation effect upon the bed, both the cabinet and the bed tumbled down into the sinkhole below as Morg made a desperate leap for the nearby hall. The goblin was saved from plummeting 100 feet into the pit, but his air mattress had been swallowed by the darkness below. When Quaanth’s attempt to retrieve the bed resulted in a fit of choking as the sorcerer encountered a pocket of invisible, poisonous gas 20 feet into the hole, the decision was made to abandon it.

Finding their way across the wide hole in the floor of the chamber and into a north corridor, the adventurers proceeded until they reached a tunnel leading west out onto the beach and a locked door barring their way further north. An invisibility spell cast upon the door revealed it too led out onto the beach so the party exited through the west tunnel to discover they were not alone. Skewered like a turkey on a spit was a broken-winged humanoid blackened and charred beyond recognition, its twisted limbs dangling uselessly as it hung at an odd angle upon a thin tree trunk thrust through its chest and into the sand where a pool of boiled blood congealed beneath its mangled feet. Through the wounds upon its neck, Morg spotted a black emerald amulet on a chain which had been fused with the creature’s skin and he tried to lift the necklace free with one of his javelins.

As the creature’s neck ripped free of the chain, its chest heaved and a gout of black blood erupted from its throat. “The green…skin,” the creature choked as bubbles of blood formed over its charred lips. “He is..cruel…terrible…came through the fog…couldn’t get away… kill him…strike him down and…you…will be gods…among…”

A violent spasm and spatter of blood signaled the creature’s death before it could complete its final words, but the adventurers understood its message. Of all the beasts they had encountered in The Shallows, only the dragon Thorodin seemed capable of such evil and it became clear they should find a passage away from the beach as quickly as possible. Hoping they might reincarnate the creature at some point in the future, the adventurers took a sample of its flesh and quickly found a tunnel entrance not very far up the beach.

As the group entered the passage, the walls of the tunnel suddenly shook with tremendous force. A brief but violent tremor struck the area and caused a cave-in at the tunnel entrance burying Quaanth and Grundimir as their companions dodged the falling stone. The sorcerer had little trouble assuming a gaseous form and escaping the pile of loose rubble but, as the cleric was dug out of the rock, a door at the end of the hall creaked open revealing a green skinned giant with ropy, dark hair like tangled kelp.

The merrow in the doorway grunted a warning to his companions, another pair of the ogres who appeared to be in the midst of torturing a quartet of elves chained to the north wall of the room ahead. While strong, the giants were quite stupid and tried to squeeze through doorway all at once to reach the adventurers. One by one, the monsters were cut down by arrow, spell and hammer and soon the elves were free from their tormentors, though not entirely unharmed.

Two of the elves were unconscious and dying and one was missing a leg by the time the adventurers reached them, but Grundimir was quick enough to heal their wounds before they bled to death. The four elves were unlike any the adventurers had seen back in The Barrows or Four Waters. Aside from their blue-grey skin and dark, silvery hair, their hands and feet were webbed and a set of small gills was visible just below their ears. The leader of the elves, a warrior named Istio thanked the adventurers and claimed he and his companions were on a mission to reach the tritons when they were ambushed by the merrow.

“Our legends tell us the children of Persana are great protectors of the sea,” said Istio. “We hope to enlist their aid against a terrible madness afflicting our people.”

As the adventurers set up camp in the chamber, they explained the tritons’ current problems with Thorodin and the merrow but offered to escort the aquatic elves once they had rested. The elves contended their need to continue was great and even suggested that Istio proceed alone with the adventurers, but the party insisted on camping, citing the collapsed tunnel behind them and the need to rest before exploring a new route back to the tritons. This answer disappointed the elves, but the thought of encountering Thorodin was deterrence enough for them to stay with the party.

The following day, the adventurers led their elven charges into a tunnel in the east wall of the chamber. Istio believed it to be the same tunnel the merrow had carried him and his warriors through but recalled very little of the journey claiming the elves were barely conscious after their scrap with the ogres. During one of his moments of lucidity, he recalled seeing a block of what appeared to be cell doors and, sure enough, it wasn’t long before the party discovered the jail from the elf’s memory.

A series of five heavy, runed granite doors lined both walls of the corridor and a sixth wooden door lay in splinters on the floor at the end of the passage. The glyphs upon each door provided the names of the creatures once held within each cell, but all appeared to be empty now with the exception of one room which was still barred from the outside. Leery of entering any of the cells, Quaanth and Lupin suggested the party keep moving until they reached the end of the hall. There in the chamber beyond the shards of the shattered door lay an assortment of knives, each crafted from a different material. Across from this room the party could see into a cell where several lengths of chain lay scattered across the floor.

A quick arcane scan of the daggers revealed each was enchanted and, intrigued, Quaanth cautiously collected the knives with a minor telekinetic cantrip. In all, the daggers counted ten and were impressively composed of gold, silver, brass, cold iron, adamantine, diamond, coral, granite, wood and opal. One wall of the chamber was gouged with holes as if the daggers had once been thrust into the stone, but Quaanth didn’t want to risk setting off some ancient celestial trap by returning the weapons. Meanwhile, Grundimir chanced to examine the pile of chains in the opposite chamber.

Through a broken stone door, which hung from one hinge, Grundimir stepped into the cell to gather the lengths of broken chain. The links were made from cold iron and, though broken, appeared to have been leashes rather than restraints. Oddly, the dwarf was filled with a strange sense of charity as he collected the chains and he offered each of his companions and the elves an equal share of the iron, which he felt was quite valuable. The cleric’s companions eyed him suspiciously and the elves graciously rejected the gift claiming the weight of the chains would hinder their ability to swim, but Grundimir took this in stride saying he would happily carry everyone’s share of the treasure until they wished to claim their loot. Aside from the dwarf’s uncharacteristic philanthropy, he seemed fine and the adventurers continued their journey determined to return when time wasn’t so short.

As the adventurers left the cell block through a battered wooden door at the end of the hall, they were met by a gentle breeze, the scent of dames-wort, the sound of chirping crickets and, most amazing of all, a green meadow dimly lit by a sea of starlight and the warm glow of the moon. Somehow and completely by surprise, it seemed the adventurers had finally escaped the dungeon.

Overcome by equal parts confusion and joy, Lupin and his bat, Billy, flew toward the night sky to breathe in the cool air. However, the gnome’s hopes were quickly crushed as he and his familiar crashed headfirst into an elaborately glamered wall. Unbeknownst to the party, the idyllic, illusory landscape before them had been created by the ancient celestial wardens of the prison as a respite from the dour and dim ambience of the cold dungeon stone.

Lupin cursed the celestials’ unintended cruelty while his companions searched for a way past the illusion. The elves accompanying the party could offer little advice but assumed the merrow had carried them through the room, citing foggy memories of fragrant air. Fortunately, eagle-eyed Morg soon discovered a stone peg disguised as one of the glowing stars. Twisting the peg and pushing it into the wall revealed a door hidden within the night sky that led into a dark, musty tunnel and, still disappointed and a little irate, the adventurers pushed on into the dungeon.

Before long, the party exited the old tunnel system onto the shores of the eastern lake where Istio claimed he and his warriors had been ambushed by the merrow while seeking a way to the triton colony. More comfortable in the water, the aquatic elf suggested the party use a channel to the north between the east and west lakes as a means of returning to the tritons but the adventurers were, as always, hesitant to enter the lake. Convinced following the edge of the dungeon walls back to the west would be the faster path, Quaanth and his allies led the elves north along the beach until they came to a dark, ruined passage heading west and cluttered with the limbs and torsos of a hundred broken statues. It appeared the figures had been destroyed when the dungeon walls buckled and fell around them during the earthquake.

As the adventurers carefully moved through the tunnel, there was a sudden writhing among the dismembered extremities lining the tunnel. The myriad stone appendages began to grasp and pummel at the trespassing party who struggled to get free of the swarm before they were dragged into the walls and smothered. As Lupin and his companions fought through the grappling limbs, Istio and two of his warriors stopped to free one of their comrades. The aquatic elves were far less experienced in combat and made easier targets for the constricting constituents, especially considering one of them was missing a leg.

With some help from the adventurers, Istio and his warriors escaped the passage of grappling limbs into the edge of a vast, fog-shrouded swamp. Their one-legged comrade’s movement through the swamp was made easier with a spell of flight cast by Lupin, but the sucking mud and knee-high water made traveling difficult for anyone incapable of casting similar spells. The party followed the edge of the dungeon wall through a light mist and eventually reached a peculiar clearing of soft, but firm, dirt and moss. The wall of the dungeon gave way here to a rocky gulch where a lichen-draped wall served as a gallery for a collection of magnificent paintings framed with hibiscus, spider lilies, cardinal and other swamp flowers. In the center of the clearing stood an immense golden cage surrounded by a wide ring of floating spherical lights and containing an assortment of paints and brushes, a makeshift easel and a beautiful winged woman with a serpentine body who glared at the adventurers as they approached her prison.

“Unless this is a trick, you’re no lackeys to Thorodin,” the creature spoke in a melodic voice. “And if that’s the case, you’d best not linger. The Pillager affords none to live who wander so close to his prized nightingale.”

The adventurers soon learned the creature was a lillend named Sissifiss. Sissifiss claimed to be an azata of beauty and music sent long ago by the antediluvian sea god Eadro to assist the merfolk against Thorodin. For many years, the lillend protected her master’s people from the worst of the dragon’s depredations, but things changed when the crafty, old monster came to the dungeon and discovered the gilded cage, an ancient celestial prison used for holding powerful spellcasters and magical creatures. When Thorodin launched an attack to exterminate the entire merfolk tribe, Sissifiss agreed to become his prisoner in exchange for their survival. The dragon trapped the lillend within the cage and activated its wards, which produced a powerful aura of anti-magic around the enclosure, but he kept his word and only enslaved Eadro’s people.

“I have been Thorodin’s songbird ever since,” Sissifiss lamented. “As long as I entertain him and produce for him these works of art, he spares the merfolk from death though I know his demands on them are severe.”

“Is there any way to free you?” asked Grundimir. “We seek to slay the dragon and free all the creatures of this place from his rule.”

“Only the destruction of its altar of making can break the enchantment of the gilded cage,” spoke the lillend pointing to a heap of moss-covered stone near the cage. The adventurers saw nothing but slick, tarnished rock until Grundimir scrubbed away centuries of mud to reveal the corner of an anvil-shaped table below the muck.

“Torag’s beard!” the dwarf proclaimed stepping away from the table with a bow. “This is a forge altar of the Father of Creation! I’d sooner die than see it destroyed! There must be another way!”

“If another means of opening this cage exists, only Thorodin knows and the dragon values my presence more than he loves the touch of gold under his scales,” replied Sissifiss. “If you will not free me, do me this favor. Seek out the merfolk priest Vash in the northern waters of the western lake. Tell him I live and that hope remains. Now go. Thorodin may return at any moment.”

Seeing no other way to help the lillend, the adventurers quickly fled the gulch and proceeded west at a quickened pace. It was then that the first tragedy struck their group. Just outside the mossy clearing a deep pit opened up beneath the feet of the party. Grundimir and two aquatic elves traveling by foot were instantly swallowed up by the pit and fell 100 feet into a spike-filled shaft, which was quickly filling with water from the swamp above. The bruised and scraped cleric acted quickly to breathe life back into the nearest of the impaled elves, but there was nothing he could do to save the warrior’s friend. Lupin, Quaanth and the one-legged flying elf helped to pull the pair from the hole, but it wasn’t long after that the group encountered another deadly trap.

One of Wroe’s earliest experiments with tanaa’ryl involved a repurposed celestial trap concealing a jet of molten metal intended to spray Thorodin should he fly past a crystal sensor imbedded high in a wall near the triton colony. The triton smith never imagined an ally would set off the trap, but he could not foresee the paranoia, which led Lupin to fly 30 feet above the dungeon floor as the party neared their destination. As the gnome flew ahead of his companions, there was a loud rumble from the reservoirs holding the burning metal. Lupin narrowly dodged the brunt of two, fiery gouts of liquid tanaa’ryl, which suddenly burst from the wall, but the true danger was yet to be revealed.

From behind the adventurers came a frightening roar. Thorodin had come to check on Sissifiss when the sound of the tanaa’ryl jet alerted him to the presence of someone near his treasured captive. The dragon rushed through the swamp with supernatural speed and quickly caught up to the adventurers as they fled. “Make for the tunnels!” Quaanth shouted to the elves as one of the old dungeon entrances came into view. Terrified of the gargantuan beast, one of the elves dove for the nearby lake only to be snatched up in Thorodin’s teeth and flung lifeless against the dungeon wall.

“Go, Ilean! Save our people!” Istio shouted ahead at the crippled flying elf who escaped into the tunnel behind Quaanth. As she looked back, Istio leveled his spear at the charging dragon and was instantly overcome and crushed as the weapon broke against the monster’s scales. Once again, Thorodin had proven himself master of The Shallows and the dragon laughed with sadistic glee and breathed a cloud of acidic gas into the tunnels as the adventurers fled. Happy to be alive, Grundimir and his allies returned to Wroe with the sole surviving elf from Istio’s group, the crippled warrior Ilean.

***

Wroe’s reaction to Ilean’s request for help was lukewarm at best. While the triton did acknowledge that his people had a tradition of protecting the good-hearted denizens of the sea, he also pointed out that his colony was already dealing with one crisis and reminded the elf that her people had never come forward to return the favor. For now, Wroe would only offer that, perhaps, sometime after Thorodin was defeated and the threat of the merrow was diminished his people might range into the eastern waters to assist her people.

As for the adventurers, it dawned on them that the only way they were ever going to help the tritons or the elves would be to face Thorodin head on. So far, waiting for the dragon to come to them had only resulted in tragedy and loss so they finally decided to fight the dragon on his own turf. They would camp for the night among the tritons and then return to the swamp prepared for battle but, first, it was decided to send Morg back The Barrows for supplies.

The sneaky goblin ranger didn’t make it very far before a troubling new obstacle appeared. The stone fortress created by Quaanth and Grundimir’s magic was now besieged by merrow and locathah who busily plugged up its windows and entrance with boulders and stones from the lakebed. Morg considered he might manage to slip past the monsters until a rippling surge of water unveiled the tyrant Thorodin lurking within the lake near the bastion. The dragon croaked orders to his followers as he examined a glowing shard of tanaa’ryl with a greedy glint in his eye. Unwilling to risk being captured by Thorodin, the goblin quickly returned to his companions.

Back in the triton’s sanctuary, the party weighed their options and spoke to Wroe about the battle ahead. The blacksmith knew Thorodin would likely exterminate his people as an example of what happens to those who attempt rebellion and offered his warriors’ aid against the dragon’s minions but insisted the party tackle the draconic despot himself.

“What about the merfolk?” Ilean suggested. “Sissifiss said they have a priest. Perhaps he would help.”

Wroe gave the elf a withering stare and reminded the party of the possibility of spies within the merfolks’ ranks. “I won’t risk the success of this battle or the fate of my people on the word of Thorodin’s court minstrel,” the triton growled. “The lillend has not been among the merfolk for some time. She would not know how far they have fallen.”

To Ilean’s chagrin, the adventurers agreed with Wroe. Seeking out the merfolk priest, Vash, would use up time they didn’t want to lose and probably require them to dive below the surface of the lake, something they clearly had no interest in doing despite all the great places to explore and treasure probably just laying around down there. Ignoring the elf’s suggestion, the adventurers settled in for the night and prepared for their upcoming dragon hunt.

***

Despite knowing right where Thorodin had been the previous day, the adventurers headed straight back to the swamp the following day, reasoning they would have an easier time dealing with the dragon if he wasn’t accompanied by a small platoon of goons. Had they known of the dangers inherent in the marsh, they may have changed their minds.

The freezing fog enshrouding the swamp proved to be the first obstacle to locating the dragon’s lair. Aside from the obvious problem of not being to see through the fog, visions of despair and madness filled the minds of the adventurers as they entered the mist, driving some among the party to fling themselves into the nearby lake. Only the grasping fingers of death brought on by the sudden lack of oxygen saved their lives as they came to their senses and struggled to shore. The party trudged for hours, lost in the swamp as they avoided the natural dangers of the bog and the snares and pits built by Thorodin’s locathah minions. Then, out of the damp veil, they heard an authoritative voice brimming with wisdom.

Half buried in the slime at the adventurers’ feet, the party discovered a gilded bust of a scholarly old man with owl-like features. The statue spoke and, as it expounded upon the difference between simply being and truly existing, Lupin, Grundimir and Morg couldn’t help but stand in idle fascination of its rhetoric. Only Quaanth had the willpower to resist the wonder brought on by the words of the edifying effigy and, as he tried to shake his comrades free of their stupor, a trio of large, hulking figures shambled out of the mist. A scouting party of murderous merrow had also been ensnared by the sound of the golden-voiced sculpture and, ignoring their hated foes, the giants gathered close round to better hear its ramblings.

Needless to say, the ogres were cut down rather easily once Quaanth managed to alert his companions. The bewildered brutes were alerted to danger as one of their number collapsed into the mud, Morg’s arrows piercing his brain. By then, however, it was already too late and the party soon left the petrified pontificator to preach its perplexing parables to a parish of perished polyphemes.

An hour later, the group was surprised to come upon what appeared to be an enormous crater surrounded by a verdant, green pasture and filled with lush vegetation. The area seemed untouched by the encircling swamp thanks to a ring of toppled trees packed with earth which formed an impressive fortification, and the bottom of the pit looked as if it might serve as a bed to some gargantuan beast. The lack of stagnant water and uncomfortable mud coupled with the uncharacteristic plant growth and earthworks convinced the adventurers they had finally found Thorodin’s lair.

Grundimir led Morg and Quaanth down into the crater for a closer look as Lupin kept watch, hovering above the hole in flight. As the adventurers pushed further into the pit, however, they began to notice a strange, wet, suffocating sensation. It was only then they realized they had walked straight into a small pond concealed by an illusion. Locathah and merrow warriors suddenly sprang up from the mud and submerged swamp lilies and out from behind the ring of toppled trees surrounding the crater. Morg and Grundimir stabbed and struck at their amphibious ambushers as Quaanth escaped to the shore and a pair of merrow javelins pierced Lupin. Then, as the party began to gain the upper hand, the gnome spotted something vast and dark approaching through the fog. A torrent of acid rained down on the adventurers and their assailants from above as Thorodin soared over the treetops. The dragon’s lackeys had failed to drown his foes, but their continued struggles could still provide him an advantage. Momentarily distracted by the merrow and locathah, the adventurers were still vulnerable when Thorodin made a second pass.

Grundimir and Morg finished off the last of the monsters in the lake and made their way to shore as Quaanth and Lupin prepared for Thorodin’s next assault. This time, the dragon was met with a barrage of spells and arrows when he made his next attack.

“Wux shilta ti ultrinninan!” Thorodin roared as he snatched Lupin out of the air in his jaws and flung him toward the mud below. “I am the master of this zaneunisal, the lord of this thaczil! Dout ista xoaic ekess svent ve re klaena! Your bones will hang like fruit from the trees of my orchard!”

As he wheeled about in the mist above the adventurers, Thorodin noticed the priest Grundimir aiding his companions with a burst of healing light and he homed in on his next target. Quaanth attempted to bring the dragon down with a freezing sheathe of ice, but Thorodin rolled away from the worst of the flurry and dove for the dwarf. Grundimir swung his hammer mightily in defiance as the dragon plucked him from the mud as easily as picking daisies but it was no use. Within Thorodin’s iron claw, the cleric was trapped and, as the adventurers watched in silence, the dragon vanished into the fog.

The dwarf’s companions waited, ready for the sound of their comrade’s screams or the return of the monster but the swamp had gone quiet. Quaanth thought about the cleric Unami and how Thorodin had also stolen him away never to be seen again. That time, the adventurers were able to retreat into The Pyrefaust when the dragon came back for them, but now as the sorcerer scanned the misty swamp around him, he knew he and his companions were quite lost. Here in the marsh Thorodin would find them wherever they went and, this time, there would be no running away.

***

DAY 376 – PERIL IN THE PILLAGER’S GALLERY

featuring the World’s Largest Adventuring Party:
Quaanth – Human Arcane-blooded Sorcerer
Grundimir Thunderbrew – Dwarf Cleric of Torag
Morg – Goblin Ranger
Lupin Periwinkle – Gnome Arcane-blooded Sorcerer

An unnerving calm returned to the swamp after Thorodin’s ambush and Quaanth, Morg and Lupin frantically considered their next course of action. With Grundimir gone and likely devoured by the dragon, escape from the marsh seemed like the only chance for survival but finding a way out through the fog could take hours. As the adventurers considered their options, they heard a gurgling cough from the edge of the pond where they had been attacked.

“Gebr kwam…kupeg,” a wounded locathah warrior choked in Aquan. Glug, the ringleader of the locathah who had attacked the party at their bastion lay helpless in the mud and reeds on the shore of the pond, burned by the acid of his master’s breath and bleeding from a pair of deep goblin-sized rapier wounds. “Dewilmil din, Thorodin…gwenog gebr.”

Quaanth quickly cast a spell allowing him to converse with the dying locathah and soon learned the final fate of Unami and what likely awaited him and his remaining companions. According to Glug, Unami had offered to assassinate the triton leader Wroe in exchange for his life. Thorodin agreed to give the priest the chance to prove himself and assigned four locathah, including Glug, to keep an eye on him, but the cleric murdered three of the warriors as soon as the dragon was out of sight.

“Only Glug escaped…to warn Thorodin…only Glug,” Glug wheezed. “Your friend was…stupid to betray the Pillager…stupid and a fool.”

Thorodin silently crept through the swamp and found Unami sleeping among the corpses of the locathah. The priest hadn’t even tried to hide the bodies or flee the scene of the battle. Unami woke to find Thorodin towering over him and tried to escape but there was nowhere to run.

“Thorodin ground your friend’s bones…into the mud…It made a sound like…snails beneath a rolling stone.” Glug gasped, choking out a laugh as the color drained from his scales. Realizing the locathah might know a way out of the swamp, Quaanth tried to coax more information from Glug but the fishman proved indifferent to the adventurers’ plight. “There is no safe path…for you drylanders,” Glug grinned painfully. “Your…corpses will feed the oilbirds.”

“Maybe, but not until they’ve finished their appetizer,” Quaanth growled. Not amused by Glug’s words, the sorcerer plunged a knife between the locathath’s ribs ending his life. It was several minutes later when he realized Glug’s final words had been a clue to the party’s salvation.

***

Grundimir crashed into the soft earth at the edge of the swamp as Thorodin released him and circled before landing. Regaining his feet, the dwarf quickly discovered the dragon had dumped him at the foot of the buried forge altar near the gilded cage of Sissifiss.

“Wux jinthil Sissifiss, tir wux ti?” Thorodin, growled sniffing the air. “I am certain my danthe miirik iblink remembers you. Now she will see what happens to those who seek to steal her away from me!” the dragon menaced, readying his deadly claw to strike the cleric down.

“Please wait! We didn’t mean to intrude here! We came upon the lass by chance!” Grundimir pleaded, ducking behind his shield. “She warned us to stay away! She said-“

“Svaboi ui nomeno?! She spoke to you?” the dragon interjected, his voice equal parts contempt and envy, as he slightly relaxed his talons.

“Yes?” Grundimir replied uncertain if this admission would get him killed but welcome for a chance to talk his way out of this situation. “She told us to go and we did. We didn’t come here to take her away from you. We were only looking for a way across the swamp. Is there something I can give you in payment for trespassing here? Maybe I could make you a crown of gold? Every king needs a crown.”

Thorodin seemed to consider the dwarf’s words a moment before replying. “There is no treasure I value more than the ivah di sia torke but, since she has become mine, Sissifiss does not speak to me or sing, not even to curse me,” Thorodin snarled. “Her hatred for me is such that were I to offer her your life in exchange for a single note from her perfect lips, she would see my suaco melt the flesh from your bones before she would whisper even half a syllable.”

“The ferrod rasvim to equal the beauty of Sissifiss’ voice is beyond your craft, tundar, but I am not ignorant to the skill of your xiekivi,” the dragon continued with a grin before directing Grundimir’s attention to the small gallery of exquisite paintings decorating the gulch behind the azata’s cage. “The muse cannot deny her nature,” Thorodin smiled. “Show me a treasure to rival the perfection of even the least of these images and you may go.”

“It’s very sporting of you to give me this opportunity, but I’m going to need materials and time to prepare,” Grundimir replied relieved that he’d somehow convinced the dragon to consider sparing his life.

“You have eight hours and may use whatever is within the circle of lights surrounding the golden cage and nothing more,” Thorodin smiled acknowledging the anti-magic barrier encircling the dwarf. If Sissifiss could create her paintings without the aid of magic, the dragon reasoned Grundimir should face the same restriction. “If you leave the circle for any reason, your life is forfeit. Your companions will be lost in the marsh for several hours if not longer, and I can kill them at my leisure so I will stay here to ensure you honor the terms of our wager. Of course, if you consider my offer unfair, I can destroy you now.”

A bead of sweat rolled down Grundimir’s brow as he stared up at Thorodin and nervously accepted the dragon’s terms. If the cleric was lucky, his comrades would find him before time ran out. In the meantime, the dwarf dumped the contents of his pack out onto the mud and searched through his belongings for tools and anything he might use as crafting materials. He briefly considered using the lengths of cold iron chain he’d discovered the previous day but quickly realized he had no smelter to melt down the iron and he’d neglected to buy anything with which to start a fire.

An hour passed as Grundimir tugged his beard in frustration and sorrow, his eyes searching the wet, reedy earth around him for anything he might use to craft a gift for Thorodin. Finally, his gaze settled on the mound of sludge and moss burying the forge altar at the edge of Sissifiss’ cage. The trapped azata gave the dwarf a subtle, encouraging nod and nudged a small bowl of water she used for cleaning her brushes toward the bars of her cell with her tail. Grundimir, inspired by the idea of restoring the lost altar of Torag, rolled up his sleeves and got to work.

***

“I will never forgive you for this, Quaanth,” Morg complained as he paddled through the cold, murky water, his oblong head just grazing the hem of the cloying mists blanketing the marsh. “A goblin with no funk is like a human with no clothes, scary and gross. It takes years of rolling around in filth for a goblin to get his own unique odor and collection of parasites. Some of those little guys were like family to me, and now they’re washing away!”

“I’m sorry, but this may be the only way we’re going to get out of here,” the sorcerer replied as he trudged through the slimy mud at the bottom of the stream. “Besides, we both know that flea circus living in your armor that you call a family is a lot closer to being a buffet table.”

“If it’s any consolation, Morg, you can have all my leeches when we get out of this swamp,” Lupin piped from behind Quaanth as he pulled himself along the edge of the stream like a terrified child at the deep end of a swimming pool.

After killing Glug, Quaanth eventually realized the locathah had hinted at a possible escape from the bog with his final words. It dawned on the sorcerer that the befuddling haze hanging over the marsh didn’t penetrate into its many pools and canals and, being amphibious, the locathah might avoid the fog with a submerged path out to the lake. A labyrinth of creeks crisscrossed the quagmire, but the adventurers believed they were slowly making progress thanks to Morg’s amazing wilderness skills.

Hours passed as Morg searched for subtle signs of egress through the brackish waters when the slight hint of scales concealed by mud caught the goblin’s eye. Suddenly, a plume of mud erupted from the wall of the ditch as a frightened locathah warrior burst from hiding and streaked away from the approaching adventurers. The creature’s speed through the water couldn’t be matched by the party, but the direction of its flight gave the goblin hope that they were nearing the edge of the marsh. Soon the fog overhead seemed to thin and, as the stream emptied into a shallow pond, Morg led his comrades up out of the water and into a familiar clearing of mossy earth where Grundimir knelt scrubbing an ornate, anvil-shaped altar.

“Xsio krehl taflafir ferlawr,” Thorodin growled as he lifted into the air. “I will hold to our bargain, tundar. Continue your work if you wish to live. Interfere and you will die.”

With that, the dragon exhaled a brume of acidic vapor onto Grundimir’s allies. Fortunately, Quaanth and Lupin had time to prepare for Thorodin’s attack and the dragon’s deadly breath weapon was repelled by a sheath of arcane energy surrounding the sorcerers as Morg nimbly evaded the caustic cloud. As the dragon wheeled through the air, the goblin strengthened his arrows with an invocation of hunter’s lore and dove into the nearby marsh in search of shelter. Meanwhile, Grundimir wrestled with the thought of aiding his companions over continuing his work on the disused altar.

Grundimir looked down at the soiled, wet rag in his hand and back to the pile of equipment he’d placed near Sissifiss’ cage. The dwarf had removed his armor and set most of his gear aside in order to clean the old forge altar and now, as had happened back at the bastion, Thorodin threatened his companions when the cleric was most vulnerable. For a moment, Grundimir allowed himself to consider he might very well survive if he turned aside and continued his work down on his knees in the mud. For a moment, the dwarf let himself think that restoring a forgotten holy shrine to the Father of Creation would be penance enough for ignoring the cries of his comrades and the plight of the tritons. But only for a moment.

“Not again,” Grundimir growled dropping the filthy rag as he reached for his warhammer. “Not this time,” he snarled as he raced across the clearing to join his companions in battle against Thorodin. “Listen here, you great, green lizard!” the cleric shouted as the dragon circled overhead. “You can take your offer and shove it up your shamrock-colored grint ungor!”

Thorodin used the anti-magic aura surrounding Sissifiss’ cage to his advantage ducking within the circle of glowing spheres to dodge or suppress the adventurers’ magic while making flyby attacks, but Quaanth and Lupin soon became wise to his ploy timing their spells to release whenever the dragon came near. The dragon considered separating the group, as he had done with Unami and Grundimir, killing them one at a time, but his obsession with the lillend, Sissifiss, forbade him from leaving her alone with his enemies for even an instant. In the old wyrm’s twisted heart, he believed Sissifiss might be convinced to speak to him if she witnessed his awesome might, even if only to plead for mercy on the behalf of these intruders to his domain.

Even with divine enhancement, Morg’s arrows barely scratched the scales of Thorodin and, as the dragon focused on bringing down his spell-wielding allies, the goblin quickly came to the realization that he couldn’t stand alone against Thorodin. From the cover of the marsh, the ranger recoiled as the dragon charged Grundimir, crushing the dwarf’s left arm in his jaws as the cleric attempted to heal Lupin. It was clear from the way Grundimir stumbled back, his crippled hand dangling from sinew, that his arm was useless. The dwarf would have to drop his warhammer, leaving him completely defenseless, in order to cast any more spells and, seeing this, Morg fell back on his training and fled through the swamp as quickly as his scrawny legs would carry him.

Having landed amidst the spellcasters, Thorodin was only an arm’s length away from Quaanth when the sorcerer once again attempted to imprison the dragon in a blanket of ice. By now however, the Pillager had seen Quaanth try this spell several times and he swatted the sorcerer to the ground with his tail as the freezing waves of ice rippled against a cold-resistant aura shielding his body.

“Nomeno re dout selani, sia torke?! This is their strength!?” Thorodin roared to Sissifiss as he unleashed a terrible flurry of claw and wing strikes against his enemies that sent Lupin spiraling into the mud. As the dragon continued his tirade, a sudden flood of murky water from the nearby swamp poured across the clearing. “Asta ledjir ui shafaer dout cha’sidic, but you can end their pain!” shouted Thorodin the Pillager as the water rushed over his feet. “Yenta sia ominak! Say my name and I will set them fr-urghk!”

Orange and crimson bile spilled from Thorodin’s jaws as a small goblin arrow tore through the scales of his throat. Nearly two hundred feet away and up to his belly in mud, Morg immediately regretted taking the shot. Fearing the wrath of the dragon, the goblin resumed his desperate retreat. Little did Morg know his precision aim had just played a critical role in the battle to defeat Thorodin.

Seizing upon Thorodin’s moment of distraction, Grundimir dove for Lupin delivering the breath of life to the fallen gnome who awoke to find the dragon looming over him. Before Thorodin could react, the sorcerer intoned a powerful spell and blew a gout of roaring flames across the dragon’s scales that penetrated and blackened his magic resistant hide. In retaliation, Thorodin hissed in rage and leapt atop Grundimir and Lupin pinning them to the ground beneath his enormous frame. As Thorodin gloated over his trampled foes, a piscine figure darted toward the unconscious Quaanth through the water surrounding the dragon’s feet.

Quaanth suddenly woke, submerged but invigorated by a wave of divine power to find himself alone in the shadow of Thorodin. “Kiyish yugebos!” cried an unfamilair voice from behind the sorcerer. “Finish him now!” There was no time to lose and no chance of escape. Knowing this might be his final moment, Quaanth cut loose with a beam of razor-sharp ice crystals followed by a hail of volcanic ash and burning brimstone that bludgeoned and slashed the dragon’s hide.

“Si mi Thorodin! Si geou ti loreat loaw nomeno kear!” Thorodin screeched, acid and blood dripping from his fangs as a corrosive gale escaped his throat. Quaanth ducked below the knee-deep water for cover as the dragon’s breath flowed over him. “You will speak to me, Sissifiss!” Thorodin roared, weakly lumbering toward the lillend’s cage. “You will say my name…ghoros si…loreat.”

Confined to the gilded cage, Sissifiss could do little more than watch the terrible battle unfold. But now, as Thorodin collapsed at the edge of the anti-magic aura surrounding her prison, the lillend turned away from the dragon, took up a brush from her easel and gingerly scrawled a single word upon the canvas: “THRIC,” which, in Draconic, translates to “NO.”

“Tok e tay, yugebos,” spoke the merfolk priest as he helped Quaanth from the pool of water. “Thorodin the Pillager is dead, but I regret that your companions did not survive.” It was true. The bodies of Lupin and Grundimir lay broken and twisted in the mud but the dragon was dead as well, ultimately killed by the goblin arrow still protruding from his neck. Just before he was crushed beneath Thorodin’s belly, Grundimir had seen how Morg’s arrow had created a bleeding wound in the monster. The dwarf knew he might be able to buy himself and Lupin moments to live by channeling the healing power of his god though his holy symbol, but doing so would have closed the dragon’s mortal wound as well. The cleric had promised Wroe he wouldn’t leave The Shallows until the tyrant was dead and by sacrificing himself and the gnome, Grundimir prayed the beast would soon draw its final breath.

The merfolk, it was revealed, was none other than the priest Vash who Sissifiss had asked the adventurers to find. Realizing Wroe and the adventurers weren’t interested in seeking help from the priest and his people, the crippled aquatic elf, Ilean, had sought him out on her own with assistance from the triton warriors Ampheres and Evaemon who knew the location of the merfolk colony.

With directions provided by Ilean and hoping to free Sissifiss, Vash had hurried to the location of the lillend’s cage to assist the adventurers in their fight against Thorodin. It was through the divine blessing of his god Eadro that Vash managed to flood the swamp, providing him with the depth he needed to quickly swim to Quaanth’s aid.

“You have done a great thing today,” Vash spoke congratulating the sorcerer. “But there is one thing more I must ask from you. The lillend, Sissifiss, guardian of my people, remains trapped within the gilded cage. Is there some way you can help me to free her?”

Quaanth looked toward the old forge altar and back to the remains of Grundimir who had clearly spent the last few hours trying to restore it, then reached into his pack for the adamantine dagger he and his companions had found the previous day. “Sorry, Grundimir,” the sorcerer sighed toward the cleric’s remains before handing the dagger to Vash. “It will take some time, but you should be able to break down the altar with this.”


Awesome update! The party finally took down Thorodin but boy did it take some trying. Where did you get those phrases of Draconic?

Liberty's Edge

Pathfinder Battles Case Subscriber

I posted this awhile back, but it wouldn't hurt to post it again. I use this Draconic Translator for my Draconic words.

I don't have time to come up with original words so I pluck things from the internet to use when I need an exotic language. Here are some other translators I've used:

Undercommon


Giant

Aquan

Celestial (I've also used this for Infernal by reversing the letters ^_^)

I've used Hawaiian for Ignan and Dutch for Sylvan. Elven and Dwarf glossaries are fairly easy to find online as well and I sometimes mix them up to put together phrases. The 3.5 "Races of..." books also contain some short word lists for elf, dwarf, gnome and halfling. I also often use the glossary in the back of my copy of The Silmarillion for Elf, Orc and some Goblin words.


Oh well, we get to see new characters at least. Not sure there is much you guys haven't touched yet in this thread though.

Liberty's Edge

Pathfinder Battles Case Subscriber

While nearly every class I allow has been played at some point in this campaign, there are a few we've only seen rarely. Here's an approximate list of races and classes we've seen since we started.

Races::

Aasimar - 5
Dwarf - 12
Elf - 9
Gnome - 4
Goblin - 8
Half-Elf - 4
Half-Orc - 12
Halfling - 6
Hobgoblin - 1
Human - 29
Minotaur - 0
Ratfolk - 2

Classes::

Alchemist - 3
Barbarian - 8
Bard - 4
Cavalier - 2
Cleric - 12.5
Druid - 2.5
Fighter - 8
Inquisitor - 2
Magus - 3
Monk - 2.5
Oracle - 3
Ninja - 0
Paladin - 5
Ranger - 9
Rogue - 8
Samurai - 0
Sorcerer - 7
Witch - 2
Wizard - 8

I may have counted someone twice and we had a few multi-classed PCs, but it seems to me casters or classes that deride most of their abilities from spells edge out primarily martial characters.

Now that's out of the way, it's time to get to the epilogue and review for Region K...

Region K epilogue

Following the defeat of Thorodin, Quaanth and Morg were recognized as heroes by the tritons and merfolk who agreed to trade with the residents of The Barrows. Unfortunately, a lack of trust remained between the two aquatic races which the lillend, Sissifiss, swore to remedy once she was freed from her cage. It was the merfolk priest Vash who set the azata free by slowly chipping away at the old forge altar of Torag with the adamantine dagger leant to him by Quaanth. The destruction of the altar sent a shockwave throughout the region that shook every corner of the region and blasted away the frigid and melancholy haze which had hung over Thorodin’s swamp.

In thanks for defeating Thorodin, Sissifiss offered Quaanth and Morg the collection of paintings she had made for the dragon. Though the art reminded the lillend only of her captivity, each was worth a small fortune and many buyers in The Barrows and Four Waters claimed the images inspired them and renewed their hope that they might one day be free of the Dungeon. While the paintings brought the adventurers trade capital and some fame, the sorcerer and the ranger were certain more treasure awaited them in Thorodin’s lair, the location of which was still unknown. To aid them in their search for the dragon’s hoard, the pair returned to the Wolag hall in The Barrows and enlisted the services of some of the guild’s newest recruits.

The musetouched archer-paladin Zuriel was a champion of the goddess Shelyn and an ally of the Celestial Garrison who had come to The Barrows hoping to inspire its people. Telkar, a fey-blooded sorcerer was a simple wanderer captured by Lord Antagonis’ soldiers and tossed into the Dungeon where he encountered and tamed his giant scorpion companion, Corporal Snips, while exploring the vermin-haunted halls of Region E. Finally, the group was joined by Stragh Tearer-of-Witches, a savage half-orc wolf shaman who felt more comfortable in the form of a vicious worg than in his own skin. Together, the group returned to The Shallows to locate Thorodin’s hoard as pioneering souls from The Barrows began to slowly trickle into the newly liberated region.

The adventurers’ exploration of the swamp eventually returned them to the lair of the bronze dragon Morg and his previous companions had encountered. Thanks to Zuriel’s diplomacy, the group learned Thorodin had long ago stolen the dragon’s eggs. The dragon, who revealed her name was Lightspar, believed Thorodin had taken the eggs while she was out hunting, and now she feared to leave her lair in case her children returned. Zuriel promised to find out what had happened to Lightspar’s children and the adventurers returned to the swamp hoping they might find the eggs in Thorodin’s lair.

Thorodin’s hoard proved to be well hidden and the party spent a day retracing their steps until they decided to check the bog north of the lake channel. After a few encounters with some of the local fauna, which included a trio of gigantic crocodiles, a chuul and a clutch of shocker lizards, the adventurers discovered a group of merrow throwing javelins from the shore at what seemed to be a humanoid trapped in the surf. The adventurers slew the merrow only to discover the ogres’ target was a lacedon, the ghoulish, reanimated corpse of a drowned man. Though the creature was easily dispatched, its presence made the adventurers wonder how it had come to The Shallows and if it might have somehow escaped the undead-filled region of which they had been warned.

Not far from where they encountered the merrow, Quaanth, Stragh and Morg discovered a small tunnel concealed by three large, quartz boulders. Against Zuriel’s wishes, the trio dragged the stones away and entered the tunnel hoping to find a safe place to camp for the evening. Unfortunately, what they discovered was a monstrous gray render who attacked when it woke to find Quaanth and his cronies breaking in through the back door to its home.

Frightened by the creature’s immense strength, the three adventurers slew the render unaware that they had just killed a friend and ally of the bronze dragon Lightspar. Alerted by the sounds of battle, Lightspar rushed to the beast’s aid only to find the party just settling down to rest not ten feet from the monster’s lifeless corpse. Grief-stricken and feeling betrayed by Zuriel and his allies, the dragon attacked the adventurers who separated as they fled back into the swamp.

Their companions scattered, Zuriel and Quaanth made their way back across the swamp toward the triton colony until they came across a mossy hillock rising from the mud. Hoping for a better vantage point from which to find a safe path through the swamp, the paladin climbed the mound only to discover the heap was actually a resting tendriculos. Fueled by latent negative energy permeating the bog, the tendriled terror had become a powerful necromantic generator and, as Zuriel was swallowed into its toothy maw, a quartet of shambling merrow corpses, previous victims of the tendriculos, burrowed up from its root bed.

Quaanth flew safely above the monsters invisibly raining acid upon them while Zuriel slashed his way free of the tendriculos’ digestive sac with his kukri only to be swallowed again when the zombie merrow corralled him near their perennial progenitor. Thanks to Quaanth’s magic, the tendriculos was soon defeated but not before it managed to bludgeon Zuriel into the mud breaking the paladin’s spine killing him. With the monster dead and no visible targets, the merrow zombies stumbled away into the swamp allowing the sorcerer to recover Zuriel’s equipment and one of the paladin’s fingers for reincarnation.

While Zuriel and Quaanth dealt with the tendriculos and its undead spawn, the wolf shaman Stragh was experiencing an altogether different kind of horror. After evading a trio of will o’ wisps, the druid decided to camp near a pair of worn murals of predatory beasts standing vigil over a ruined chamber. However, the druid’s rest was soon interrupted by the sound of someone moving through swamp.

A voluptuous half-orc woman clad in a loose gown cautiously approached Stragh claiming she was an adventuring sorcerer from The Barrows. The woman invited Stragh to return to her party’s camp which was dry and safe hinting at the possibility of warm food and warmer company and, stirred by his appetites for both, the shaman followed the woman to an old dungeon tunnel where he quickly satisfied his animalistic cravings for nourishment and coition and promptly fell asleep.

Stragh woke to a smell like rotting fish floating in boiled pig manure and a sensation like a slick, damp garbage sack pressing against his back accompanied by a chorus of hideous, wheezing cackling and croaking laughter. The green hag, Bile, held Stragh tight against her slimy, withered bosom as her sisters, Malice and Bane, quickly seized the wolf shaman and held him down. To Stragh’s surprise, however, the covey of crones had no intention of violating him any further or killing him.

As they restrained the wolf shaman (merely a precaution they assured him,) the hags explained the adventurers’ wholesale slaughter of every merrow they’d encountered had driven most of the aquatic ogres to serve the dragon Thorodin, citing a lack of faith in the hags. Without the merrows’ muscle, the hags claimed they were now vulnerable to both the tritons and merfolk and the wave of explorers coming in from The Barrows. They felt it was only a matter of time before some group of self-righteous heroes or treasure-hunting thieves would come along to exterminate them on principal and they wanted to cut a deal.

In exchange for peace and fair trade, the hags would provide spellcasting services, information and enchanted items to any creature seeking their aid. Rather than killing Stragh and sneaking into The Barrows in disguise to deliver this offer themselves, the hags wished to prove their goodwill by releasing the druid to his people unharmed. Duping the shaman into a dalliance with Bile wasn’t part of the original plan, but the green hag was notoriously lascivious and, as it turned out, Stragh wasn’t that put out since she had retained her disguised appearance throughout the act. In fact, the druid would go on to repeatedly attempt and fail to convince the vile crone to birth him an army of hagborn child soldiers.

While they were coming clean, the hags also revealed the bronze dragon Lightspar was a sort of adopted sister to the covey. The hags claimed they had first offered Lightspar a safe place to lay her eggs out of a selfish desire to increase the defenses of their lair but, over time, they had befriended the young dragon. They were genuinely aggrieved at their inability to protect Lightspar’s children and feared Thorodin had eaten them.

Stragh also learned the gray render he, Quaanth and Morg had killed had been a loyal protector of the coven and it was the creature’s death that finally sold the savage annis Bane on the decision to make peace with The Barrows. Out of a twisted form of respect for their fallen defender’s vigilance, the hags had reanimated the render’s corpse so that it could continue to stand as a sentry within their den.

***

Quaanth, Telkar and Stragh eventually all wound up back at the stone fort near the triton colony. Morg was presumed to be dead, though the goblin had actually snuck off to fish his levitating bed out of the hole the party had left it in. Back in The Barrows, the adventurers made their final report to the guild masters who had hired them and made the pilgrimage to Black Mountain in the Chasm where they paid the dwarf druid Ragnar to reincarnate Zuriel. Quaanth also asked the druid to attempt to restore life to the winged humanoid he and his companions had found staked near Thorodin’s swamp assuming the creature was some sort of celestial. Steeped in knowledge of monstrous beings, Ragnar informed the sorcerer the charred hand of the dead creature had actually belonged to a young harpy but Quaanth insisted the druid’s spell be cast regardless.

The harpy, Ikare, a rebellious teenage runaway from the lair of the sphinx Arnarah in Region F, emerged from her reincarnation cocoon wingless and covered in smooth scales, her tangled hair replaced by a coif of writhing serpents, her excitement over the chance at a new life quickly diminished by the prospect of spending the rest of her days trapped in the form of a hideous medusa. Needless to say, Ikare, overcome by grief and anger, scorned the adventurers for their charity and cursed their names for condemning her to the life of a pariah. The former aasimar Zuriel, now occupying the body of a half-orc, felt he could relate to the girl and, detecting no trace of true evil from her, attempted to calm Ikare by speaking of the value Shelyn placed on inner beauty. Unimpressed, Ikare mocked the paladin before turning away to weep in sorrow (it probably didn’t help that Zuriel averted his gaze as he spoke with the girl.) Before leaving, Quaanth sheepishly apologized to Ikare who was left to the care of Ragnar.

***

After resting in The Barrows a few days, the party returned to The Shallows where they found Morg had returned with good news. While stalking a pair of locathah, the goblin had located Thorodin’s lair. The former servants of the dragon and a pair of merrow had gathered at a deep pool to gather up Thorodin’s treasure before anyone else came looking for it. Morg quickly slew the creatures allowing only one of the locathah to escape into the swamp and then loaded a few items dropped by his enemies onto his air mattress for transport. He then returned to the bastion to await help in recovering the rest of the loot.

The adventurers spent a day digging Thorodin’s hoard from the mud at the bottom of his pool only to discover it was much smaller than what they would expect from a monster of his age. Also to Zuriel’s dismay, there was no sign of Lightspar’s eggs. It was determined, the dragon had either spread his treasure out across the swamp or his minions had already taken the lion’s share and perhaps absconded with the eggs. Regardless, the paladin and his companions were ready to move on from the bog and headed back to the bastion to plan their next move.

Back in the bastion, the adventurers learned the aquatic elf Ilean was still hanging around the triton colony asking for Wroe’s help, however, the triton leader continued to stonewall the messenger. While his companions stayed in the fort to resupply, Quaanth alone went to find the elf and offer the party’s assistance. Ilean had last been seen in the company of the merfolk priest Vash and, after getting directions from the tritons, the sorcerer transformed into a water elemental and dove into the lake in search of the cleric’s submerged temple. This was to be the last time anyone would see Quaanth alive.

Quaanth scanned the bottom of the lake for signs of Vash’s home when a corona of blue light burst from the floor of a sunken dungeon chamber below. The sorcerer was instantly encased in a block of ice by a long-forgotten celestial trap. Though his elemental form allowed Quaanth to breathe water as easily as air, the water passing through is body had solidified. Seconds later, Quaanth blacked out and suffocated within his icy prison. His companions wouldn’t know of his fate until the huge frozen sphere was spotted floating among the reeds at the east edge of the lake.

Wroe, Vash, Ilean and Sissifiss, as well as many other tritons and merfolk attended the funeral for Quaanth whose crushed and broken remains were laid to rest as a hero in the tritons’ coral bed (the sorcerer’s true form, which was larger than his elemental body, had reformed within the ice upon his death meaning it had been condensed into a space too small for it to fit.) Out of respect for the sorcerer and because it seemed like the right thing to do, Zuriel sought out Ilean at the ceremony and promised he and his allies would see to the plight of her people.

And so it was that the paladin Zuriel, Stragh the wolf shaman and the sorcerer Telkar set out for new adventures in the deep and dark waters to the east. Morg, having now felt enough water against his musky skin for a hundred goblin lifetimes, declined to follow the paladin but directed Zuriel to a witch doctor he’d gotten to know while waiting in the bastion.

Balaragh, a scarred and savage half-orc, had discovered the entrance to the dungeon while trying to collect a bounty on the half-orc wizard Radamir who had been deemed a public nuisance by his tribe. Antagonis’ soldiers were more than happy to grant the witch access to the prison after beating him senseless and relieving him of his possessions, but that didn’t deter Balaragh from tracking Radamir to The Barrows and, eventually The Shallows, where he was last seen in the company of Morg. Assuming the wizard had fled east, the witch doctor joined Zuriel in his quest and the group proceeded across the swamp with Ilean until they reached a black sandy beach and the churning surf of the stormy eastern sea.

***

Campaign Notes
Did it seem like Region K went by incredibly fast to you? I think there’s a good reason for that and I’m pretty sure it involves water. I estimate about 75% of Region K is underwater and the players refused to swim unless it was absolutely necessary. Unfortunately, that means they lost out on a lot of experience and treasure but they can always go back and explore the lake bed later. Until then, they’ll just have to live with these meager rewards for defeating Thorodin and opening The Shallows up to the prisoners of Lord Antagonis:

Dragonpoop Bastion:
– Named by the gnome sorcerer Lupin for the draconic droppings smeared across its walls by Thorodin’s loyal locathah lackeys, this small, magically created fortification at the entrance to The Shallows now serves as a way station for adventurers traveling into Region K. The fort is too small to serve as a real settlement, but a few stalls have been set up to sell basic adventuring equipment and pricier items can be obtained from the agents of Spishak’s Speedyish Delivery Service who now operate from a kiosk in the hall connecting the bastion to The Pyrefaust.

Tanaa’ryl:
– While Wroe and Vash have given The Barrows and Four Waters permission to pull resources from the swamp and beaches of The Shallows, the tritons and merfolk still control access to the veins of tanaa’ryl burning below the surface of the lake. Infused with the Abyssal energies of demons killed in the dungeon’s collapse, weapons and armor forged from tanaa’ryl possess amazing but potentially dangerous properties.

Tanaa’ryl appears to be made from glass filled with green embers. All tanaa’ryl equipment is wreathed in an aura of green hellfire which is harmless to its user, sheds light as a continual flame spell (this effect cannot be dispelled) and grants +2 to Intimidate checks while the item is worn or brandished. Tanaa’ryl flames can be used to ignite unattended flammable objects as easily as flint and steel and such items continue to burn even if submerged in water. A full round and a Reflex save (DC15) are required to extinguish creatures or objects set to flame with tanaa’ryl even if they are doused with or submerged in water. Holy water presents an exception to this property.

Weapons forged from tanaa’ryl are treated as masterwork weapons and increase their critical threat range by 1. This modifier stacks with the enchantments provided by keen edge or the Improved Critical feat but is added after the enchantment or feat bonus (i.e. a keen tanaa’ryl kukri threatens a critical hit on a roll from 14-20.) A successful critical hit with a tanaa’ryl weapon requires the opponent to roll a Reflex save (DC 15) or catch fire as per the standard rules. Furthermore, tanaa’ryl weapons are treated as evil for the purpose of overcoming damage reduction. Only weapons primarily made from metal can be forged from tanaa’ryl.

Armor created from tanaa’ryl is incredibly resilient and absorbs damage from the first critical hit scored against its wearer in any encounter. When a wearer is struck by a critical hit for the first time in an encounter, the opponent’s attack deals only normal damage. At this time, a burst of hellfire leaps from the armor to the opponent requiring a Reflex save (DC 15) to avoid catching fire as per the standard rules. Tanaa’ryl armor also qualifies as masterwork and provides its wearer with damage reduction equal to 1/good. Only armor made primarily from metal can be created from tanaa’ryl. Druids are forbidden from wearing tanaa’ryl armor.

For all of its magnificent properties, use of tanaa’ryl equipment carries a significant risk. A user of tanaa’ryl must succeed at a Will save (DC20+1 per 5lbs of tanaa’ryl carried) each day or suffer the temporary loss of 1 point of Wisdom as the demon-haunted mineral infects the creature’s mind. If a creature’s Wisdom score drops to 9 or below, he is tormented by nightmares and gains only half the normal amount of hit points and spells for resting each day. Once the creature’s Wisdom drops to 5 or below, he becomes prone to fits of violence. Whenever such a creature is under duress, he must make a Will save (DC15) or spend 1d4 rounds convulsing and cursing in Abyssal. If he fails this save, he is also required to roll an additional Will save (DC15) or be compelled to attack the nearest perceptible creature for the duration of his fit. If reduced to a Wisdom score of 1, the creature becomes possessed by the demonic spirits within the tanaa’ryl, no longer suffers Wisdom loss and gains the Broken Soul template. If the creature is a Player Character, it becomes a Non-Player Character under the control of the Dungeon Master until its soul is redeemed.

Creatures overcome by tanaa’ryl possession can be cured through the use of a Miracle or Wish spell. Protection from Evil, Break Enchantment or Remove Curse can end a fit of violence experienced by a creature who’s Wisdom has dropped to 5 or below but has no effect on creatures with a Wisdom reduced to 1. Other methods of curing tanaa’ryl possession may exist.

The prices for tanaa’ryl equipment are as follows:
Weapon = +1500gp
Ammunition = +75gp per item
Light Shield = +750gp
Heavy Shield = +1000gp
Light Armor = +1500gp
Medium Armor = +2000gp
Heavy Armor = +2500gp

The Coven of Wóha Sweostor:
– In exchange for peace, the hags Bile, Bane and Malice offer their services to any creature brave or desperate enough to seek out their lair. In addition to providing knowledge and spellcasting services, the hags are capable of crafting enchanted goods. Working together, the hags coven magic enables them to cast spells beyond their individual abilities.

These spells include but are not limited to:
animate dead, baleful polymorph, blight, bestow curse, clairaudience/clairvoyance, charm monster, commune, control weather, dream, forcecage, mind blank, mirage arcane, reincarnate, speak with dead, veil, vision, blood transcription, fins to feet, deathwine, youthful appearance, mass fly, geas/quest, mass cure light wounds, mass cure moderate wounds, invisibility sphere, transmute rock to mud, slowing mud, mass fester

Unlike the merchants of The Barrows, the Coven of Wóha Sweostor has little interest in material wealth. Instead, they accept payment in the form of services rendered. A simple request for knowledge may require a trade of information and purchasing enchanted items created by the hags may cost the buyer an item of interest to the hags, but restoring life to a lost ally or more powerful magic would require a greater sacrifice or service to the coven. The twisted sisters never divulge their reasons for making these requests only grinning or laughing deviously if questioned.

Region Review:
– Region K, The Shallows, is one of a few regions in the dungeon that breaks away from the subterranean dungeon mold. As I mentioned, most of the region is submerged within a large lake that connects to an underground sea to the east. A swamp between the lake and the sea makes up about 20% of the map and there’s a small section of ruined dungeon to fill out the rest.

You may have noticed, The Shallows’ monsters are mostly amphibious if not altogether aquatic. This is both good and bad. On the one hand, it’s an opportunity to show off a few races like merfolk, tritons and locathah which rarely make appearances in adventures. On the other hand, merfolk, tritons and locathah are all races players rarely care enough about to seek out for adventure. This region seems to reinforce the notion that players either don’t like or don’t want to explore aquatic settings even when things like water breathing and swim speeds are easily achievable. My players flew over or went around the lake whenever possible, which is unfortunate since so much of what is happening in this region involves aquatic races and because a lot of neat opportunities and locations were never discovered.

Though The Shallows are located underground, the inclusion of the lake and swamp would make this region easy to adapt to an aboveground setting as a solo region apart from the World’s Largest Dungeon.

As written:
• The Shallows is what’s left of an immense lake that drained into the Dungeon during the earthquake that broke the place in half. Huge sections of the region were flooded and many prisoners were killed by falling debris. The crushed remains of the demons held in the region polluted the lake’s waters and formed the foundation for a mother lode of Tanaa’ryl.
• The only tanaa’ryl items available to the party are short swords, longspears and chain shirts.
• Tritons, merfolk and merrow sucked into the dungeon from the original lake make offerings to Thorodin the Pillager, a green dragon who fell into the dungeon with them. Living in the tainted waters of the lake has made the three races distrustful of each other so they won’t band together to defeat the dragon. Though they don’t immediately trust PCs, the tritons and merfolk can become allies if the party helps or convinces them they aren’t working for the hags or Thorodin.
• Wroe, a triton blacksmith, hoards tanaa’ryl weapons and armor in preparation for a battle against Thorodin. He knows about the curse on the metal so the equipment is used only during emergencies.
• Vash, a merfolk cleric, seeks a means of freeing the lillend, Sissifiss, from Thorodin. The azata was sent by Vash’s god to protect his people, but she was captured.
• The merrow have no leader of their own but look to the hag coven for guidance. Other than serving as thugs and spies for the hags, the aquatic ogres don’t have much going on.
• The hag coven wants to overthrow Thorodin so they can take control of The Shallows. If the PCs don’t attack them, they’ll try to hire the party to kill the dragon. If the party kills the dragon, the hags plan to show up with their merrow allies to finish off any survivors while the PCs are still weak from the battle.
• A group of aquatic elf messengers from Region L can be found as captives in the old dungeon ruin. They’ve come to ask the tritons for help with a sickness that has spread through their people.
• Thorodin lives in the south side of the swamp and is served by a small group of locathah. He keeps Sissifiss trapped in a giant golden cage where she inspires him with her paintings, but she never speaks to him. The cage is a remnant from the celestial dungeon and has no locks, door or lid. It generates a 60-foot radius field of anti-magic and can only opened by destroying a nearby altar.
• The bronze dragon, Lightspar, lives in peace with the hags and pines for her lost eggs which she believes were stolen by Thorodin. She treats the hags as if they were her sisters and defends their home against intruders. She won’t leave the hags’ tunnels for fear that she would leave her only remaining “family” vulnerable and out of fear that her young may return to find her gone.

Changes made:
• This region is simple enough that I left most things the same. I did make a few changes to the tanaa’ryl by treating it as evil for damage reduction and granting DR 1/good, but its other abilities are unchanged. I also changed the curse to include the Broken Soul template which didn’t exist at the time this book was written. I thought it made a nice addition since the metal is supposed to eventually possess its users. I’m also allowing tanaa’ryl to be turned into any metal weapon or armor.
• How long the triton, merfolk and merrow tribes have been in The Shallows isn’t really explained so I came up with the idea that the creatures currently living in the region are what’s left of a once-powerful and plentiful aquatic civilization. The tainted waters cloud the memories of the creatures so the newer generation only remembers the bad things that have happened to them since their original home was destroyed and they blame each other for allowing Thorodin to rise to power. I imagine The Shallows’ tribes have been in the cavern for a few hundred years with Thorodin ensuring their numbers never got too large to become a threat.
• Despite what the hags claimed, the merrow had no king. They lied about that to see if they could guilt the PCs into fighting Thorodin, and it worked. If the party hadn’t come across that roper, they may have reached the dragon and the hags and their merrow allies would have been right behind them waiting to finish whoever was left standing.
• I readjusted the scale of the map in the swamp. Also, the evil fog throughout the swamp is only at the lake channel where the lake connects to the sea in the book. I had it cover the entire swamp for dramatic effect and, since its demoralizing and cold effects cease to harm after three rounds, I knew it wouldn’t be too much of a hassle. I changed the scale of the swamp and added the fog because the swamp on the map is only about 400 x 400ft, meaning it would take less than 7 rds to cross it with Fly spells. Adding fog cut also movement in half regardless of flight and kept the party members from wandering too far away from each other.
• Since the party decided they didn’t want to go into the water or the swamp, I started using the random encounter tables more frequently. That’s how Thorodin showed up at their fort for their first battle and how they found him at Sissifiss’ cage for their final battle. Thorodin the Pillager, BBEG for the region is a random encounter. I didn’t change that part. I just don’t usually use the random encounters.
• Thorodin in the original text is an Adult green dragon, but I increased his age to Old in order to challenge the party. With the exceptions of Thorodin, the roper and the hags, the CRs in this region only range from about 3-7, meaning the players were breezing through them in a few rounds. Since the players had the luxury of camping often and conserving their resources for their big fight with the dragon (not to mention access to spells, items and abilities that didn’t exist when this adventure was written,) I figured they could handle a higher CR. Quaanth’s Icy Prison (DC26) alone could have probably ended the fight the first time they fought Thorodin if he hadn’t made the Reflex save and learned to prepare for their next meeting with Resist Energy [cold.]
• After the party easily killed about 30 merrow, I had most of the ogres switch sides and serve Thorodin to show they’d lost faith in the hags. This made it easier to use the coven as a perk for finishing the region since they’re smart enough to know they’re now at the mercy of the adventurers flooding into the region. That doesn’t mean they aren’t still evil, scheming witches but, like the minotaurs before them, they’re playing nice in the interest of self-preservation.
• The altar at the foot of the golden cage isn’t tied to any specific religion so I assigned it to Torag since it was a fantastic, magic-defeating artifact of gold and amazing craftsmanship. This, of course, led to Grundimir’s moral dilemma of whether he should destroy it and set Sissifiss free or restore it and leave the lillend imprisoned.
• Thorodin’s treasure hoard in the book is measly and way less than a dragon of his age should have. I increased the amount of loot by dropping in a few useful magic items and a bit more money. Despite what I said about the locathah getting away with some of the loot, I let the party quickly recover it by tracking the fishmen across the swamp.

This isn’t all there is to this region but, since so much of The Shallows was left unexplored, I’ve decided not to share all of the Region K’s secrets. The players might surprise me and go back to explore the lake or the ruins at some point so I’ll reveal more if that happens.


"In fact, the druid would go on to repeatedly attempt and fail to convince the vile crone to birth him an army of hagborn child soldiers."

I got nothin' on this.

However I can honestly say I do not want to party with that cowboy (Stragh).

So right now the party is:

Balragh - Half-Orc - Witch Doctor (Scarred Witch Doctor? The one that uses Stamina for everything?)

Zuriel - Was Aasimar but is now a Half-Orc (how is that going to work?) - Paladin

(Archer, but that doesn't necessarily mean the archetype. I looked into that once and my personal conclusion was base Paladin was a better archer than that archetype. Too many weird abilities to give archery abilities to party members, which is just kind of ... useless. If they are already archers they have these abilities already, if they aren't they aren't going to drop their usual schtick to use bows. Plus you give up some good things for this archetype)

Telkar - race unknown - Sylvan Bloodline Sorcerer (guess he is Sylvan with the animal companion)

Stragh - deviant Half-Orc - Wolf Shaman


Balaragh here.

sunbeam wrote:

"In fact, the druid would go on to repeatedly attempt and fail to convince the vile crone to birth him an army of hagborn child soldiers."

I got nothin' on this.

Ditto. It was...interesting.

Quote:


So right now the party is:

Balragh - Half-Orc - Witch Doctor (Scarred Witch Doctor? The one that uses Stamina for everything?)

Correct (CON for everything).

Quote:


Zuriel - Was Aasimar but is now a Half-Orc (how is that going to work?) - Paladin

Correct. It's become an interesting thing, him dealing with being a half-orc. And I also believe that there's no archetype applied.

Quote:


Telkar - race unknown - Sylvan Bloodline Sorcerer (guess he is Sylvan with the animal companion)

Correct.

Quote:


Stragh - deviant Half-Orc - Wolf Shaman

Deviant - heh!

Liberty's Edge

Pathfinder Battles Case Subscriber

Yep, Zuriel doesn't have an archetype. I just pointed out the archer part to explain how he's built. As far as going from aasimar to half-orc goes, he lost a few special abilities and traded a +2 Dex from being Muse-touched for a +2 Str for being half-orc. Aasimar is a tricky race to pick in this dungeon since it isn't listed on the reincarnation table. Unless you get raised (which is currently an option,) there isn't a way to come back as a aasimar short of rolling 100 and relying on me to pick that race.

Stragh's player describes Stragh as very pack-oriented. He follows the orc way of life and wants a horde of his own to lead someday. Sister Bile tried to explain the logistical absurdity of raising an army of children to him and pointed out how there was no way she and her sisters were going to invest the decades required to raise his kids, but he didn't seem to get it. We'll get to see the results of more of Stragh's questionable decisions as we get into the next region.

Liberty's Edge

Pathfinder Battles Case Subscriber

Welcome back to the dungeon, everyone! This entry, the party enters Region L, The Deeps, a vast sea beneath the surface of the world. A terrible plague awaits them on the island home of Ilean, the crippled aquatic elf warrior, but will another evil decimate the party before they find a cure? Keep reading to find out!

DAYS 390-391 INTO THE DEEPS

featuring the World’s Largest Adventuring Party:
Balarath - Half-Orc Scarred Witch Doctor
Telkar - Human Sylvan-blooded Sorcerer
Stragh - Wolf Shaman/Brawler(fighter)
Zuriel – Half-Orc Paladin of Shelyn

A sheet of cold rain and a stiff breeze greeted the adventurers as they looked out from a black sandy shore. Along with the aquatic elf, Ilean, the adventurers had come to the shores of a subterranean sea following the trail of Pif and Sheele, the last of Thorodin’s locathah minions. The fishfolk scarcely had time to collect their belongings and flee into the deep waters as the adventurers approached, and the party quickly located the treasure the scaled scoundrels had squirreled away in the dungeon ruin where they made their camp.

“I think we should give chase,” Stragh growled. “I do not like to abandon a hunt. I want to taste their flesh.”

“We cannot track them through the Groth-Lhunaer,” Ilean spoke. “Its waters are clouded, its currents are strong and the locathah are fast swimmers; faster when they are frightened and there are many things to fear in this sea.”

“Perhaps we should discuss these things before we leave for your home,” Zuriel suggested. “What should we expect to encounter along the way?”

Ilean took some time to explain the dangers of Groth-Lhunaer, the Cavern of Deepwater Sea, informally known among her kind as In Lhun or, The Deeps. The Deeps was a vast sea within an immense cavern, larger perhaps than the Chasm itself, and its waters were cold, dark and filled with strange creatures not found in any surface-world ocean, mutated gargantuan, aquatic, acid-breathing spiders among them.

“The most dangerous of all is the kraken Mahg’og,” the elf spoke ruefully. “He is In Tirn vi in Nen, The Watcher in the Water, and all the creatures of In Lhun pay him respect.”

According to Ilean, Mahg’og was not as cruel a tyrant as Thorodin. An offering of treasure every three months kept the kraken away from the elves’ village, he did not work through proxies or spies and he seemed disinterested in the daily affairs of In Lhun’s creatures.

“I was not there, but I am told Mahg’og attacked my people only one time,” Ilean continued as the adventurers began their journey below the waves. “A sufficient offering could not be found in time so the kraken pulled himself onto the beach and destroyed our homes. Mahg’og allowed my people to live but proclaimed that the village ruins must stand as a monument to his wrath and a reminder of the price for failing to meet his demands.”

Ilean’s home, the island of Madowlieloren, was In Lhun’s only island and served as a sort of prison colony populated by elves from a settlement across the southern waters of the sea called Eolis. These elves, the Lincundouin-Aergaladh, Protectors of the Sacred Tree, had discovered a sapling taken from their holy tree growing upon the island and decided its care would be entrusted to their lawbreakers. After serving 100 years on the island, the offending elf could return home or choose to remain as a warden to new inmates.

“That changed a few months ago when the storms began,” spoke Ilean. “No elf has passed to or from the southern shore since then. Some suspect Mahg’og, but our sorcerers don’t believe even he has the power to create such a tempest. Our priest, Himo, took a boat to investigate the storms and we feared he was lost, but he returned several weeks later.”

Ilean paused in her story a moment to lead the adventurers back to the surface of the water. Against their better judgment, the elf had insisted the party swim to Madowlieloren due to the chaotic nature of the powerful storm system that constantly swept over In Lhun, but here she stopped to show off one of the region’s supernatural wonders. At first, the adventurer’s thought they were looking at a wide curtain of water falling from the ceiling of the cavern onto the sea’s surface but, thanks to his enhanced darkvision, Zuriel could see the water was actually flowing up toward the ceiling and crashing into the stone above.

“My people call this place In Órë Sir, The Rising River,” the elf informed the group. “Young warriors often test their courage and skill by swimming into the current and letting it pull them toward the rocks above before leaping to safety. Landing in the water from such a height takes the wind out of you, but the fall is exhilarating.”

Ilean continued the story of her village as Stragh swam toward the violent geyser of seawater and leapt into its current, riding the flow until he’d nearly reached its zenith. Unlike the young elves, the druid had the benefit of experience and the ability to transform into an orca on his side and he leapt into the water below without fear.

“Himo seemed fine when he returned from his investigation of the tempest, but things in the village soon changed,” Ilean spoke as the spray of Stragh’s splashing rained down on her head. “People began to act strangely and marks began to appear on their bodies. The sickness spread even faster after the discovery of a black jewel within the quarry and, along with the madness came bizarre transformations. The gift of Deep Sashelas which causes some of our people, like me, to be born Teler, sea-elf, was always common, but now boils and sores covered the flesh of some victims while others grew scales or horns. Himo disappeared shortly after the gem was uncovered and we haven’t seen him since.”

The journey to Madowlieloren eventually led the party beneath a rock formation Ilean called Coll Carch, which means Hollow Tooth. This outcropping of stone hung from the ceiling like a jagged fang and contained a hollowed out portion that formed a large ledge overlooking the sea. Thinking the vantage of the ledge would make a good lookout position, Balarath flew up to investigate and was almost immediately surrounded by a cloud of impenetrable darkness as dread laughter echoed through the air.

Centuries ago, the kyton Skaatakanata infiltrated the dungeon to rescue a fellow chain devil only to find he’d arrived too late. Unable to escape the dungeon, the kyton fled to Coll Carch above In Lhun. Using the same chains that once bound his comrade, Skaatakanata turned the interior of the ledge into a den of torture where the remains of flayed sea creatures hung from a web of razored steel links. The kyton slowly went mad imagining his long dead ally spoke to him through the rattling chains and, now, he rarely left his perch above the sea.

The appearance of Balarath filled Skaatankanata with paranoia and excitement, and he laughed as he swung toward the witch through the supernatural darkness commanding his chains to whip Balarath’s flesh. As the half-orc vanished from sight, Telkar cast a spell of flight on Stragh and Zuriel allowing them to pursue their endangered companion. Within the darkness, Skaatakanata proved a wily foe but, alone against the adventurers, he was soon worn down. When Stragh cried a divine howl of freedom, the kyton’s ability to ensnare his enemies was foiled and, sensing the end was near, Skaatankanata targeted the weakest among the party.

Diving from the ceiling of the cavern, Skaatakanata attempted to grapple Ilean hoping to drag the one-legged elf to the bottom of the sea. However, Telkar and Corporal Snips had never left Ilean’s side and, together, the sorcerer and the giant scorpion finished the chain devil off with pincer and spell. A quick search of Coll Carch in the aftermath of the battle revealed nothing but the rotting bodies of various sea creatures and a pair of unlucky humanoids too disfigured to identify and, as Balarath and Zuriel took a moment to heal their wounds, Stragh recovered the chain devil’s corpse from the water and disturbingly feasted on his vile remains.

***

The adventurers arrived to Madowlieloren to find what appeared to be a welcoming party waiting above a rocky cliff overlooking the sea. Five elves stood on the cliff waving their arms and pointing toward the water below in a state of excitement but, as Ilean waved back at them, she was shocked to see it wasn’t the adventurers that had their attention. The bodies of three elves lay broken amidst the rocks and incoming surf at the bottom of the cliff and, before the party could reach the cheering elves, another flung himself toward the sea.

“Aww! You almost made it that time!” shouted one of the elves as her comrade scraped himself up from the rocks below, bone jutting from his elbow. The adventurers left the water and hurried up the cliff to find the elves were covered in bruises and lacerations though none among them seemed to feel the pain of their wounds. Quite the opposite, the elves seemed euphoric.

Ilean and the adventurers tried to talk to the elves, but the group seemed confused and exhibited signs of memory loss quickly forgetting their conversation with the party. All the elves could recall was a desire to leap from the cliff in an attempt to leave the island. Magical scrying to determine if the elves were under some sort of spell turned up nothing and Zuriel’s attempt to lift any possible curse on one of the elves failed to alter his behavior.

“This is my fault,” Ilean spoke remorsefully as she watched her friends dance madly about the cliff. “The madness has gotten worse. If only I could have convinced the tritons to help sooner, we might have stopped this.”

“We might still save your people,” Zuriel comforted the elf. “Can you take us to this black jewel you mentioned? It might offer us a clue to ending their affliction.”

Ilean calmed herself as Telkar and Balarath bound the mad elves for their safety. “Yes, but first we must find Iast Galanolend, the captain of the watch,” she replied. “He was the last to arrive from Eolis before the storm cut off access to the south so, with any luck, he’s had less exposure to whatever is causing this disease. If he’s not infected, he might be able to explain what’s been happening since I left.”

On their way to find Iast, the party passed a lonely cemetery where a dozen empty graves yawned open near a pile of tarnished swords scattered across the dirt. It looked as though a mass burial had been interrupted and the cemetery abandoned but there were no signs of the bodies intended for the graves. A confused jumble of footprints led in multiple directions away from the cemetery, but Stragh managed to sniff out a set of recent prints heading north toward the sound of crashing waves and the adventurers hurried to find their source.

The set of footprints led to a series of staggered stone walls along the north edge of Madowlieloren. The first elves to reach the island constructed the walls as a defense against the ocean waves and assaults by creatures from the northern sea. After proving himself to be a capable fighter, the responsibility of guarding the wall fell on Iast Galanolend but, as the adventurers approached the battlement, they could see it had been abandoned. As Ilean commented that a series of flower wreathes placed on the stones were a new addition to the fortifications, there was a sudden loud crack from the other side of the barrier.

Two elves ran up the beach holding boulders the size of watermelons while a third ran to collect a stone he had hurled at the head of a she-elf. The girl laughed and ran along the edge of the wall as her hunters aimed their boulders to throw. Before the adventurers could stop the elves’ strange and violent game, the girl’s head was crushed by one of the incoming boulders. Zuriel and Stragh quickly moved around the wall toward the elves while Balarath and Telkar took up defensive positions behind the barricade and, fearing he and his companions might become the elves’ new prey, Telkar instinctively launched an explosive ball of fire into the middle of them.

Ilean shrieked in sorrow as her fellow elves were blasted to ashes by the sorcerer’s spell. “What have you done!?” she cried. “I brought you here to help my people, not kill them!”

“But…they had rocks,” Telkar stammered.

“So your response is to incinerate them?!” Ilean chastised the sorcerer.

“In the sorcerer’s defense, they were very big rocks,” Stragh chuckled.

Ever the voice of reason, Zuriel broke up the argument after determining there was nothing to do for the fireblasted elves. Irate over Telkar’s overkill, Ilean refused the further assistance of Corporal Snips to move about the island and took up a piece of driftwood to use as a crutch. From the seawall, the elf silently led the adventurers across the island toward her people’s village where she hoped to find Iast.

The topography of Madowlieloren suggested a turtle’s shell with a steep cliff on the east side representing its head stretching for sunlight and, as Ilean and the adventurers reached the apex of the turtle’s back, they could see downhill toward a giant mushroom where a group of armed elves gathered. Ilean called down to the elves, but the group seemed oblivious of her and immediately went on the defensive as the adventurers approached. One of the elves, a warrior armed with a gleaming short sword, drew his blade and shouted for his companions to form a line and ready their bows.

“That’s Iast,” Ilean told Zuriel. “He doesn’t know you. Let me try to talk to him.” But before Ilean could calm the warrior, Zuriel leapt in front of the elf shielding her from a barrage of arrows launched at his companions.

“This is it, comrades! The demons have come for us at last!” Iast shouted as he charged the paladin. “We won’t go down without a fight! For In Aergaladh! For Eolis! Attack!”

The elves’ offensive was a chaotic jumble of confused tactics and poor decisions, but they fought like madmen making it clear the sickness had spread to Iast and his warriors. Even if they had been sane however, it was clear the elves were outmatched by the adventurers…not that this mattered to the wolf shaman Stragh. While his companions did their best to pull their punches against Iast and his warriors, Stragh was of a different mind.

The druid struck a young unarmed warrior breaking his jaw and knocking him to the ground. It was clear the elf had fallen unconscious from the pain, but Stragh continued to attack. Pulling the warrior up by his shirt, Stragh pulled his arm back to deliver a killing blow when Ilean leapt at him in a feeble attempt to pull him away from the defeated elf. “Keep out of this, she-elf!” Stragh snarled as he caught Ilean’s throat and flung her to the ground before continuing to snap the young warrior’s neck. It seemed as if the wolf shaman might turn on the crippled woman next but he suddenly found himself staring down the shaft of one of Zuriel’s arrows.

“That’s enough, Stragh,” the paladin growled. “These elves are sick. They’re not our enemies.”

“Their sickness is the enemy,” Stragh snarled back. “Better to kill them all before it spreads.”

“We don’t know if they can’t be cured,” Zuriel replied. “We’re going to tie up the survivors and look for a way to save them.”

When it looked like Balarath and Telkar were backing the paladin, the wolf shaman relented and sulked off into the ruins of the nearby village while his companions bound the elves near the enormous mushroom. The fungus, the only one of its kind on the island, was a mystery to the elves but a welcome one. After their village was attacked by Mahg’og, the space under the mushroom’s huge gray cap served as a temporary shelter from the storms that occasionally washed over the island. Now it served as a camp for the adventurers as they contemplated their next move.

Having expended many of their resources and spells reaching the island and battling its mad inhabitants, the party decided to camp in the ruins of the old elven village. As Zuriel, Telkar and Stragh set up their bedrolls, Balarath scouted out the rest of the island disguising himself as a swarm of wasps.

During his circuit of the island, the witch doctor saw many strange things. A trio of bizarre, bloated fish dragged themselves across a field of stones with tentacles which protruded from their mouths like grasping tongues, the corpses of dead elves twitched and vibrated as obscene transformations came over them and gigantic lobster-like monsters fought over the carcasses of what appeared to be mutated dolphins lying dead in the sand. Perhaps most disturbing of all, the witch doctor learned the fate of the elven corpses missing from the burial site he and his had companions discovered earlier.

Fifteen animated skeletons mutated by the island’s curse and dragging skin and sinew behind them like shadows made from flesh made their way across the island in the direction of the old village. Balarath made it back to camp just in time to warn his companions of the approaching undead horrors and the adventurers quickly engaged the skeletons as they charged madly toward the ruins.

Covered in strange horn-like growths and possessed of distorted features and deformed limbs, the skeletons were a truly terrible sight but no more a challenge for the adventurers than paper dolls. Before the divine might of Zuriel, several of the boney brawlers burst into dust as Stragh shattered the ribcages and skulls of a trio of skeletons with his fists. The battle against the skeletons was over quickly and, as a precaution, Telkar set the remains to fire.

With the immediate threat passed, the party settled in to camp taking turns at standing watch as per the usual arrangement among adventurers. Though no beasts or madmen came to attack the party as they rested, the night was far from peaceful. Hours later while checking on the elven prisoners, Zuriel made a tragic discovery. Someone or something had snuck into the hut containing the mad elves and brutally strangled them to death.

Ilean was furious at the murder of her people and she immediately accused Stragh of their deaths. Only Iast Galanolend remained from the group of prisoners thanks to the aquatic elf’s attempts to communicate with him in a separate hut, but the warrior’s men had been remorselessly killed as they lay unconscious or gagged and unable to raise an alarm.

“Tell us, Stragh,” Zuriel growled at the druid. “Are you responsible for the deaths of these elves?”

“The elves of this island are diseased, cursed, there is no hope for them,” the half-orc replied, deflecting the question. “Their deaths are a mercy.”

“Answer the question,” the paladin snarled, his patience wearing thin.

“Why do we continue to waste time here?” Stragh sniped back. “The she-elf says some evil jewel is the cause of this madness. Why hasn’t she taken us to destroy it? How do we know she isn’t infected? She may have already spread her sickness to The Shallows! She may have spread it to our people! Those afflicted with this madness should be purged before they doom us all!”

“How do we know you aren’t the one who is infected!?” Ilean seethed with rage. “What sane creature willingly eats the flesh of a devil?!”

“I grow tired of your weakness, woman! Tell us where to find this dark jewel so we can destroy it before its curse reaches our people! You and your kind can stay here and fling yourselves into the rocks until you are food for crabs for all I care!” Stragh shouted back at the elf.

“Find it yourself!” Ilean snapped. “Nányë u eques söa until you answer for the murder of my people!”

“I will kill you as well if you do not tell us now!” the shaman roared shifting into the form of a great black worg. “How would like to lose your other leg!?”

Zuriel was quick to leap between the elf and the wolf shaman, nocking an arrow into his bow as Telkar and Balarath readied to take Stragh down if necessary. “So you admit your guilt,” spoke the paladin. “I warned you, Stragh. We’re here to save these people, not kill them to save ourselves.”

“It had to be done,” Stragh growled, finally owning up to his deed. “Our pack cannot be strong if we allow this sickness to spread. We will die as crazed and pathetic as these elves. It is better they die so that we might live.”

Visibly shaken by Stragh’s threats, Ilean drew the sword she’d taken from Iast and backed away from the party. “You’ll find the jewel in the quarry northeast of the village, but I’m not going with you,” she stammered. “I’m taking Iast and we’re leaving. If this is the kind of help my people can expect from you, we’ll take our chances without you. Don’t follow us.”

“I’m not giving up on Ilean’s people, but I won’t continue to work with any of you until I know where you stand,” Zuriel told his companions as the elf retreated into the hut holding Iast. “I’m going to see that these warriors are respectfully laid to rest, and I’m going to ask the Eternal Rose for guidance. You should go on without me for now.”

“Feel free to use the pyre I already built at the edge of the village,” Stragh chuckled prompting a harsh glare from Telkar who “accidentally” cued Corporal Snips to trim a few hairs from the wolf’s flank. Balarath and the sorcerer kept a close eye on Stragh the rest of the night while Zuriel tended to the dead elves on the outskirts of the ruins. The following morning, Ilean and Iast, as well as the paladin, were gone. Having initially partnered to save the elves of Madowlieloren, it seemed the party was now on the brink of dissolution and, as the adventurers would soon discover, the curse of madness plaguing the island was only a bubble on the surface compared to what was waiting in the depths of Groth-Lunaer.


Wow, pretty dark.

I think I might have attacked Stragh if I had been in the party and been there.

Of course that kind of thing leads to trouble usually too. Can't wait to see what happens with this party going forward.


just took a few weeks of work to read from start to finish.. please. please i crave more


It's really slowed down since Velcro moved to Alaska. Maybe he is a lot busier up there.


I'm glad to see people are still playing this module. I bought back 10 years ago and the largest city too. Tho it looks from dredging thru the web that nobody has improved much upon the map digitization. I've run 3 groups thru this dungeon and i'm currently right now with pathfinder. The longest i've played a group thru it and all the way thru was a years and half. I still have the maps digitized for anyone who interested and i don't mind giving pointers for play since i'm familiar with the module.


Wow, you finished this thing? Do you have a writeup for any of your runs?

And it probably is the wrong place, but I've always wanted to read a campaign journal of The Night Below. I really wanted to play that, but it was hard for me to find a group who wanted to play a 2nd edition dungeon. I think some people have updated it for 3.x, but it was so cool looking I wanted to play it.

Liberty's Edge

Pathfinder Battles Case Subscriber

Hey everybody. Just checking in to say the new journal entries are coming. As some of you know, I work as a journalist for the U.S. Coast Guard. For the last four months, I've been really busy with work and preparing to test for advancement to the next rank (my test is in about two weeks.) I've been working on the journal when I've had time, and I'm nearly caught up. I hope to have 24-30 pages posted by the end of the week.

Thanks for sticking with us.


*Whistles*

Working the USCG in Alaska, no wonder you've been slammed.

o7


Good news, but all I can think of is how many chars are no longer with us.

I am going to say 7 died in the time posting has been suspended.

Anyone else got a number?

Liberty's Edge

Pathfinder Battles Case Subscriber

Greetings again, everyone. The day after I last posted here, I found out I had to move out of my apartment due to a rabbit infestation. I had to put posting on hold while I found and moved into a new apartment, but good news! I have three new entries to post! You've all waited long enough so here they are!

DAY 391-394 THE ACCURSED ISLAND

featuring the World’s Largest Adventuring Party:

Balarath - Half-Orc Scarred Witch Doctor
Telkar - Human Sylvan-blooded Sorcerer
Stragh – Half-Orc Wolf Shaman/Brawler(fighter)
Zuriel – Half-Orc Paladin of Shelyn

A light drizzle fell upon the sand of Madowlieloren the morning following Stragh’s remorseless murder of the crazed elf warriors, but the rain did little to quench the flames of the funeral pyre set by Zuriel. The paladin of Shelyn, the only member of the party for whom Ilean still had any respect, accompanied the crippled warrior and her sick friend, Iast, away from the elf village leaving his companions behind after reciting a brief blessing for the dead. Ilean had said nothing since confronting Stragh about the murders, but now, as the trio neared a small grove of flowering bushes near the center of the island, she turned to the paladin with a warning.

“This is the sapling grove, the reason my people came to this island,” Ilean spoke. “Iast and I will be safe here until I can figure out what to do next. I may try to search for any survivors of this plague and bring them here before that monster, Stragh, finds them.”

“You’re a good man, Zuriel. You should leave Madowlieloren before that changes,” the elf continued before Zuriel could respond. “If you do return to your companions, know this: the grove is sacred to my people and the sapling growing from this soil is a holy thing. The plants here understand this and won’t tolerate the presence of those unworthy of approaching it. If your allies come this way and try to enter the grove, I won’t be able to stop what happens…nor shall I try.”

Seeing as how he had no way of leaving the island without help from his allies, Zuriel knew he would have to return to them, but he promised to steer Stragh clear of the grove should the wolf shaman survive their next encounter. As it turned out, however, there would be no need for bloodshed between the druid and holy warrior.

***

“Wake up, you baur scarados!” Balarath growled tugging hard on Stragh’s mane of greasy, unkempt fur. “It is time we made something clear!” Only moments before, the druid had been trailing behind Telkar and Balarath when the witch doctor turned to him with a wicked glare. Stragh’s vision faded and he fell into a deep sleep only to wake with Balarath’s knife to his throat and Corporal Snips’ pincers spreading his hind legs while the scorpion’s tail dangled precariously over his shoulder.

“From now on, I am krual of this bajrak!” Balarath snarled pressing the blade of his dagger hard into Stragh’s neck. “You kill only on my command! If anymore of these elves die without my approval, your next dream will end when I trod you and feed your fragiz-riddled opash-dhomaj to Telkar’s pet! Do you understand?!”

Stragh briefly considered his options before consenting to Balarath’s claim of leadership. The witch doctor clearly had the trust of Telkar and his giant scorpion and it was obvious neither of the adventurers would defend him if Zuriel returned with justice on his mind. “You are clear,” the wolf shaman sulked. “Afar vadokanuk, Stragh dorzog. I kill only on your command.”

Satisfied they would have no trouble with the wolf shaman (at least until they got off the island,) Balarath ordered Stragh to the front of the group to scout the way ahead. They were getting close to the quarry Ilean had described and he wanted to be ready for whatever they might find. “How did you know that would work?” Telkar asked the witch doctor as Stragh ran a safe distance ahead.

“I didn’t,” Balarath replied. “But I suspect Stragh is shamed by his human blood. I think he hides inside the body of a wolf to hide it and follows close to the ways of the orc to prove he is not weak. I reasoned that, like most orcs, he would submit to a stronger power than himself, at least until he feels he can challenge me. We will need to watch him closely.” Silently, Balarath thanked his ancestors for their aid against Stragh. He wasn’t sure if the slumber hex he used would be strong enough to incapacitate the wolf shaman and he knew it would not work again if Stragh attacked him today.

***

As the trio of adventurers approached the dusty quarry, they heard the sound of frantic, troubled muttering mixed with sharp, methodical clicking. Three elves huddled around a narrow rift in the quarry smacking small stones against rusty digging tools before arranging them in an abstract pattern in the dirt. Armed with broken longswords and a few minor incantations, the elves attempted to defend the quarry but they were quickly subdued by Balarath and his companions. It was around this time Zuriel returned to the group after tracking them to the mine.

The rift at the bottom of the quarry was just wide enough for a single man to enter and led into a small cave where an uncut diamond, tar-black and glassy, jutted from the wall. The captured elves wailed as Zuriel entered the cave to examine the stone, crying out that the stone was precious to them and protected them from demons, but the paladin could sense great evil radiating from the jewel. Thinking he might make quick work of the diamond, Zuriel imbued his kukri with divine strength and struck the gem but it easily resisted his blows. It seemed clear that destroying the stone was the best course of action, but no weapon or tool the adventurers possessed proved up to the task.

“This is a waste of time,” Stragh complained glancing at the captured elves. “I say we bury the damned thing and turn our weapons on something we know we can destroy.”

“Hold a moment. Stragh’s onto something,” Telkar interrupted before Zuriel could protest. “Ilean said the madness came before the discovery of the diamond. The stone only seemed to make things worse. Maybe sealing it beneath the earth will slow the progression of the curse? It could give us time to find a cure.”

“Perhaps, but the gem is too evil a thing to leave within the soil of this island,” Zuriel replied, considering the sacred sapling of the elves. “It needs to be destroyed.”

“I don’t disagree with you,” the sorcerer spoke. “But you’re going to need a stronger knife…”

***

During their short time adventuring with the sorcerer Quaanth, Telkar and Stragh became aware of the adamantine dagger which was found in The Shallows and used to break down the altar imprisoning the lillend Sissifiss. The meteoric steel possessed the strength the break through nearly any substance, but the weapon had been left back at the Wolag hall in The Barrows for safekeeping. Believing the dagger to be their best chance at destroying the black diamond of Madowlieloren, the adventurers entombed the jewel beneath 10 feet of conjured stone and returned to Dragonpoop Bastion in The Shallows where they hired one of Spishak Kilbane’s pack rats to deliver the knife back to them.

Delivery of the adamantine dagger took a couple of days and while the party waited they checked in on Wroe and his tritons. The adventurers learned relations between the tritons and merfolk were steadily getting better and Wroe was beginning to send scouts to explore the far eastern edge of the northern swamps. Long ago, the dragon Thorodin used enslaved merrow to construct a great dam of coral in the eastern shoals that kept water from The Deeps from flooding the marshes. With the dragon dead and the merrow nearly completely wiped out, Wroe was concerned the dam might fall into disrepair and hoped to eventually station some warriors at the dam to keep the coral safe. The triton blacksmith had also reached out to The Barrows for engineers and adventurers willing to lend their skill or steel to the project.

Dagger soon in hand, the adventurers attempted their return to Madowlieloren only to discover finding the accursed island was much more difficult without Ilean to guide them through the surf. A maelstrom of powerful wind and punishing rain prevented flight for much of the way and terrible beasts from the depths of Groth-Lunaer, scrags and fiendish, mutated orcas among them, harried the party as they swam below the waves. Even Stragh’s wolfish senses were muddled by the stormy seas and the shaman led his companions astray several times before the group was finally caught up in an undertow of titanic strength.

“This is it,” Stragh snarled as he swam into the powerful current. “The elfish isle should lay just beyond this storm! Follow me!” But his companions, perhaps wiser or frightened by the tremendous pull of the eddy, pressed against the water in the opposite direction. Turning back and swimming hard for the surface, they saw Stragh sucked up into what appeared to be a tsunami-sized wall of churning seawater that defied gravity as it continuously crashed against the ceiling of the immense cave.

“This must be the barrier Ilean mentioned, the storm that’s kept her people from getting back to their home!” Balarath shouted over the thunder of the waves as Stragh was lifted up into the wall of water and cast violently back out into the sea. “It’s as if the spirit of Besmara or Olhydra herself haunts these waters! We’ll never get through!”

Collecting their waterlogged wolf shaman, the party left the tempest and swam until they encountered a pair of strange, chitin-armored beasts that resembled monstrous hermit crabs within enormous turtle shells. The creatures proved to be surprisingly intelligent and, after some debate over whether the adventurers were fish, and therefore edible, the monsters pointed the party in the direction of Madowlieloren.

***

Returning to the site of the quarry, the adventurers came upon a horrible scene. Before they left the island, the party had knocked their elf captives unconscious and untied them so they wouldn’t risk starvation or defenselessness against the strange creatures roaming the island. They expected the elves would wake and eventually wander away from the mine but, instead, they found the mad elves scraping and clawing at the stone covering the diamond.

Broken tools lay scattered about the quarry as the elves knelt in the dust feverishly wearing their wrists down to blackened nubs against the stone. Oblivious to the adventurers’ presence, the poor, mad elves sadly groaned as they dragged the bones of their forearms across the ground.

“Stargush na Skator, they’re dead,” Balarath swore, noticing large puddles of dried blood surrounding the elves. “They must have bled out as they toiled.”

“But this curse won’t let their bodies rest until the diamond is recovered,” Zuriel added ruefully. “Stragh, uncover the cave. We’re going to destroy this hell-spawned rock before it can hurt anyone else.”

After the party dispatched the zombified elves, Stragh cast a spell allowing him to sculpt a tunnel into the conjured stone. Then, once again channeling the holy power of Shelyn, Zuriel struck at the black diamond with the adamantine dagger. It took two solid blows, but the jewel finally cracked and splintered into several shards. Unfortunately, the paladin soon learned he had only multiplied the problem. Concentrating on the glassy fragments, Zuriel discovered breaking the diamond hadn’t removed the taint of evil from the gem. Instead, each shard radiated with the same intense, profane energy as the original stone.

“That is not what I expected to happen,” Telkar mused as Stragh laughed at the party’s predicament. “What do we do now? We can’t take it back to The Barrows.”

Suggestions for how to deal with the diamond were roundly debated by the adventurers. Cutting the diamond into smaller fragments and grinding it into dust seemed wholly unsafe and Stragh’s suggestion to trade the shards to the hag coven in The Shallows was quickly shot down by Zuriel. Leaving the fate of the diamond fragments to the currents of the sea was also not a popular option and, soon, the party decided their best course of action would be to once again bury the shadowy gem. This time however, they would place the diamond somewhere the insane elves of Madowlieloren would likely never find it. Using a spell of flight to carry the diamond shards up to the ceiling of the cavern high above the island, the party once again called on Stragh’s mastery over the earth to seal the jewels into a stalagtite with only a Celestial warning carved into the stone to mark its location.

With the threat of the accursed black diamond temporarily handled, the party decided the only option for saving the island’s uninfected inhabitants would be to remove them from Madowlieloren altogether. Of course, first they would have to find any uninfected inhabitants. For the time being, Zuriel purposefully led his companions away from the sacred grove where he knew Ilean and Iast were hiding. He knew it might be necessary to leave Iast behind and he wished to give Ilean more time to discover a cure for her friend before he informed her of the plan. Until then, Balarath would lead the group to some of the caves he had discovered while exploring the island in swarm form.

***

Balarath led his companions up a ridge leading to a cliff on the east edge of Madowlieloren where he had spotted a strange green glow emanating from a cave in the cliff face above the sea. Normally, entry into the cave would only be possible by climbing down the sheer wall but the adventurers had magic to assist them. With the exception of Stragh, who suggestively announced he would slither down into the cave in the form of a huge python, the party flew into the dark maw of the cavern with the aid of Telkar and Balarath’s spells.

It was soon discovered the green glow Balarath had seen came from a form of phosphorescent lichen lining the stone and reacting to the friction of churning water in a sea cave far below. As his companions examined the lichen and water from afar, Stragh slid down into the swirling waves to explore the bottom of the cave. There in the murky depths, the wolf shaman found the torn and half-eaten remains of many sea creatures and elves clouding the waters but something else lurked within the fissures and between the crevices of smooth stone below. Scrags!

Stragh glided silently through the water until he spotted a large sea troll nestled between some rocks and picking at the rotting torso of a dead porpoise. Hungry for blood, the serpent-shaped wolf shaman slithered up behind the troll and quickly wrapped it within his coils. Instinctively, the scrag clawed and bit at the ensnaring snake kicking up a cloud of chum and dust that attracted the notice of its two brothers who were searching for food nearby. Within moments, Stragh found himself surrounded and assaulted by a trio of hungry sea trolls as his companions flew high overhead oblivious to his struggle.

The wolf shaman fought savagely but, by the time the rest of the party elected to search the sea cave, it was too late. Balarath transformed into a swarm of leeches and dove beneath the waves just in time to see two of the scrags fighting over the druid’s legs while the most injured troll snuck off with Stragh’s torso and head. Unmoved by Stragh’s death, the witch doctor left the scrags to their quarrel and searched the area after they left, picking through the bits of the wolf shaman’s equipment that had shaken loose during the struggle.

Back atop the cliff, the adventurers caught sight of several bright flashes of lightning coming from a beach not far to the south. Investigating, they discovered the smoking remains of the three scrags that had killed Stragh and several sets of boot prints in the sand leading toward a glassy cove. The trail of boot prints ended near the entrance to a grotto where glowing moss illuminated a rainbow of crystal shards growing from the stone. The tunnel was only wide enough for one member of the group to enter at a time and Balarath volunteered to lead the way.

The gentle sound of chiming crystals accompanied the party as they made their way through the winding tunnel of the grotto until they eventually came to a peculiar cave entrance that resembled a rough, yawning, one-eyed face. An elf peered out of the cave’s empty “eye socket” and shouted for the group to halt and identify themselves, making it a point to express a distrust of humans. After a brief but tense conversation with Zuriel, the elf consented to letting either the paladin or Balarath into the cave to speak with his leader, a sorcereress called Nalathe Sionmodel.

Nalathe, a young, pretty elf with unkempt, windswept hair and storm-grey eyes that flickered like lightning, explained to Zuriel that she and her companions had been outcasts even among the other outcasts of Madowlieloren.

“Our people’s worship of that nauca pile of kindling they call a sacred tree is gern peniuith, out-dated and useless,” Nalathe spoke. “We are the Húrocolla, the Stormborne, and all we’ve ever wanted is to get off this island and return to the surface.”

When the sickness came over the island, Nalathe and her clique of storm-blooded sorcerers retreated to their “clubhouse” in the grotto to distance themselves from the infected. When their supplies began to run low, the Húrocolla turned to scavenging food and water from the village or raiding the stores of the few elves who remained uninfected.

“We found Ilean while searching the grove for food yesterday,” Nalathe continued. “She warned us about you and your friends, but I won’t hold a grudge if you can get us off this rock. It isn’t as if we’ve got any friends left out there anyway.”
Nalathe went on to tell Zuriel about a fishing boat she saw hard aground on some rocks to the east of the island. According to the elf, the vessel could be spotted from the top of the nearby cliff on a clear day and it looked to be seaworthy. “We can sail it if you and your companions can figure out a way to get it off the rocks,” the elf offered. “Get us off this island and you can keep the boat when we get to shore.” The paladin agreed to the proposal saying Nalathe and her friends would be welcome in The Barrows until an exit from the dungeon could be found.

Failing to spot the fishing boat from the cliff, Zuriel and his companions simply flew out over the water due east from Madowlieloren until they found the vessel rocking against a protrusion of jagged rocks. The boat’s hull had only a few minor cracks, but its sail was in tatters. Telkar flew down to see if his scorpion companion Corporal Snips could dislodge the boat when the amicable arthropod began to act strangely. After taking a swipe at his master with one of his claws, the scorpion dove beneath the waves swimming quickly thanks to one of the sorcerer’s spells. Confused, Telkar shifted into the form of a dolphin and chased after his verminous companion determined to root out the cause of Corporal Snips sudden insubordination. Meanwhile high above, Zuriel and Balarath investigated the grounded fishing vessel.

Flying down to land on the boat, Balarath quickly realized the vessel was truly an elaborate illusion when he noticed the peculiar way it reacted to the motion of the waves. Zuriel however, was entirely convinced of the boat’s existence and went straight to work trying to push it from the rocks. As Balarath tried to convince the paladin of the ship’s inauthenticity, neither of the adventurers was aware of the fate of their companion Telkar. A few moments later, a pair of bull sharks broke the surface of the water in the midst of a terrible struggle. As Balarath and Zuriel watched from the rocks, the larger of the two predators crushed the smaller shark in its jaws and dove back beneath the waves disappearing in a plume of blood. Moments later, the illusionary fishing vessel vanished from sight as a dozen charred elven corpses floated to the surface of the sea.

“Magic killed these elves,” Balarath spoke upon sighting the fire-blasted elves. “I don’t know what is going here, but I think Telkar is in trouble.”

Wasting no more time, Zuriel and Balarath dove beneath the waves in search of their ally. With the aid of the witch doctor’s magic, the pair quickly descended more than 200 feet finally spotting Corporal Snips near the bottom of a seamount. Hoping the scorpion would lead them to Telkar, the adventurers swam closer only to be surprised when the vermin attacked. The huge bull shark the adventurers saw at the water’s surface suddenly emerged through a mysterious school of white fish attacking fiercely and swallowing Balarath as the witch doctor trapped Corporal Snips in a block of ice. With only his kukri to defend himself from the monstrous shark, Zuriel was chomped savagely until he too became trapped in the shark’s belly. Little did the ferocious fish know this is just what the paladin wanted.

Hacked to ribbons from the inside and sheared in two by Balarath’s ice magic, the bull shark came apart like a wet paper bag filled with chunky tomato paste and shredded Telkar. Bleeding badly, Zuriel and the witch doctor emerged from the cloud of shark pasta only to come face to face with the cruel puppet master behind Corporal Snips’ betrayal. Something like a cross between an immense, three-eyed catfish and an octopus lashed out at the adventurers with tentacles slick with black slime. Before he could heal himself, Zuriel’s throat was crushed by the aboleth’s ichor-stained appendage and the monster shook the paladin’s body in its monstrous grip.

“The life of this creature is slipping away, orc-thing,” the monster echoed through the crude, gaping flap of yellow-green flesh that functioned as its mouth. “Serve us willingly and it will live.”

Balarath could tell in an instant the beast was bluffing. Zuriel was dead and, if he didn’t do something to stop from bleeding out, the witch doctor knew he would soon be joining the paladin in the afterlife. Seeing no other way out, Balarath scowled behind his ancestral mask as a prison of ice formed around the aboleth, trapping the monster as well as the corpse of his companion, Zuriel. Then, taking only a moment to stanch his wounds, Balarath fled for Madowlieloren leaving the malevolent aberration to drift through the cold, lightless depths of the sea until time or fate once again set it free to plague the world of men.

Liberty's Edge

Pathfinder Battles Case Subscriber

DAY 394-396 DEVILS OF THE DEEPS’ BLUE SEA

featuring The World’s Largest Adventuring Party:

Hrothgar Ironbrood – Dwarf Cleric of Bolka
Descartes – Human Storm Druid
Kharis – Human Vivisectionist Alchemist
Balarath - Half-Orc Scarred Witch Doctor

Hrothgar and Descartes stood at the edge of the south swamp staring out across a long shelf of coral that reached the north bank of The Shallows as a team of tritons inspected its edges. Long ago, the merrow had constructed the coral shelf to act as a dam against flooding and deadly beasts from The Deeps. With the aquatic ogres scattered however, Wroe realized there was nobody to defend the coral against attack or degradation. To that end, he’d hired the druid and the cleric to accompany a scouting party to ascertain the condition of the dam. The coral wall seemed fine for now, but the sudden appearance and retreat of a humanoid figure peering through the waves at the surface of the eastern sea caught Descartes’ attention and worried the tritons.

“Neither tritons nor merfolk live beyond this wall,” spoke Ampheres, the triton warrior leading the scouting party. “The locathah, the former servants of Thorodin, however, may still have a lair in The Deeps. They may harbor some ill will toward our people, so I think it would be unwise to leave the dam unattended.”

“You and your warriors stay here, then,” spoke Descartes, anxious for something to do that didn’t amount to sentry duty. “Hrothgar and I will chase down whatever that was and see if it’s up to no good.”

The triton wished the adventurers luck and the blessings of Eadro in their hunt and marveled as the druid’s form shifted into that of a huge squid. Protected from drowning by his magic, Hrothgar nonetheless couldn’t help but feel a little nervous as he climbed onto the druid’s back and rode the squid down into the lightless depths. The druid glided deep into the water quickly reaching a rocky trench where he discovered the mouth of a cave. A curtain of seaweed swayed loosely over the entrance of the cave like an unkempt moustache and several rows of jagged spikes lined the interior of the cave like rows of shark’s teeth. The cave entrance was too narrow for Descartes to enter in his current form so he took the shape of a smaller squid and slipped into the cavern with Hrothgar close behind.

The adventurers swam carefully between the razor-sharp spikes at the cavern entrance into what appeared to have once been a great hall lined with cracked white tiles. A mosaic of a mad-eyed, snake-haired woman stared out from the eastern wall and, as Decartes and Hrothgar cautiously moved across the room, a deafening, soul-crushing howl screamed from the image’s gaping mouth. The sound rippled through the brackish water filling the adventurers with suicidal anguish, but the priests found strength in their faith and resisted the death urge of the banshee’s wail. Descartes and Hrothgar may have survived the terrible trap, but the sound of the scream alerted the residents of the ancient hall who soon appeared from a yawning void in the east end of the hall.

Three green-scaled creatures lurked within a ruined chamber where more of the peculiar spiky rock formations jutted from every angle of the room. Teeth like obsidian arrowheads filled the gulping jaws of the four-armed, piranha-faced humanoids and a pair of large sharks accompanied the beasts. With a frenzied cry the piscine predators charged the adventurers who quickly defended themselves with divine sorcery.

“I don’t know about you, but I like my fish shredded,” Hrothgar chuckled to Descartes conjuring a massive wall of swirling blades that tore through the flesh of one of the sharks and a pair of their handlers. “Shark especially makes for a delicious puttu!”

“I’ve never really had the stomach for Vudrani cuisine,” the druid remarked. “I prefer my fish fried!” With a gesture, a wide stroke of lightning arced from Descartes’ palms striking the nearest of the fish-men before crackling through its companions. The creatures and their pets fought on savagely despite their terrible wounds, but they were no match for the well-prepared adventurers. As their bodies drifted through the chamber pluming clouds of crimson blood, Hrothgar caught sight of a pair of swords mounted upon the wall at the back of the room.

A dragon’s wings and tail decorated the hilt and handle of a gleaming longsword while the image of a soaring, golden griffon adorned a short sword below it but, as the dwarf attempted to remove the weapons, a deep rumbling groan issued from the ceiling of the chamber. The cleric and his companion were caught off guard as the ceiling of the room crashed down on top of them smashing the corpses of the sea beasts and shattering a number of the spikes protruding from the walls. As the trap reset and the ceiling rose off the injured adventurers, they escaped the chamber leaving the securely fastened blades in their place.

Back out in the main hall, Hrothgar and Descartes were surprised to find four more of the loathsome fish-men and another pair of sharks escaping across the tiled entry way. Each of the sharks carried what appeared to be a seaweed-mesh sack of large pearls and the leader of the creatures, a hulking monster wielding a radiant silver spear, croaked an order to his underlings and led the beasts out of the cave while his warriors charged the adventurers.

The creatures fell quickly to the spells of the adventuring priests, but their sacrifice and the wailing mural upon the wall distracted Hrothgar and Descartes long enough for the fish-folks’ master to escape into the darkness of the sea. A search of the monster’s lair revealed the scavenged remains of an alchemist’s lab. The beast had left behind a small scatter of pearls and, as Descartes scooped the first gem up from a thin bowl upon the workbench there came a sudden hiss. At once, each of the pearls cracked open filling the chamber with an acidic cloud that singed the druid and forced him to flee the room. Within moments, the cloud vanished but it had devoured most of the remaining lab equipment, taking with it any clue as to its purpose. With no means of tracking the fleeing creature and its cargo, the adventurers thought it best to report to the tritons.

***

After escaping the accursed island of Madowlieloren, Balarath arrived to the eastern beach of The Shallows to find a most peculiar sight. Hauled up onto the sand at the edge of the great swamp was a waterlogged and damaged cog with the words “Mariner’s Passion” painted across its bow. The barnacle-encrusted vessel’s mast was missing, seemingly sheared off by some past storm, and the hull bore a dwarf-sized hole slick with algae. A pot of coffee boiled over a small fire nearby and the witch doctor could hear the sound of two men aboard the grounded vessel.

It wasn’t long before Hrothgar and Descartes emerged from the cargo hold of the cog wet with grime to find the exhausted half-orc resting within their camp. After exchanging pleasantries, the witch doctor informed the priests of his recent escapades and inquired of recent happenings at Dragonpoop Bastion. Seeing Balarath was no threat, Hrothgar and his companion explained the Mariner’s Passion was a gift from Wroe for scaring off a camp of beasts called sahuagin. The tritons had discovered the vessel while scouting the eastern bay of The Shallows and thought it might benefit the landstriders after a few repairs.

“I’ve got some friends in the Goblin Empire who are on their way to help us get the old girl back in the water,” Descartes proclaimed. Some time ago, the druid had earned the favor of the goblins by weeding out an infestation of assassin vines which had crept out of their holy labyrinth. “And word has it Col. Rose himself is on his way up from Four Waters to inspect the dam for the tritons.”

“Feh!” Hrothgar scoffed. “Coral is no proper material for building a dam! With Bolka’s aid I could make the tritons a strong jetty of good stone!”

“And cause who knows what kind of damage to the local ecosystem,” Descartes commented. “Like it or not, my friend, we Barrowmen are guests in these waters and we should continue to behave as such.”

The trio of adventurers sat enjoying their coffee and swapping tales of derring-do for some time before finally deciding to band together to hunt down the escaped leader of the sahuagin. Descartes’ goblin friends were still a few days out, and there was no telling what the monster intended to do with the acid-filled pearls he had taken from the old lab. Whatever he planned, however, it likely spelled trouble for the tritons.

The adventurer’s decided their best chance at locating the sahaugin chief was to return to the creature’s former lair to search for clues but, before they headed back into The Deeps, they made a quick stop at Dragonpoop Bastion to seek out a purported expert on alchemical concoctions. The vivisectionist Kharis had been laying low since his run-in with the dragon Thorodin but, with the monster dead, he’d returned to The Shallows to slum around the bastion and peddle his wares. The news of the submerged alchemist’s laboratory intrigued Kharis so he agreed to come along and offer his skills to the party.

***

To the adventurers’ dismay, the wreckage of the sahuagin lab offered no clues to the whereabouts of their escaped leader. However, upon studying the damaged equipment, Kharis did manage to ascertain the trapped pearls used a compressed compound gas to eject a cloud of plant-produced alkaloids to break down organic materials and create chemical imbalances in affected seawater.

“But what does any of that mean?” Balarath inquired.

“It means the dam is screwed if we don’t find this scaly bastard,” the alchemist responded grimly. “This stuff was custom-made to destroy coral.”

The adventurers took only a few minutes before leaving to search the spike-filled chamber where Hrothgar and Descartes first encountered the sahuagin. No clues to their master’s whereabouts could be found, but they did manage to safely remove the pair of ornate swords hanging from the wall. Under examination it was revealed the weapons bore powerful enchantments against dragonkind, quickened the reflexes and protected their wielder from deadly falls. Indeed the blades were unique treasures, but they could offer no help in locating the errant sea devil. Fortunately, the party wouldn’t have long to wait before crossing the wake of the sahuahgin.

***

As the adventurers surfaced and returned to the coral dam, they spotted a disturbance in the water ahead. A group of triton warriors defended the structure from an incoming band of sahuagin warriors and their shark minions. The tritons had managed to slay some of the beasts with their crossbows, but they were heavily outnumbered and the monsters were closing fast. Rushing to the aid of the seaborne sentries, Descartes quickly noticed the sharks and their masters raced at the dam with reed satchels tucked under their arms or strapped to their backs.

“Stop the charge! We can’t let them reach the dam!” the squid-shaped druid roared, his tentacles writhing to conjure up a storm of lightning. A bolt of crackling electricity arced through the water toward the monsters as Decartes’ allies prepared for battle. Within moments, Balarath was airborne, raining mystical might upon the sea devils as Kharis struck at the monsters invisibly and Hrothgar bolstered his companions with the power of his goddess.

Strengthened by the scent of blood in the water, the surviving sahuagin ignored their terrible wounds and pressed toward the dam as their sharks harried Descartes and Kharis. “Evaemon!” Balarath shouted recognizing one of the triton warriors defending the dam. “Get your men out of here and warn Wroe! We’ll hold th-“

Before the witch doctor could finish his words, a sudden explosion ripped through a section of the dam, spraying Evaemon with acid and throwing his burned body into the water. A pair of sahuagin had made it to the dam and killed themselves delivering their deadly payload and the explosion set off a chain reaction in the bombs carried by the remaining sahuagin caught in the blast. As the mist cleared, the adventurers discovered a large section of the dam’s top layer had been destroyed allowing sea water from The Deeps to pour into The Shallows as the torn and bloody remains of triton and sahuagin warriors drifted in the tide.

“It’s not so bad,” Kharis remarked surveying the damage as Hrothgar and Balarath searched for survivors. “I’m sure a little silkstone from the Barrows could patch this right up.”

Descartes was about to comment on the amount of time it must have taken to build up such a huge wall of coral when an eruption of bitter smelling bubbles burst at the water’s surface. “Curse me for a fool! This attack was a distraction!” the druid swore as he dove beneath the waves. Confirming his fears, the druid soon found the sahuagin chief and several more sea devils were attacking the dam from deep below the surface. Worse yet, one of their charges had just destroyed five feet of the coral and its acid was quickly eating through to the other side of the wall.

Upon spotting the druid, the hulking, four-armed sahuagin leader, Sh’iga’torath, ordered his warriors to rush the dam as a pair of huge bull sharks swam to his side. As Balarath, Hrothgar and Kharis arrived to assist their companion, the beasts charged Descartes with the sahuagin chief close behind. The druid managed to slash one of the sharks with his taloned tentacles as they came near, but the sea devil leader deftly dodged through Descartes’ flailing forelimbs to drive its gleaming spear into the druid’s rubbery flesh.

Hrothgar and Kharis quickly closed in to support the beleaguered priest while Balarath attempted to stop the suicide-bombing sahuagin. The witch doctor managed to put two of the creatures to sleep with a powerful hex before they could reach their targets, but there were too many for him to stop alone. Unsure of how to stop the bombs from detonating, Balarath could only watch as plumes of acid split open their containers and began to tear craters into the coral wall. Bloodied and scorched by Kharis and Descartes’ attacks, Sh’iga’torath laughed as the acid quickly dissolved everything it touched forming gaping tunnels through the base of the dam. The monster was still laughing moments later when Descartes’ beak crushed his abdomen releasing his entrails in a red tide.

Frozen in a block of ice by the witch doctor Balarath, only a single sahuagin warrior survived the attack on the dam but, even with his chieftain dead, the creature refused to share information with the adventurers. The sea devil only chortled at the state of the dam and repeated threats of doom that would soon befall The Shallows. “Suouo! Til Thaison Run ianan aruan!” the creature growled. “Til ainraiphiens ruh ayosainondur! Suouo!”

“He seems pretty pleased for someone whose people just had their scaly butts kicked,” Kharis commented to Descartes. “What’s he going on about?”

The storm druid had a clear understanding of the Aquan tongue and seemed disturbed by the sea devil’s words. “He’s celebrating,” came the druid’s troubled reply. “He says the Master of the Deeps will soon rise to reign forever.”

Balarath’s ear perked up at Descartes’ revelation and he informed his new companions of all he had learned from Ilean about the kraken Mahg’Gog. “And you suppose this, Mahg’Gog, is the Master of The Deeps,” Kharis remarked. “That’s just fantastic. If it’s not tyrannical dragons, it’s kraken dictators! How many gigantic, power-mad monsters are crammed into this dungeon?”

The adventurers decided to quickly return to Wroe with news of the attack. The sahuagin bombs had done some real damage to the coral, but the adventurers’ defense of the dam had ensured the sea devils’ distribution of acid had been sloppy and uncoordinated. Most of the coral was safe, but steps would need to be taken to repair the damage before too much flooding occurred.

***

It was while returning to the triton colony that Hrothgar noticed Balarath had fallen behind. While Kharis and the cleric had opted to ride atop the giant squid occasionally known as Descartes, the witch doctor had chosen to swim under his own power and now he was nowhere to be seen. Despite his comrades’ assurances that the witch doctor would be fine, Hrothgar soon managed to convince Descartes and Kharis to search for Balarath and they soon found the half-orc drifting through the water as if in a daze.

Balarath seemed confused for a moment but soon came to his senses and relayed a peculiar tale to his companions. The witch doctor claimed he had been overtaken by a sudden, irresistible urge to dive into the mouth of a submerged well. The interior of the well was filled with a darkness even the half-orc’s eyes could not penetrate, but a feeling of great euphoria compelled Balarath to continue deeper into the cool, comforting void.

“I remember allowing myself to sink into the well. I was ready to give myself to it when a divine light suddenly appeared above me,” Balarath continued.

The light emanated from a lantern archon that passed below the half-orc and began to press against him, lifting him up from the well as a voice like ringing glass echoed down into the darkness. “The celestial spoke to something in the well saying it would not allow me to fall into its oblivion,” the witch doctor spoke. “I wanted to resist, but I felt listless, drained.”

The archon pushed Balarath from the well assuring him he would be safe and leaving him as Descartes appeared at the edge of the half-orc’s vision. “Before going, the celestial gave me a warning,” Balarath spoke. “The bones of Vizeed lay dreaming in the dark, to rise again on life’s bright spark. If the archon had not been there, my soul would have fed a demon, giving it fuel to live again.”

Hearing Balarath’s tale, the adventurers resolved to warn the residents of The Shallows from traveling near the well. If the witch doctor was correct, the dreaming demon Vizeed could become a greater threat than Thorodin.

***

“I thank you all on behalf of my people,” Wroe spoke after hearing the report from the adventurers. “I’m sure you did your best to save our warriors. Was anything else recovered from the battle? Any clues at all?”

“We captured one of the sea devils, but he isn’t saying anything useful,” Descartes replied. “He just keeps rambling on about a Master of The Deeps. Unless you can illuminate us on the matter, my companions and I may have no choice but to seek out the advice of the hags…Oh yes, and there was this.”

The druid directed Kharis to show Wroe the spear recovered from Sh’iga’torath, and the triton’s eyes lit up as they fell upon the weapon. “It cannot be,” the warrior exclaimed. “This is a shard of the Watrazor; it’s a legendary weapon. I never imagined I would lay eyes on one of its pieces.”

The triton explained the Watrazor was a powerful trident passed down among the greatest heroes of the good and noble aquatic races. Legends told of how the weapon had been broken in a terrible battle against the forces of Olhydra, the Princess of Evil Water Elementals. Its pieces were thought to have been scattered by agents of the archomental.

“It’s said the weapon has the ability to repair itself if brought into contact with its shards,” Wroe informed the adventurers. “Each section of the weapon will glow brighter the closer you get to another piece and add the powers of any joined sections you’re able to find. At full power, the Watrazor gives its wielder the ability to command not just the creatures of the sea, but the sea itself. I just hope Eadro placed this shard in your hands so you can recover the other pieces and stop whatever the sea devils have planned.”

With Wroe’s blessing, the adventurers kept the Watrazor shard and took their leave of the triton colony. Naturally, it was Balarath who suggested the party seek out the council of the hags in the northern swamp. The witch doctor knew the old crones couldn’t be trusted, but their abilities gave them access to all manner of dark knowledge and their magic could make all the difference in the defense of The Shallows during the days to come.

While stopping over at Dragonpoop Bastion, the party learned news of the Mariner’s Passion hadn’t only reached Descartes’ friends in the Goblin Empire. Famous Macready, the half-orc proprietor of Four Waters’ finest and only tavern, had caught wind of the cog’s discovery and, being a former sailor, he’d hastened to The Shallows to offer his services as captain of the vessel dragging along John Chance, the commune’s best carpenter, to handle the repairs. “These goblins will make a sufficient crew given the limited options, but you’re going to need someone with experience to show them the ropes,” the half-orc contended. More than happy to let someone else oversee the repairs and training of the crew while they dealt with more pressing matters, the adventurers pointed Macready and Chance toward the grounded vessel and departed for the hags’ lair.

***

The adventurers approached the lair of the Coven of Wóha Sweostor as an ominous storm rolled in from the eastern sea. In the wake of Thorodin’s death and the loss of many of their merrow minions, the hags had wasted no time in acquiring the raw materials they needed to rebuild their defenses and the reanimated corpses of several of the aquatic ogres stared dead-eyed at the adventurers as they entered the nest of Lightspar. The bronze dragon eyed the party suspiciously as she heard their reason for visiting the hags and reminded the group to respect the truce between her “sisters” and their people before allowing them to proceed into the coven’s inner sanctum where the hulking skeleton of a gray render stood a silent vigil.

Within the damp chamber, the hags cast strange shadows that seemed to shift form as they stood at the edge of a low flame below a wide, iron cauldron. The foul crones beckoned their visitors closer as a merrow novice in the corner of the room muttered strange syllables while gently shaking a rattle of alligator teeth and matomba nuts. The sea hag, Sister Malice, spoke first, greeting the party and informing them that the coven already knew why they had come. Indeed, the coven had witnessed many of the recent days’ events from the safety of their lair and had a grim warning for the adventurers.

According to the hags, the death cries of the dragon Thorodin had rippled deep into the eastern sea and attracted the attention of something far more insidious than the emerald-scaled tyrant himself. The attack on the dam and the storm on the horizon were only the heralds of its arrival, but the Master of The Deeps was coming and all the creatures of The Shallows were in great peril.

“The elves of Madowlieloren gave offerings to a beast they called Mahg’Gog,” Balarath began hoping to provide some insight. “They called the thing a kraken. Could this Mahg’Gog be the Master of The Deeps?”

“Beware the fall of the house of Eadro and the shroud of tritons’ light, or you will find your answer in the ruins of your respite,” Malice advised the witch doctor with a grin and a cackle. The adventurers surmised the hags were either ignorant of the true identity of the Master of The Deeps or they were reluctant to freely relinquish the information. Balarath was quick to point out the danger the Master posed was also a threat to the hags and the crones readily agreed, but they seemed unmoved. There was little doubt among the party the coven would either flee the monster’s approach or offer their services to it in exchange for their lives.

“Sisters dear, I fear our guests must think us cruel and callous,” the green hag Bile spoke.

“Perhaps a bargain could be made? What say you, Sister Malice?” replied the annis Bane.

“They say the whole Shallows is in danger, yet they speak of striking deals like this is a trip to market,” Hrothgar scoffed. “I don’t trust them.”

“None of us trust them, but a hag coven’s powers are nothing to take lightly,” Balarath replied. “I say we hear their offer.”

Agreeing to hear the hags out, the adventurers asked what the crones could offer and, more importantly, what it would cost. The witches laughed wickedly as they made their pitch. In exchange for a favor owed to them by people of The Barrows, the hags offered to combine their powers to deflect the storm The Master of The Deeps had conjured to flood The Shallows. Furthermore, they would send a third of their undead minions to support any forces defending the damaged coral reef. With luck, this would buy the party valuable time to find a way to stop the Master’s plans.

The adventurers weren’t immediately convinced owing the hags a solid was worth the assistance they offered but, with water levels already rising throughout the swamp, there was little time for negotiation. Sealing the deal with a drop of blood from each of the adventurers, the hags began their work with glee.

“It’s not like anyone back in The Barrows even knows what we agreed to,” Kharis pointed out as a miniature, isolated windstorm began to blow across the surface liquid of the hags’ cauldron. “And since we’re probably all going to die before we ever get back to tell anyone, it’s not like the coven will ever manage to collect.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” Balarath replied to his companion. The half-orc knew well the power hidden in blood and felt, whether they all died tomorrow or never told anyone in The Barrows of what they had done, the hags would eventually receive their due. Until then, the adventurers would focus on uncovering the true identity of The Master of The Deeps and putting a stop to its nefarious plan.

Liberty's Edge

Pathfinder Battles Case Subscriber

DAY 396 IN THE CATACOMBS OF KRUKAK

featuring The World’s Largest Adventuring Party:

Hrothgar Ironbrood – Dwarf Cleric of Bolka
Descartes – Human Storm Druid
Kharis – Human Vivisectionist Alchemist
Balarath - Half-Orc Scarred Witch Doctor

Descartes looked out to The Shallows’ eastern shore as a powerful gale blew across the swamp colliding with the incoming hurricane. The druid knew his connection to wind and rain would be a terrific weapon against the supernatural storm, but he and his companions could waste no time in their search for The Master of The Deeps. The witch doctor Balarath had suggested the adventurers return to Madowlieloren to search for the aboleth which had attacked him there, and the party planned to set out for the island as soon as they were prepared. The aberration’s ability to bend other creatures to its will made the beast a likely suspect, and the half-orc considered its powers of illusion may have even been behind the appearance of the kraken that terrorized the elf colony.

Before leaving The Shallows, the party had one remaining decision to make: what to do with the captured sahuagin warrior. While the thought of simply dispatching the sea devil was briefly mulled over, it was finally decided that the sahuagin should be given to the hags for further interrogation and/or whatever horrible use they might have for a four-armed, man-eating fish-man. The crones, as usual, only cackled maniacally when asked what that use might be.

***

The sea between The Shallows and the accursed island were ominously desolate as the adventurers made their way to Madowlieloren. It seemed as if the whole of the Deepwater Sea was trying to empty itself into The Shallows and the creatures of the region had fled the wrath of the great storm. With the bulk of the region’s weather focused in the west, the party had a much easier time using magic to fly to the island and, as they neared Madowlieloren, they caught sight of a tremendous vortex on the surface of the sea.

“This whirlpool could be the source of the storm’s strength,” Descartes commented as the party flew over the titanic eddy. Once again, the druid had taken on the form of a gigantic squid and the profile created by his flailing tentacles as he drifted through the air formed a strange and intimidating image that may, itself, have accounted for the sparse encounters. “It might be worth investigating.”

“It might also be a natural product of the currents created by the storm,” Balarath replied.

“Or a trap,” Kharis added under his breath.

“I feel we should first seek out the aboleth near the area I encountered it,” Balarath continued. “If we’re lucky the creature is still trapped in the block of ice I left it in. If we don’t find it, we can always come back to the whirlpool later.”

To the witch doctor’s relief, only Descartes seemed comfortable with the idea of diving into the vortex (likely due to his obvious advantage of being a giant squid.) However, it wasn’t fear of the vortex that spurred Balarath onto the island. He hadn’t forgotten about Nalathe and the other Stormborne still waiting to be freed from Madowlieloren, and he hoped there was still time to rescue them.

***

Balarath cautiously approached the entrance to the Húrocolla grotto after calling ahead to let them know he was returning, but the elf stationed in the nook overlooking the cave mouth said nothing and gave no sign that he had noticed the witch doctor. As Descartes hovered outside, a concerned Balarath motioned to Hrothgar and Kharis to stay close before slipping in to investigate the cave.

The Stormborne hideout seemed unchanged from Balarath’s first visit only days ago. The main chamber was tidy and embers cooled in a small fire pit near the rear of the cave, but a glance up at the lookout nook soon revealed something had gone terribly wrong in the Húrocolla sanctuary. Balarath’s eyes had only just fallen upon the dagger jutting from the elf’s back when a sudden anguished cry rang out behind him. “We’re all dead!” screamed an elf sorcerer who leapt from the shadows unleashing a salvo of arcane darts at the half-orc. “It’s your fault!” shouted another elf covered in welts that seeped a viscous, white liquid. “You killed us!” he cried firing a bolt of conjured acid into Balarath’s back.

“I’ve come to help you!” Balarath frantically replied as he fell back to the cave entrance. “My companions and I have come to take you away from this place!”

“There’s no escape from this place,” Nalathe spoke as she flew into view above the witch doctor. The girl’s skin was pale and blue and patches of slick, ash-black feathers sprouted from random spots across her body. “Not for the living…not for you!” she growled as a bolt of lightning exploded from her palm and cut through the witch doctor throwing him against the cavern wall.

Balarath shook off the pain of the crackling electricity and shot the closest elf an icy glance causing the air around the sorcerer to form a freezing prison as the half-orc fled the cave. With Nalathe and her remaining cohort close behind, the witch doctor called for help and only just managed to reach his companions as the Stormborne sorceress sent another bolt of lightning coursing through his body. Hrothgar was quick to heal the half-orc as Kharis downed one of his magnificent elixirs and vanished from sight. Moments later, Nalathe faced the adventurers alone as her companion’s collarbone and ribs shattered under the weight of the alchemist’s club.

“Nalmë illi vanwa. Ve nië mi missë.” Nalathe calmly spoke as white light bled from her eyes and beams of gleaming lightning burst from her hands striking the invisible alchemist. “Join us in death. Let the rising storm wash away your troubles.”

“Sorry lady,” Kharis grunted, shaking off the effects of the blast as he readied his weapon. “But I’ve already had my bath!” The alchemist’s club crashed into Nalathe’s hip, dislodging the ball of her femur with a pop. The force of the blow twisted the airborne elf toward the cavern wall and Kharis’ next swing met squarely with the base of Nalathe’s spine, ragdolling the sorceress who thumped lifeless upon the cave floor.

“What was that all about?” Hrothgar asked as Balarath recovered from his wounds. “I thought you said these elves were uninfected?”

“They were fine when I last saw them,” the half-orc replied. “We’d better take a look around.” Exploring the Stormborne hideout, the party discovered no solid evidence of what had driven Nalathe and her companions to despair and madness. The elves had plenty of fruit but no clean water or fish in their larders, and a large pile of driftwood and rope suggested the elves were at least contemplating building a raft. Once he thawed out, the elf Balarath froze in place proved too morose to contribute any useful information. Without further violence, the adventurers allowed the despondent sorcerer to leave the cave only to later witness his apparent suicide when he flung himself from the nearby cliffs.

Hrothgar’s suggestion that the fruit may have caused the maddening sickness and Balarath’s concern for the crippled warrior Ilean prompted the adventurers to seek out the sacred grove of the elves, but they were met with further disappointment there. Careful not to physically enter the grove, the party flew over the small stand of trees to discover the fates of Ilean and her charge, the fighter Iast, when two twisted figures stepped out from the shade of the holy sapling at the center of the garden. The elves’ skin and hair had been replaced with thick layers of bark, moss and leaves and thorny blades seemed to branch out from their knobby fists. Ilean’s missing leg had regenerated as a thick, vine-covered stump and, as the oaken elves began to emit an eerie hollow moan and the treetops began to writhe toward the adventurers, the witch doctor regretfully bid his companions leave the elves to their fate.

***

East of Madowlieloren, the adventurers sought out any sign of the ice-encased aboleth but it appeared the currents had taken the monster far from where Balarath had last encountered it. However, their search was not completely in vain. Hiding within the rocks where the witch doctor had lost his companion Telkar, the adventurers discovered a lone humanoid figure that seemed to be spying them from afar. The creature resembled an aquatic elf though his skin was scaled and the hair on its head resembled a thick mane of green seaweed. As the adventurers drew closer, the sea-thing quickly swam away but it could not outpace Descartes.

Realizing it could not escape, the creature turned to face the oncoming squid. “Manipanilua Catchichotum nányë!” the creature shouted proudly as it snapped its spear over its knee converting the weapon into two short harpoons connected by a length of chain. “Vá caw lye, ulundo! An liënya linnathon urdulda!”

Recognizing the creature’s Elvish tongue, the party cautiously approached the wary warrior who turned out to be a survivor of the Madowlieloren elves. Convinced the adventurers meant no harm, the mutated elf revealed he was once the captain of the guard for the island community. While investigating the disappearance of the village priest, Himo Xiloscient, Manipanilua discovered the cleric was working with the aboleth to corrupt his people. The warrior attempted to free Xiloscient from the aboleth’s control, but the monster and its slaves were too powerful. Manipanilua was forced to flee, but he soon learned he could not return to his island home.

“Himo, I now suspect, is no thrall to the aboleth but a partner,” the warrior spoke. “He cursed me as I fled. I became what you see before you; this thing of fin and scale. I can no longer survive above water for very long. I attempted to track the priest down hoping to force him to undo the curse, but he has gone.”

Manipanilua went on to explain he was tracking the aboleth when he spotted Balarath fleeing his encounter with the monster. The fish-elf discovered the bodies of elves killed by Telkar’s fireball and chose to hide until he could determine who the half-orc served. “That knife,” Balarath spoke pointing to a black, adamantine blade tucked into the elf’s belt. “It belonged to my companion, Zuriel, a holy warrior. How did you acquire it?”

“After you left, I examined the bodies of my people and then dove below the waves to search for clues,” Manipanilua replied. “A day later, I found the body of a warrior drifting in the current. He no longer needed this knife…If the man I found was indeed your friend, I am sorry for your loss but I am keeping the blade.”

While Manipanilua believed the adventurers were not allies of the aboleth, he could not be convinced they were friends to his people. He refused to join the party in their search for the monster, but he did offer to lead the group to a system of submerged tunnels underneath Madowlieloren. The warrior claimed he had seen the monster near the entrance to the tunnel, but had been unable to explore the area himself.

“I believe the beast uses the tunnels as a prison for his slaves, but my curse prevents me from entering so I don’t know what you will encounter,” the warrior spoke as he led the adventurers to the mouth of the submerged dungeon. “You will understand when we arrive.”

***

An intricately tiled floor awaited the adventurers as they approached the entrance to the tunnels below Madowlieloren, and green light pulsed gently between the grooves of the tiles illuminating a large room at the end of a long hallway. The tunnel was too small for Descartes to enter easily so the druid resumed his human form as his companions dismounted him and swam into the tunnel.

Kharis tumbled to the floor with a dull thud as he was surprised to find the brackish waters of The Deeps were somehow repelled from entering the corridor. Picking himself up from the floor, the alchemist grunted and waved his companions into the passage. The air in the corridor was stale and smelled faintly of rotting apricots. “Amberspore,” Kharis noted to his companions. “Good for tanning leather if I remember my molds. The cold and damp down here must make for a terrific incubator.”

“Is it dangerous?” Hrothgar asked instinctively muffling his mouth and nose with the hem of his vestments.

“Not especially,” Kharis replied. “Breathing the spores can cause a contraction of the respiratory organs leading to some minor breathing issues and an increase in vocal octave. They can be a real blast at the right kind of party.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Balarath suddenly squeaked to his embarrassment. The witch doctor’s companions couldn’t help but laugh at the chipmunk-voiced half-orc. “Grrr, let’s get on with this,” the witch doctor chirped.

As Hrothgar and Descartes waited at the entrance, Balarath and Kharis made their way into the first chamber at the end of the corridor. The small room was covered from ceiling to floor in a mosaic of hundreds of interlocking scarlet, azure, emerald and topaz scorpions with eyes of lustrous jet. A diamond-shaped archway led into an adjoining chamber where broken links of jade chain lay scattered among the bones of some bizarre creature.

“This is what happens when you hire a gnomish architect to design your dunge-ow!” Kharis yelped as he walked into the chamber. The body of one of the scorpion tiles lining the floor had sunk under Kharis’ foot sending its tiny stinger through the sole of the alchemist’s boot as his weight fell onto it. Fortunately, Kharis was immune to the trap’s poison but the wound did hobble him a bit until it was healed. The adventurers easily circumvented the trapped floor by flying over it and moved in to the next chamber.

Balarath and Kharis peered into the bone-filled chamber for only a few seconds before agreeing the subtly vibrating broken chains, supernatural cold and mysterious scratching noises coming from below the floor were the product of a demonic poltergeist and deciding the room wasn’t worth exploring. Through a passage to the east the pair soon discovered a small gallery of broken columns and the shattered remains of a statue. An elf-like face of smooth stone rested amid the collection of fragments, an expression of deep meditation across its brow before its eyes fluttered open to stare at the passing adventurers. Out of the corner of his eye, Balarath noticed the soulless glare of the marble mask just in time to see the face resume its peaceful countenance. The witch doctor could detect no magical auras upon the stone and, after nothing he tried could rouse the face from its slumber, Balarath had to assume it was a trick of the haunted halls.

The desiccated skeleton of a beast-like humanoid laid at the entrance to the next chamber, four rusted daggers buried in its back. One of the creature’s three-fingered claws stretched ominously toward the nearby room, but any trace of the beastman’s killer was long gone. Kharis and Balarath were soon joined by Hrothgar and Descartes as they examined the interior of the chamber to find its walls covered in thousands of jeweled eyes. As they entered the room, several of the jewels began to glow brightly before showering the adventurers in a cascade of flame and light. Fleeing the barrage of fiery beams, the adventurers raced for a flight of stairs descending to a lower level of the tunnels.

***

As Hrothgar passed through the enveloping darkness of the stairwell, the voices of his cohorts drifted into silence. In a flash of blinding light, the dwarf found himself in monochromatic maze of arches, stairs and platforms twisting at every angle in a perpetual, interconnected circuit. Hrothgar’s cries to his allies echoed through the endless chaos, and his every attempt at returning to the room of jeweled eyes was met with frustration and failure. Lost in the never-ending labyrinth, the cleric was never again seen by his companions.

***

Kharis paced or sat or impatiently kicked the walls at the opposite end of the maddening maze for a few hours before he was eventually joined by Descartes and Balarath. All three adventurers had experienced the same bizarre imprisonment but, by luck or cunning, they had managed to free themselves. The group waited for Hrothgar hoping the wise dwarf would soon emerge from the stairwell but, after what felt like several more hours, they determined progressing with their quest was more important to the safety of The Shallows. Reluctantly, they moved on through a narrow passage into a chamber filled with more broken columns.

Unlike the previous chamber of columns, this room housed the crumbling remains of an ancient trap. Thick spears like the trunks of saplings jutted from the ceiling, splintered and caked with black ichor. After a few moments of examination, Kharis determined the spears were meant to descend upon anyone crossing the floor of the room. Confident the chamber was safe to transit via flight, the alchemist was surprised when one of the spears sprung down grazing his arm. Squealing from disuse, the spear halted after extending a mere three feet from the ceiling, then hung rigid as Kharis grunted and clasped his arm. After descending to the floor, the group had no further trouble with the battered trap.

Beyond the columned chamber, the adventurers were awestruck at the discovery of a massive, 20-foot diameter, circular steel door held fast by a series of rune-carved bars and intricate locks set within a series of smooth-featured bronze faces that appeared to be shrieking or weeping in terror. A placard across the surface of the door bore an inscription in the Celestial tongue which read: A Allaroog de Krukak dszirop Momoa-Nor de Tanar’ri sa Amma de Tagbespvrgel, which means “The Prison of Krukak who was Prince of Demons and Scourge of the Abyss.” The entrance to a small guard post housing an empty weapon rack and table stood open to the left of the vault door and, as the adventurers approached the cell, they were dismayed to learn all magic ceased to function in the immediate vicinity of the immense hatch.

Without the aid of their spells and enchanted implements, the adventurers agreed to let the ancient prison remain locked tight while they investigated the nearby guard post. The room was unremarkable save for a small panel behind the table marked with a warning that the compartment was trapped with an incendiary spell to deter thieves. Undeterred, Kharis examined the warded panel discovering a kill switch beneath the table. The alchemist activated the switch expecting the panel to pop open, but he and his companions were taken off guard by a sudden burst of blinding light and flame that launched the table across the room after it smashed into Kharis. Cursing the celestials’ shoddy engineering, the adventurers recovered from the blast to find the panel had blown open to reveal a silvery broken blade that glowed brightly as Kharis approached it. Removing the Watrazor from the straps on his backpack, the alchemist discovered it too was beaming with light as it moved closer to the blade.

“Looks like coming down here wasn’t a complete waste of time after all,” Kharis remarked as his held the shards together. In a burst of light, the pieces of the enchanted weapon mended granting the Watrazor increased power. Now, in addition to granting command of aquatic animals, the weapon had regained the deadly ability to negate regenerative abilities. “Where to now?” the alchemist asked.

Kharis groaned as Balarath turned his gaze to the massive vault door. The adventurers had reached the end of the tunnel, and the prison of Krukak seemed the only alternative to returning to the insane labyrinth atop the stairs. Reluctantly, the alchemist recovered his tools from their case and went to work as Descartes and Balarath took shelter in the nearby guard post. As Kharis reached into the yawning mouth of the first bronze face however, a set of mechanical teeth clamped onto his fingers crushing them in a vice-like grip before releasing him and spitting his picks onto the floor. Instinctively, the alchemist punched the scowling face around the lock and cursed as his knuckles met the resilient bronze.

After three failed attempts at avoiding the crushing jaws guarding the first lock, Kharis threw up his hands in defeat and told Balarath he could open the vault himself if he was so curious about what was on the other side. Then, the alchemist announced he would take his chances returning through the maze and made his way back to the stairwell while carefully binding his broken fingers.

***

Exiting the Escherian labyrinth, Balarath found his companions had not yet conquered the maze and returned to the top of the stairs. The room of jeweled eyes was no place to wait for them however, and the witch doctor ran for the nearest adjacent room as the pyrotechnic peepers began to blast him with disorienting rays of flame. The room was similar to the chain-filled chamber he and Kharis had discovered earlier with the exception that the walls and floor were made from swirling cerulean marble and the links here were intact and covered in iron barbs. A thin, jagged rift in the east wall, possibly evidence of the dungeon-shattering earthquake, terminated in a small, craggy dead end, so the witch doctor’s only avenue of escape was back through the room of eyes.

Balarath pondered his predicament a moment and thought back to the reason he had undertaken this adventure in the first place. Somewhere out there, the wizard Radamir was either dead or exploiting some new group of unsuspecting companions. Glancing at the barbed chains, the witch doctor decided they would make a perfect gift for Radamir when he finally caught up to the dickish wizard and hauled him home to face justice. Taking precautions against any possible wards, Balarath conjured a few magical defenses of his own before approaching the chains. What he hadn’t prepared for however, was the sudden attack of the bladed bindings when he attempted to gather them into his sack.

The sharpened shackles coiled Balarath in a constrictor’s grip, shredding his flesh as he struggled to escape. Even with the good fortune provided by his ancestors, the half-orc’s strength proved too meager to break the bonds and no amount of squirming would free him. Clinging to life, Balarath attempted to shatter the chains with a spell of freezing cold, but the links held fast against the frigid gale. At last, the half-orc could think of only one option that might save his life. Turning his own supernatural power against himself, a thick sheathe of ice encased Balarath who slipped into a death-like stasis. With luck, he would survive the cold and his companions would escape the maze and rescue him from the chains before the ice melted.

***

Puddles of water and blood mixed with slivers of melting ice upon the blue-tiled floor as Decartes entered the chamber where Balarath lay broken and lifeless in a tangle of spiked chains. It appeared to the druid as if the chains had crushed the witch doctor to death after shearing through the barrier of ice still clinging to parts of his robes. Unwilling to risk whatever series of events had led the half-orc to become wrapped in the chains, Descartes blasted the bristled links with a bolt of lightning that sundered the remaining bonds from Balarath’s body. Then, after collecting a suitable portion of the half-orc’s body for reincarnation, the storm druid rejoined Kharis as the alchemist emerged from the nearby maze.

Descartes and Kharis slowly puzzled together the shattered elf statue in the hall of broken columns as they waited to see if Hrothgar would finally return from the labyrinth but the priest never returned to them. Once, the pair thought they could hear a sound like the grinding of teeth within a fragment of the woman’s chin but restoring the pieces of the statue to some semblance of order yielded no further manifestations of sentience and, at last, the adventurers determined they could wait no longer. With the hand of Balarath secured within Descartes’ pack and a second shard of the Watrazor restored, the duo made their way back through the tunnels and to the surface of the sea. There was no sign of Manipanilua, the strange elf-fish hybrid who had led the party to the sunken ruins, but Descartes noted how the waters surrounding Madowlieloren were dead calm.

“It’s as if all the fury of the sea is focused on The Shallows,” the druid spoke ruefully.

“We don’t really need to go back, do we?” Kharis asked. “Madowlieloren seems nice, right? Raze the old village, throw up some nice bungalows; we could start our own resort here, huh? You know, after we exterminate every crazed, mutant fish-elf and animated skeleton/grapefruit tree covering this hemorrhoid of an island.”

The druid’s grim silence and steely western gaze was the only reply Kharis needed in response to his question. “Okay then,” he smiled. “Let’s go get killed.”


Did you say a rabbit infestation?

Does that happen often?


In Alaska? Yes, lots of wild rabbit groups ravage the cities.


With big, sharp, pointy teeth...

Liberty's Edge

Pathfinder Battles Case Subscriber

It's one of the most adorable infestations you're likely to face. The original site of the town of Valdez had to be abandoned after an avalanche of bunnies buried the town...

...Okay, it was actually destroyed by an earthquake in 1964, but the town is overrun with bunnies now because somebody decided to let their domestic rabbits go free. I also didn't really have an infestation. I just got kicked out of my building for having a pet rabbit I thought I was allowed to have.

Anyway, before we get to the next entry, I wanted to post a couple photos I didn't have time to add to the last post.

First up, the ignominious end of the wolf shaman, Stragh.

And here's a picture of Hrothgar, trapped in the Maze.

Now, onto the next thrilling chapter!

DAY 397-398 MASTER OF THE DEEPS

featuring The World’s Largest Adventuring Party:

Descartes – Human Storm Druid
Kharis – Human Vivisectionist Alchemist
Moiran – Human Dragon-Blooded Sorcerer
Amitel Redux – Aasimar Paladin/ Holy Vindicator

The broken, bloody remains of triton and merfolk warriors drifted among the bloated corpses of merrow and limp, paling carcasses of locathah invaders as Descartes and Kharis approached the ruins of the great coral dam that had once separated The Shallows from The Deeps. From the look of things, something of immense size and strength had ripped the acid-damaged wall asunder leaving a galleon-sized gap in the structure. The resulting wave of inrushing water had then added to the destruction by disintegrating large sections of the exposed foundation of silt, stone and coral.

“We’re too late,” Descartes grimly announced as he surveyed the terrible scene. Through the fog and surf, the storm druid could make out the drowning mangroves and typhas of the northern marsh. Soon, the waters of the Lhunaer would claim all of Tem U Tipimmil, leaving the flourishing wetlands a brush-choked mere. Descartes wasn’t certain if the Coven of Woha Sweostor had been killed in the battle or if they had fled, but it was clear the hags’ magic had failed to deter the Master of the Deeps and its army.

“We should continue to Dragonpoop Bastion,” the druid continued. “If The Shallows has fallen, we might still escape to the Pyrefaust.” The hot, dry halls of the fiery region to the east sounded like a welcome reprieve from the sahaugin-haunted sea of Groth-Lhunaer to Kharis, so the alchemist gave no objection and held on tight as his squid-morphed comrade jetted across the waves. Soon, the pair found themselves at the edge of the merfolk colony north of the triton village.

The low ceiling of the cavern around the western lake had provided a sufficient buffer against the torrential storm, which had ushered in The Shallows’ invaders, but the air above the water was thick with fog making it difficult for Kharis to perceive his surroundings. Though Descartes could see easily through the mist, he dove below the surface to find his range of vision drastically reduced by clouds of dislodged silt and muck kicked up from the lakebed. Disconcertingly, the waters were also mottled with plumes of blood and, as the druid swam cautiously forward, he soon discovered the bodies of merfolk warriors impaled upon longspears, their scaled tails swaying in the current like glittering burgundy windsocks.

Suddenly, a pair of huge bull sharks appeared through the obscuring murk. The beasts rushed the adventurers as an enormous squid followed close behind. On the lakebed, Descartes could just make out a trio of monstrous, tusked and finned giants gesturing among a crowd of scaled humanoids. Acting quickly, the druid conjured a powerful bolt of electricity that arced through the monsters as he withdrew to the surface of the lake where his magic allowed him to take flight. Unable to pursue their quarry, the injured sharks vanished back into the clouds of silt as the attacking squid lashed its tentacles up at Descartes.

“Let’s see how powerful this shrimp fork really is,” Kharis spoke as he reached for the gleaming spear latched to his pack. Pointing the Watrazor toward the fiendish cephalopod below, the alchemist concentrated his will against the beast. The silvery tines of the weapon vibrated slightly as Kharis’ thoughts invaded the squid’s brain, but he was shocked by the presence of some alien mind already roosting in the creature’s psyche. Shaken by the strength of the bizarre intellect controlling the squid’s actions, Kharis cursed and lowered his weapon. Perhaps the Watrazor would be powerful enough to match the might of the squid’s master once it was fully restored, but, presently, the adventurers’ would have to handle the invading monsters the old-fashioned way. Fortunately, they weren’t alone.

As Descartes and Kharis dove beneath the waves to battle the sea beasts and their monstrous handlers, a jet of flames erupted ahead of the adventurers engulfing a squad of scrags and locathah warriors. Expecting the burst of flame had come from a submerged volcano, the pair was surprised to see a gold dragon the size of a pony gliding through the waves, a plate-clad woman at its side. The woman wore a shining pendant bearing a symbol of Iomedae around her neck and her blade gleamed with divine power as she charged the surviving group of scrags and locathah within the ruins of the merfolk colony.

The dragon-blooded sorcerer Moiran and his companion Amitel, a paladin of Iomedae, were at Dragonpoop Bastion when the sound of a triton war-shell blared across the cavern. The pair quickly gathered their equipment and joined the tritons responding to the call. They arrived just in time to find a billowing cloud of foul smelling black ichor engulfing the merfolk colony and, as Amitel slashed open the belly of an advancing scrag, she remembered the final stand of the lillend, Sissifiss, who was swallowed up by the sludge while shielding a group of cowering merfolk overcome with nausea and weakness. As the cloud drifted south, the triton warriors fell back to their own settlement and the adventurers took shelter within a submerged gully.

The scrags, locathah and sea beasts followed in the wake of the toxic miasma, cruelly dispatching any wounded or weakened merfolk left within the colony until they were joined by their commander, a tentacled horror resembling a great, three-eyed catfish. Something had freed the aboleth of Madowlieloren from its icy imprisonment, and the monster had come to The Shallows with thoughts of vengeance in its cold, calculating brain. The creature commanded its minions to round up the survivors as its mind-controlled beasts broke open the doors of the merfolk’s temple. Desperate to help, Moiran took on the shape of a dragon and belched fire onto the monsters.

Together, the adventurers fought their way through the aboleth’s evil warriors as the monster retreated into the temple with the captured merfolk. The sea trolls regenerative abilities could not save them from the fire-breathing sorcerer or Kharis and the newly empowered Watrazor, and the locathah fell like wheat before a thresher when confronted by Amitel’s blade and Descartes’ flailing tentacles. With the creatures defeated, the adventurers cautiously entered the temple to find the aboleth and his remaining soldiers hiding behind a wall of merfolk meatshields.

Simple paintings of spirals and jellyfish marked the hallowed walls of the ancient lecture hall as a temple of Eadro. When the merfolk first came to the Shallows, their priest, Vash, found that the pitched floor and tiered pews of the hall would provide his parishioners unobstructed views of their rituals and he did his best to convert the sunken chamber into a suitable shrine for the Lord of the Sunlit Shallows. Now however, an abhorrent, eldritch monster threatened to pollute Eadro’s sacred site with the blood of the cleric’s people.

“We know you possess shards of the Watrazor,” the aboleth burbled up at the adventurers from a safe position behind a phalanx of locathah warriors. “Surrender them or-”

Before the aberration could finish its sentence, the adventurers were already in motion descending into the temple with spells and blades flashing through the tide. As Amitel and Descartes charged the aboleth, Kharis and Moiran set to killing the monster’s minions and freeing the merfolk.

Their resolve seemingly broken by the rapid assault, the line of locathah faltered. Seeing an opportunity, Moiran slipped through the fishman phalanx and blasted the creatures with a powerful bolt of lightning. However, the sorcerer’s victory was short-lived. Expecting to see the charred remains of locathah settling to the floor of the temple, Moiran was horrified to see the lightning-ravaged bodies of merfolk drifting through the current. Kharis meanwhile, was attempting to invisibly cut the bonds of the merfolk prisoners when he was surprised to see them suddenly break their own bonds and turn on the sorcerer with concealed knives and spears hidden behind a pair of thick columns near the temple’s pulpit.

“What deviltry is this!?” Kharis exclaimed as the merfolks’ features swirled like tiny whirlpools of oily water revealing a band of murderous locathah warriors. Then, nearly mistaking a pair of scrags lurking in the rear of the chamber for more illusions, the alchemist quickly dodged the raking claws of a sea troll that had picked up on his scent.

“Damned slug!” Amitel cursed as her blade sliced harmlessly through the aboleth revealing it to also be a mere figment. “Reveal yourself and face justice!”

“Justice is an illusion; free will, a disease,” croaked a hollow voice from the edge of the paladin’s senses. A sudden chill raced down Amitel’s spine as clammy, dark tendrils ensnared her unprepared mind. “Our will is law, female, and you will obey it,” the voice commanded and, unable to resist, the paladin’s thoughts careened into a lightless void.

As chaos unfolded across the temple, Descartes scanned the edges of the chamber walls. He was certain the aboleth had entered the temple and assumed it had to be close in order for it to conjure its phantasms. Taking on the form of a huge water elemental, the druid transformed into a powerful vortex and began to buffet the walls as he scooped up any locathah in his path. Smashing into the temple walls, it wasn’t long before he discovered the aboleth’s hiding place. “Found you!” Descartes boomed as his swirling form pushed through an illusionary wall behind the shrine’s lectern.

Revealed at last, the monstrous aboleth made a desperate attempt at escape. Veiling itself in the guise of the lillend Sissifiss, the monster flung one of its slime-sheathed tentacles around Amitel and heaved its corpulent mass through the whirling druid as the remaining scrags and locathah delayed Descartes companions. “Your companions have betrayed the merfolk,” the lillend/aboleth spoke gently to the paladin pointing to the dead merfolk floating listlessly through the chamber. “We must leave this place before they murder us as well. Hold fast to me and protect me from harm.”

In her mentally dominated state, Amitel readily accepted the “celestial’s” outstretched hand and used her divine arts to defend and heal the fleeing aboleth. Despite his anger and desire to give chase to the aberration, Descartes turned his attention to peeling the remaining locathah and trolls off of his allies. Moiran, who had suffered greatly at the claws of the scrags and spears of the fish-folk, used the storm druid’s assistance to become invisible and distance himself from the sea trolls’ sensitive nostrils while Kharis swam after the aboleth and its captive.

Matching the speed of the aboleth thanks to one of his marvelous extracts, Kharis had nearly caught up to the creature when it darted out through the temple door. Suddenly, the Watrazor began to glow brightly as a huge and jagged beast appeared at the open portal. Something like a cross between a gigantic snapping turtle and a horned crocodile filled the temple gate with its bulk as the aboleth slipped past. Fastened to one of the monster’s terrible claws, was a shining silver blade and, as the beast’s eyes keyed in on the gleaming blade of the Watrazor, it lunged at the invisible alchemist.

Jaws powerful enough to crush steel clamped shut around Kharis’ waist causing the alchemist to cough up a thick gout of blood. Most men would have been doomed to an agonizing, burning death within the vice-like grip of the dragon turtle’s beak, but Kharis had prepared for this particular sort of inconvenience. Thanks to a daily splash of atomized slug oil and synthetic red elm gel, the vivisectionist easily slipped free of the dragon turtle’s jaws and drove the Watrazor deep into the monster’s neck. The dragon turtle shrieked in pain as Kharis tore open its throat, its hot breath boiling the blood clouding the water. Grievously wounded, the dragon turtle withdrew from the temple doors, fleeing into the silt-fogged lake beyond.

“It has a shard of the Watrazor!” Kharis called to Descartes as the druid joined him in the hall. By now, Descartes had bludgeoned to death the eight locathah trapped in his swirling form and he casually flung their bodies against the walls as he assumed a shape closer to his own. “I think we can track it with the light from the weapon. We should go after it!’

“The aboleth has the paladin,” the druid reminded his companion. “Are we to abandon her then?”

“Who is she to us?” the alchemist replied. “That dragonblood in there seems friendly with her. Let him rescue her. Wroe said we would need the Watrazor to stop this Master of the Deeps, right? Well, the longer we argue, the further away that shard gets.”

Descartes couldn’t argue with the alchemist’s logic. It seemed pretty clear the Master’s invasion of The Shallows had been a resounding success and, if The Barrows was to have any shot at taking back the lake, they might need the ancient weapon’s power. “Lead the way,” spoke the druid.

The dwindling light of the Watrazor led Descartes and Kharis south to the edge of a billowing cloud of pitch black slime that choked out the light of the triton’s luminescent coral gardens and smelled of stale urine and rotting fish. As the adventurers entered the cloud, the light of the spear vanished completely. Swimming through the rancid, viscous sludge felt like crawling through a tunnel filled with a million rimy leeches and, before the cold and nausea made it impossible to continue, Descartes called off the search and returned to the surface of the lake. There he and Kharis discovered they had swum deep into the south end of The Shallows. The triton village was completely engulfed by the feculent shroud; its inhabitants likely dead, poisoned by the befouled murk.

“We can’t stay here,” Descartes advised his companion. “We should return to The Barrows.” Scanning the dark waters around him, Kharis agreed and joined the druid as he turned for shore. There, the pair discovered the tritons weren’t the only victims of the Master’s attack. Dragonpoop Bastion was a ruin. Something had ripped out the strong stone columns supporting the fort’s ceiling, collapsing the small fort and cutting off the only exit to the Pyrefaust. As the adventurers surveyed the damage, they were alerted to a sudden call from the beach. The sorcerer Moiran had escaped the scrags in the merfolk temple and made his way south toward the bastion only to find the bastion destroyed.

“These walls were solid stone conjured by powerful magic,” Moiran gasped. “What could have done this?”

Kharis gave Descartes a knowing glance before replying, “Let’s not stick around to find out. Come on, let’s try to dig our way through and get out of here.” Shifting into the form of a huge air elemental, Descartes began to clear away the stone while Kharis and Moiran looked for passage through the rubble. “Something’s not right,” Moiran spoke as he turned over a small boulder that appeared to have been furrowed by an immense rasp. “There were twenty or thirty people here when Amitel and I left to aid the merfolk. A few of them were just peddlers or porters, but many of them were seasoned warriors or mages.”

“What’s your point?” Kharis asked peering through a dark crevice for signs of egress. “If they were smart, they probably ran like hell as soon as they saw whatever was happening to the water.”

“That’s exactly his point,” Descartes spoke, wisely deducing the implication of the sorcerer’s words. “Present company excluded, adventurers rarely shirk from danger. Most of the men and women here would have charged out to fight whatever threatened our triton allies or at least rallied to defend the bastion.”

“So assuming they didn’t all flee, we should see evidence of a battle,” Moiran concluded.

Kharis looked around the ruins for signs of a struggle before replying, “So, where are all the bodies?” Suddenly, a frenzy of foam and spray erupted from the water’s edge as a writhing mass of hooked tentacles exploded from below the waves. Before anyone could react, a whirlwind of rubbery limbs as thick fallen elms and twice as long bludgeoned and tore at the three adventurers who were left dazed and senseless by the assault.

Still wounded from the battle in the temple, Moiran died near instantaneously as a pair of suckered extremities smashed his ribs and shattered his spine. Meanwhile, Descartes’ vaporous form couldn’t protect him from the tentacles that crushed him like a roll of bubble wrap. As Kharis stumbled into the cruel, screeching, beaked maw of the colossal abomination, the words of the hags came back to haunt him. The evil crones had warned Balarath of what the party might discover if they went searching for the true identity of the Master of the Deeps and now, in the wake of the fall of Eadro’s shrine and the defilement of the triton village, the kraken Mahg’og rose from the lakebed to claim dominion over The Shallows. Triumphantly, the beast wrested the shards of the Watrazor from the dead alchemist’s pack and pitched Kharis’ remains into the lake.


Sigh*

And the body count continues.

How in Iomedae's name did a paladin fail a will save?


Although even with the paladin what chance did these guys have? Sounds like an instakill.

What possible strategy could these guys have used? Looks like they would have died no matter what they did or who was in the party.

I don't really see any obvious mistakes. They were investigating something, and a monstrosity with a zillion attacks per round just suddenly surfaces and attacks. There's really not much you can do about that, and I can't imagine what the dc for spotting it in the first place would have been.

So as far as I can tell, the adventurers were always scheduled to be jumped by something that could pretty much kill all of them so quickly they wouldn't even get a chance to react.

Have I got this right?

Liberty's Edge

Pathfinder Battles Case Subscriber

I knew this journal entry might cause some frustration for readers who are tired of seeing the players die, but I just wrote it down the way it played out. The players haven’t given up and they’ve already made a significant stride toward taking back The Shallows, but I’ll get to that in future entries. For now, I’ll try to answer your questions without giving away anything the players don’t know.

How in Iomedae's name did a paladin fail a will save?

The player rolled a 1. Amitel had a +17 Will save. She had a better than 50% chance of success, but that 1 sealed her fate. At this point in the game, it isn’t uncommon for the PCs to have +15 or higher in every save and the ability to boost those saves with spells or special abilities, but rolling a 1 trumps all that.

Although even with the paladin what chance did these guys have? What possible strategy could these guys have used?

The players’ strategy has pretty much always been to quickly incur maximum damage with minimal loss. They build very protected, very destructive characters who dismantle most encounters within 1-3 rounds. Kharis, for instance, nearly soloed a fully healed dragon turtle in one round. If he had remembered to use Bleeding Attack, it would have died on his next turn. It isn’t that their strategy isn’t sound. It’s simply that, at this point, rolling a 1 or rolling low initiative can be the death of a character when they fight something that can actually challenge them. In this case, it just happened to be a kraken.

I was going to save this until I got to the region review, but I’ll fill you all in now since I already told the players. Like Regions I and M, events in Region K and L are closely linked. The writers of the WLD decided to be sneaky and set a timer on the players as soon as they enter Region K (The Shallows.) From the moment they arrive in Region K, they have 8 days to uncover and stop a plot by the kraken Mahg’og to take over The Shallows. A brief description of Mahg’og’s daily activities is laid out for the GM so they know how far along the kraken is in its plot. Mahg’og lives in Region L on the other side of the swamp where the dragon Thorodin lives, which means the players have to somehow deal with Thorodin and get to Mahg’og within about a week. On top of this, everything the players need to learn about the kraken’s plan is hundreds of feet underwater. Also, in case it hasn’t been said enough, Mahg’og a kraken.

I didn’t see any way for my players to learn about all this stuff while they were dealing with the hags and Thorodin, so I decided to keep the time limit but I waited until the players were in The Deeps to start the clock. Once there, I immediately dropped the dime on Mahg’og by having the elf Ilean tell the party about him. From there, I hoped they would uncover the kraken’s plot. Instead, they got bogged down in trying to solve the mystery of Madowlieloren’s curse and that sucked up most of their time until they found the sahuagin lair. Now, about the kraken…

…Region L is intended for a party from Level 12-14. Krakens are CR18. I have no doubt these players could come up with a group of Level 13 PCs who could defeat a CR18 monster but, because this is the WLD, Mahg’og has class levels bumping his CR up even further. In case they wanted to turn back, I tried to telegraph the party was getting closer to the kraken by pointing out the cloud of ink in the water. They kept going. When Mahg’og finally emerged from the lake, I didn’t give him a surprise round. It just beat everyone on initiative and proceeded to tear them apart.

At their level, I don’t see Mahg’og as the sort of monster the players are expected to beat in direct combat but that doesn’t mean there is no way to beat him. I won’t say more than that.


"It isn’t that their strategy isn’t sound. It’s simply that, at this point, rolling a 1 or rolling low initiative can be the death of a character when they fight something that can actually challenge them. In this case, it just happened to be a kraken."

Yeah, the old rocket tag problem. This is one of the many reasons I prefer older versions of d&d now (BECMI in my case). Guess I really need to try 5e.

The WLD largest dungeon really takes away some of my preferred tactics too. I always take dimension door as a spell if I can.

Dunno, I guess we all have an optimizer inside us, but given the rule constraints I'm not sure what your guys could do. A Master Summoner would have been an ideal party member from the beginning of this dungeon, but that is out.

You've pretty much had all the core classes represented at some point. Not sure some generations of your party were optimized (or had class combos that made a lot of sense), but this dungeon has chewed up and spit out all of them.

I have a dream though. One day I want to see the TexAssian Ranger come through a gate in all his assless chapped glory, riding some kind of domesticated demon. He's either gonna chew bubblegum or kick ass, and he is all out of bubble gum.

Okay, it's a joke. But after the years of reading this thread, he and the halfling who can survive anything linger in my mind the most. God, what was his name? Riswan? The fighter with all the save feats and toughness (I do that with all my fighters too)?


(Amitel here)

That 1 hurt. A lot. Similarly poor rolls killed Squiggy and Balarath. In Balarath's favor, he not only had the human luck feat chain, but also had fortune. Poor rolls trumped those.

We (the players) have been working more on getting characters that work better together, and that have fail-saves incase those rolls go poorly, as usual.

Don't worry Sunbeam - we are working to try to live.

Dark Archive

Muahahahah! That kraken really cracked them! That should teach these fools you can’t beat a gargantuan, magical squid in an arms race! Now that The Shallows is cut off from The Barrows, I foresee that things are going to get a little rough for these dungeon-slogging dimwits. As a result of their failure to defend The Shallows, our bevy of buffoons can expect the following setbacks:

PCrna Non Grata – Only a few goblins, hobgoblins, ratfolk, minotaurs and aasimar made it into The Shallows before Mahg’og invaded and tore down Dragonpoop Bastion. Unless these glorified tomb robbers somehow find a way to return to the western dungeon, only one more PC from each race will be allowed to join them in their misadventures. That means if the party’s newest pet goblin is eaten by a cast of mutant half-fiend crabs, they’ll no longer be able to suffer the shame of having to treat a goblin like a person with feelings and value. Furthermore, since the Goblin Empire controls the wolf population in the dungeon and rocs are only native to the Chasm, we won’t be seeing any more of those mangy flea-factories or those overfed feather dusters as animal companions for awhile.

No-lag – Without access to The Barrows, the few survivors trapped in The Shallows can’t contact that conniving cutthroat Bartleby or their little friends at the World’s Largest Adventurer’s Guild. With no bench to pull from, the fools have only their own pitiful abilities to rely upon.

Blockade! – Now that Dragonpoop Bastion is a ruin, supply lines to The Barrows are completely shut down. The current group of maze-running miscreants was lucky enough to get some last minute-shopping in before the invasion but, until they bungle their way back to The Barrows, new PCs are going to have to make do with whatever equipment they can discover in the dungeon or scavenge from their dead companions.

Liberty's Edge

Pathfinder Battles Case Subscriber

Wow. I'd completely forgotten how long ago I posted something here. Since July, I've been from Mexico City to Barrow, Alaska, and just dealing with life and work in general but I never gave up on this journal. I've been plugging away at it whenever I've had the chance and I finally have three new entries to post. I just hope I haven't lost all my readers!

DAYS 399-410 SHIPWRECKED ON THE ACCURSED ISLE

featuring The World’s Largest Adventuring Party:

Rome – Gnome Sound Striker Bard
Hantash – Half-Orc Two-Handed Fighter
Ginx – Goblin Dragon-blood Sorcerer
Hrothgar – Dwarf Cleric of Bolka
Broka – Hobgoblin Ironskin Monk
Throrgrin – Dwarf Fighter

“Quickly! To the south tunnels before it returns!” Hantash shouted to his companions as another warrior was suddenly snared into the toxic black sludge spreading across the lake. The half-orc and his friend Throrgrin had been among the first to rally when the tritons sounded their war shells. Moments later, a mass of gargantuan tentacles broke the surface of the inky water and tore Dragonpoop Bastion to the ground while its defenders still fired arrows and spells from behind its walls. Battered and bloody, Hantash and Throrgrin grabbed the closest survivors they could find and fled the rubble of the small fort while the remaining wounded were quickly dragged screaming into the lake.

The small band of survivors made their way cautiously through the tunnels south of the triton colony and out onto the flooded beach at the edge of the swamp across the lake. Gazing west toward the ruins of Dragonpoop Bastion, the adventurers could only make out darkness and silence. If the monster remained, it was invisible beneath the poisonous shroud of tainted water lapping up into the treeline. “Curious,” spoke Rome, a bard and travelogue writer pulled from the wreckage of the fort. “I don’t have any notes regarding a high tide in this marsh.” The gnome had been tossed into the dungeon for writing a poor review of the labor camp Lord Antagonis had him toiling in, but he was resigned to make the most of it and happily scribbled down the features of the prison in painstaking detail.

“This isn’t the result of a high tide,” replied Thomas Rose. Four Waters’ resident expert on fortifications and mining had been summoned to The Shallows to assist in reconstructing the coral dam but he and his team had only just left Dragonpoop Bastion when the kraken attacked. Now, like the adventurers, they had become refugees. “The swamp is flooding. I heard the dam on the other side of the lake was damaged by sea devils. That monster that attacked the fort must have finished the job coming through what was left.”

“Then it’s only a matter of time before that thing can swim up into the swamp and come for us,” Throrgrin spoke. “Unless we plan on being here when that happens, I suggest we keep moving.”

“The old tunnels are high enough out of the water they should stay pretty dry,” the old soldier responded. “I’m leading my men there to secure the tunnels and wait for help to arrive. Anyone who doesn’t want to risk the swamp is welcome to join us.”

“The tunnels are too close if the creature decides to take up residence in the triton colony,” Throrgrin countered. “I say we put as much distance between us and that thing as possible for now. What say you, Hantash?”

The half-orc weighed his options carefully before answering. He had served under Rose as a Rough Welcomer and knew the man had a keen mind but, ultimately he agreed with the dwarf. The entrance to Dragonpoop Bastion was the only way anyone knew to return to The Barrows and, for now, the monster had the tunnel blocked up. Going forward, they might have a shot of finding another route west or possibly even south toward Four Waters. Splitting off from Rose and his men, Hantash, Throrgrin and Rome made their escape across the marsh.

***

Through the pounding rain, Broka scanned the edge of the marsh for signs of movement one last time before reporting to Macready, the sea captain-turned-bartender from Four Waters had volunteered to oversee repairs to the Mariner’s Passion. Suddenly, a rustling in the brush caught his eye. “Prepare for battle!” the monk barked at the crew on the deck of the ship. “We may have more gill-men attacking from the port side!” The hobgoblin, along with his comrades, had arrived to the site of the damaged vessel at the request of the druid Descartes and repairs were going well until the swamp began to flood and a war party of locathah attacked the camp from the eastern sea.

Broka kicked the goblin Ginx awake as the crew turned to greet this new potential threat, and the small sorcerer groaned his disapproval. For years, Ginx had hidden his abilities from his fellow goblins out of fear that they would eat him to absorb his power but, here in The Shallows, safely away from the bulk of his tribe, he’d made the mistake of blowing up a small colony of shocker lizards while practicing his spellcraft too near the camp. The goblins he traveled with only briefly considered eating him, but now they constantly bothered him when they wanted to see something destroyed.

“Mrrruh-fine, Fireball!” Ginx complained as he poked a finger over the side of the ship and launched a small pellet of flame into the treeline. The resulting explosion shook the mangroves and briefly illuminated a trio of humanoids diving through the underbrush. “Are they ash and dead yet? Can I go back to sleep?!” the goblin whined.

“Hold your fire!” Hantash shouted through the din of the rain. “Figuratively and literally!” added Rome.

Macready hurried the adventurers aboard and quickly took their report from Dragonpoop Bastion. “Then we can’t stay here,” the half-orc spoke. “The repairs aren’t complete, but we’ve patched up enough of the holes to get underway. We can worry about finishing the job when we reach a safer harbor. There’s only one thing we need to do before we leave…This ship needs a new name.”

The salty sea captain explained that it would be bad luck to get underway while the salvaged cog bore the name under which it sank. “The Mariner’s Passion was claimed by the sea and the sea may not want to give her up so easily,” Macready warned the adventurers. “If we change her name, we might change her luck…or at least trick the sea into thinking we’re on a different ship.”

It soon became clear the superstitious sailor wouldn’t give the order to leave without a new name for the ship so the party quickly debated a few new monikers before settling on “Tempest.” A veritable storm of calamities had, afterall, brought them to this moment so the adventurers thought the name fitting. Hastily scribbling the boat’s new name across its bow with a piece of charred wood, Macready called for the goblin crew to launch the vessel into the sea while the adventurers hoisted the sails.

***

“Hello?! Balarath? Descartes? Anyone!?” Hrothgar bellowed through the halls of the submerged tunnel system below Madowlieloren. After what seemed like days, the dwarf had finally managed to stumble out of an enchanted maze of twisting corridors and back into the dungeon only to find he had been abandoned by his companions. Making his way back to the surface of the sea, the dwarf trudged onto the beach of the cursed island where he devised a plan to return to The Shallows.

Hrothgar called upon the grace of Bolka and, as invisible plumes of air pushed against his boots, the cleric lifted into the sky and began to hustle over the sea toward The Shallows. The dwarf hoped he would make it to land before the magic faded, but there was no way he could know he was heading straight for a trap that would send him hurtling back into the sea. After only a half hour of flight, a burst of light erupted from the sea showering the cleric in a foamy radiance. Whatever has caused the explosion of light had disrupted Hrothgar’s spell and he dropped suddenly into the tumultuous waters below.

Without the proper enchantments for travel through the sea, Hrothgar quickly sank below the waves where he struggled to concentrate on a spell to save himself from a watery grave. Out of nowhere the dwarf felt himself prodded toward the water’s surface by a series of soft but firm blows to his side. Breeching the waves, Hrothgar found himself surrounded by a pod of pale green cetaceans led by what looked like a strange hybrid of elf and porpoise.

“Nalyë an broul qá,” the elf-thing spoke in a peculiar smattering of Common, Elf and Aquan. “Wings deh mára for ruc, tál not fit deu swim. Tia not brona anann in thial engio, odd duck.”

“Thank you for your assistance, kind stranger,” Hrothgar graciously replied thinking the strange creature mad and not wishing to upset him. “Would you and your, uh, companions be willing to escort me to the nearest landmass? I can reward you for the service.”

“Duck huaitt glam, kwí sick,” the creature frowned. “Kendraille tulu to mandengio,” it grinned flashing a row of spade-shaped, porcelain-white teeth. Then, with a trilling click, the elf-thing ordered its porpoise companions to carry the dwarf to the nearest shore.

Hrothgar’s thrill at being propelled through the sea by the pod of strange animals dwindled when he realized the things were taking him back to Madowlieloren. The pod’s master, an elf-porpoise hybrid presumably spawned by the cursed isle, only smiled and nodded as the dwarf pleaded to be taken to another location. Upon reaching shallow water, the creature clicked another order to his cetacean companions who gently nudged Hrothgar toward the beach. “Bolka bless the good you do, son,” Hrothgar sighed reaching into his backpack for a few potions the elf-thing accepted with a quizzical stare before diving back into the sea. “Never let it be said Hrothgar Ironbrood is a dwarf who doesn’t repay his debts,” the priest half-smiled.

***

A stiff wind pushed the Tempest through the choppy surf of In Lhun’s western waters into the swirling tide that surrounded Madowlieloren. Thanks to Macready’s expert seamanship and command, the vessel held together through the storm and, after a little less than a full day at sea, the vessel drifted into the shallow waters at the edge of the island’s ruined village. There, the adventurers discovered Hrothgar Ironbrood, cleric of Bolka, resting within the yellowing remains of a ramshackle hut. After making introductions and informing the cleric of recent events in The Shallows, the band joined Macready and the crew of the Tempest in their search for provisions and materials to complete the repairs to their ship.

“You won’t find anything safe to eat or drink here,” warned the dwarf. “The whole island and everything growing on it seems to be cursed. Fortunately, De Frorl Zaraz, the divine lady Bolka, provides for those in need,” he smiled producing a basket of conjured victuals from his humble lodging. Hrothgar had wandered the island after being returned to it by the strange porpoise/elf and he was able to advise Macready and the adventurers on where they might find materials for the Tempest. Regrettably however, the wood they needed would have to come from an area Hrothgar knew was sacred to the island’s pitiable former inhabitants.

Hrothgar still remembered how the witch doctor Balarath had steered their companions away from the sacred grove of the elves the first time he explored the island. He also remembered the grasping vines and strange creatures that defended the holy sapling at the grove’s center and he warned the adventurers as they approached the eerily silent copse. “Well, we don’t need the sapling so hopefully they won’t mind us cutting down one of the older trees,” Hantash assured the dwarf.

To be safe, the adventurers planned to take only a tree from the outermost edge of the grove. This turned out to be a good decision. As Hantash leveled his heavy blade at the trunk of what appeared to be a tall, thick mango tree, there was a sudden rustling through the leaves of the grove. A wall of sharp, black thorns and ropy vines suddenly sprouted amid the banks of trees cutting the half-orc off from his intended target as a deep, hollow moan rang out across the grove. From the air, the goblin sorcerer Ginx could see two humanoid figures emerging from the trees closest to the center of the grove. The creatures resembled moss-encrusted elves carved from wood and, as they charged unhesitatingly through the briar wall, their knobby fists grew into long, saw-toothed blades.

“They must think we’re here for the sapling!” Hantash shouted as he pushed and hacked into the thorns. “Try not to kill them, but keep them back while I-”

“Fire! Fire! Burn!” Ginx interjected as he unleashed beams of blazing heat onto the closest of the charging tree-elves, a female-appearing creature whose legs seemed oddly disproportionate.

“Dammit, Ginx! I said don’t kill them!” Hantash growled. “They’re just protecting the grove! Broka, get ready to help me haul this tree away when it falls!”

The hobgoblin monk offered no response but stood ready to assist. To him, the tree-elves meant nothing. Only the task at hand mattered. Until the tree’s dendritic defenders posed a real threat to the mission, he would simply wait. Meanwhile, Rome searched the thick tangle of vines and branches for signs of the second creature while Hrothgar stood ready to administer healing to Hantash. The half-orc could have used a hand from his friend Throrgrin, but the dwarf had opted to hang back with Macready and the crew of the Tempest in case they were attacked while scavenging the village.

Disappointed that Hantash wouldn’t let him set fire to the tree-elves, Ginx grudgingly blocked the creatures’ progress through the grove with a conjured wall of invisible force before pelting them with a hail of flickering pyrotechnics. Enraged, the male creature let out an angry howl as it sought out the end of the transparent obstacle and charged at Hantash. The half-orc was halfway through the tree before the elf-thing reached him and, as the hollow-eyed horror smashed its blade-arm against Hantash’s armored shoulders, the fighter’s enchanted falchion cleaved through the final inches of the trunk.

With a crack, the mango tree slid from the stump of its trunk and tumbled down like a drunken giant. “Broka, now!” Hantash roared as he sheathed his sword and wrapped his arms around the end of the tree. Ordinarily, hauling the massive tree would have been an insurmountable task for the two warriors but, girded with magical belts of strength, the pair began to drag the fallen tree away from the grove.

Hoping to reduce the friction of dragging the tree across the island, Hrothgar bestowed the gift of flight to Hantash and Broka. The warriors slowly began to carry the tree into the air, but not before the wood-elf assaulting them leapt onto the tree in a last-ditch effort to stop the theft. By now, the second elf had found its way around the wall of force and it moved to join its companion while flinging arrow-like wooden spikes at Ginx.

“Crackle! Burn! Pop!” Ginx laughed as he flung another arcing, weaving fireblossom at the creature. After the goblin’s earlier attack and nearly a dozen of the tiny fiery explosives bursting against its wooden hide, the thing finally collapsed into a smoking heap with a baleful moan. “Uh…oops,” the goblin grinned. Not far away, a loud crack shattered the air as bits of bark flew free of the remaining creature’s hide.

Rome wasn’t trying to kill the wood-elf, but he hoped an explosive blast of pure sound might convince the creature to give up its struggle for the tree. It was clear the creature was badly wounded, but the gnome was quickly convinced it wasn’t injury or fear that drove the thing to leap from the airborne conifer and return to the sacred grove. As the bard looked on, the elf bound toward its fallen companion, ignoring the goblin flying overhead, and carried her into the safety of the copse.

“I hope one tree is going to be enough to finish the repairs, because I’m not going to go through that again,” Hantash sighed as the thrashing vines and barbed branches of the sacred grove shuddered and creaked in the distance. Overhead, a peal of thunder could be heard in the west.

“It seems another storm is brewing,” Rome noted. “We had best return to the ship.”

***

A steady rain fell as the crew of the Tempest worked to repair the vessel, and the adventurers stayed close to the ruined elf village assisting where they could while defending the camp from the occasional wandering band of animated skeletons or mutated bat-fish. Though not a shipwright by trade, the carpenter, John Chance, who had accompanied Macready into The Shallows, put the adventurers’ collective knowledge of engineering to good use, but he estimated it would take several days to complete the final repairs to the vessel, barring the odd mutant attack. Little did anyone suspect the freakish inhabitants of Madowlieloren would become the least of the party’s concerns.

At first, the strange behavior of certain members of the goblin crew was attributed to the generally strange behavior of goblins. A few of the creatures muttering to themselves was nothing new, but then tools began to go missing and new damage to the vessel was reported by the hobgoblin overseers. A fire broke out in the cargo hold, and fresh tears and splits appeared in the cog’s sail. Fights among the crew became more frequent. Only a few days into repairs, a goblin reported late to work was discovered dead within a ruined hut. Bits of jagged metal and glass were lodged in his gums and tongue, and it appeared he had died after trying to ingest the material.

It soon became clear the same madness that had overtaken the elves of Madowlieloren was setting in among the goblins. It was assumed the creatures’ voracious appetites had probably led them to eat tainted fruit from the island, but then the more disciplined hobgoblins began to exhibit signs of the curse as well. The adventurers attempted to cure the sickness through the blessings of Hrothgar’s goddess to no avail and, by the end of the first week, the madness had spread to one of their own.

Broka’s descent into the abyss began with a whisper. The voice sounded like his own and it told him he must protect his companions. The hobgoblin was convinced a horde of demons was coming to the island and that he might fool them by creating mannequins of the crew and adventurers from detritus around the village. When he offered these makeshift decoys to his companions, many of them feigned polite refusal while others accepted the dolls only to throw them away out of Broka’s sight.

It was the goblin Ginx who discovered just how crazed the hobgoblin had become. The sorcerer accepted Broka’s gift only to set fire to the doll in full view of the monk. Solemnly, Broka collected the ashes of the proxy before burying them beneath a pile of stones and reporting the death of Ginx to his companions. After that, the hobgoblin seemed to ignore the true Ginx, treating him as little more than an object of little concern. He began to spend more and more time alone in the ruined village. On the ninth day of repairs, now showing physical signs of mutation, the monk stealthily stole away with the remaining mannequins and began building barricades at the village entrances, ordering the dolls about as if they were assisting his preparations.

“At some point, we really need to talk about the afflicted goblins and hobgoblins,” Hantash spoke addressing his allies. “It’s clear they’ve lost their minds, but we’re nearing the end of the repairs and we need to decide if we’re bringing them with us.”

The adventurers briefly debated their options before deciding Broka alone was worth saving from the island. Due to his tremendous fortitude and will, it was determined the monk would be the easiest to cure if a cure could be found. The remaining goblins could be saved later if they survived the island’s dangers. A scheme was hatched to draw the hobgoblin away from his makeshift fort and lead him back to the Tempest as soon as the vessel was ready to leave. Two days later, the cog was ready to sail but time was already becoming too late. The fighter Throrgrin friend to Hantash, was now beginning to show signs of the curse as well.

***

While simply confronting Broka and knocking him out may have been quicker, the party decided that stealing the hobgoblin’s dolls and luring him back to the Tempest would be less likely to accidentally kill the monk. As Hantash and Throrgrin waited near the shore, it was left to Ginx to flit about the barricaded village kidnapping Broka’s proxy companions. Though his skin had taken on a sickly, nearly translucent white pallor, Throrgrin had thus far managed to retain his sanity and it would be his job to help Hantash wrestle the monk onto the boat if necessary. Rome and Hrothgar, meanwhile remained aboard the ship to assist with getting the vessel underway.

Broka was patrolling the village when he noticed the first of the mannequins floating through the sky. Ginx had flown into the ruins invisibly and snatched up two of the dolls that had been posted near a makeshift wall like sentries but, rather than flying back to Hantash and Throrgrin, the goblin decided to haul off as many of the mannequins as he could carry in one trip. In his addled state, Broka assumed the demons had finally arrived to attack the village.

At first, the hobgoblin responded by attempting to rescue his “companions,” but Ginx’s superior mobility made it impossible for the monk to keep up. Broka then attempted to gather up as many free mannequins as he could before they could be captured, but this only led to Ginx setting fire to the ruins and attacking the monk with a hail of fireballs and rays of burning flame. The strange voice in Broka’s head screamed at him to flee, and he ran for the outskirts of the ruins.

“Your companions are doomed! Their souls are lost!” the voice shouted in Broka’s fragmented psyche. “The demons are here! Flee! Flee for your life!”

Broka scanned the edge of the village, his eyes catching glimpses of the burning remains of his doll allies through the flames before falling on the sight of the small, gargoyle-like monster that had kidnapped his friends and razed the village. The fiend was gliding toward a pair of chitin-covered crab-demon things clawing out of the surf and, beyond them, Broka could make out the revolting, titanic head of an antediluvian horror rising from a black, churning sea of barbed tentacles and billowing thunderclouds. Faced with such overwhelming, unimaginable evil, the hobgoblin’s mind shattered and he fled screaming away into the darkness. Realizing their plan to save Broka had emphatically failed, the remaining adventurers returned to the Tempest and hastily cast off for safer shores.

Liberty's Edge

Pathfinder Battles Case Subscriber

I hope these new posts will tide everyone over until I can get the next ones ready...

DAYS 411-413 SCALE AND CHITIN

featuring The World’s Largest Adventuring Party:

Rome – Gnome Sound Striker Bard
Hantash – Half-Orc Two-Handed Fighter
Ginx – Goblin Dragon-blood Sorcerer
Hrothgar – Dwarf Cleric of Bolka
Throrgrin – Dwarf Fighter
Brynjar – Half-Elf Rogue
Fizzwidget – Gnome Dragon-blood Sorcerer

Madowlieloren lay far behind the adventurers as the Tempest sailed west across the murky sea. The party had known for some time the waters of In Lhun were toxic and cursed but, when Throrgrin suddenly burst out of his armor becoming a crazed ogre-like monster, it was confirmed that the rain pounding the deck was just as foul. Afterall, the storm system that swept through Groth Lhunaer constantly sucked up water from the surface of the sea and the fantastic, gravity-defying waterspout the elves called In Órë Sir. Reluctantly, Hantash and his companions were forced to subdue the giant dwarf and chain him to the deck of the ship until he could be safely abandoned on land. Until then, unafflicted crewmembers were told to limit their exposure to the rain and a sturdy, makeshift roof was constructed above the ship’s wheel to keep the helmsman dry.

With dangers aboard the Tempest dealt with, the adventurers now only had to worry about threats from the sea. Fortunately, it seemed most of The Deeps’ beasts were content to leave the vessel well enough alone, but peace rarely lasts in the Dungeon.

“Monster off the starboard bow!” a lookout called out from the bow of the ship.

Though not a monster in the strictest of terms, an immense squid could be seen struggling with a smaller creature at the surface of the water. Taking to the air, Ginx flew out over the fightin’ cephalopod to discover the beast battled what appeared to be a gilled, green-haired elf wielding a strange spear-like weapon. The sea-elf snapped its weapon into two sections connected by a chain and drove the ends of the spear into the squid’s mantle before revealing a distended jaw full of shark-like teeth. Assuming the elf-creature might be open to communication, the goblin shouted his report back to his companions before launching an explosive ball of flame into the back of the huge squid.

Lending support from aboard the Tempest, Rome and Hrothgar bolstered Hantash as he leapt into the waves and swam toward the melee. By the time the warriors reached the squid, however, the battle was nearly over. The beast was quickly overwhelmed by the power of Ginx’s flame spells and dove into the dark depths of the sea after releasing a cloud of noxious ink into the surrounding water. The sea-elf offered no thanks for the adventurer’s timely arrival, but instead readied himself against attack as Macready piloted the Tempest closer to the scene.

“Bolka’s gilded slippers, it’s you!” Hrothgar shouted from the deck recognizing the elf as Manipanilua, the former guard captain of Madowlieloren. “You led us to the tunnels below Madowlieloren! Have you seen my companions!?” The suspicious elf could offer the cleric no aid in locating his former friends, stating only that he had not lingered near the submerged hall.

Hrothgar explained what he knew about Manipanilua and his connection to Madowlieloren, and the adventurers decided the sea elf might make a worthy ally. However, the warrior had been too often betrayed or abandoned by those he thought he could trust. Manipanilua frowned at the group’s attempts at diplomacy and was about to dive back into the sea when Macready called out from the rail of the ship. The old sailor’s many years of keeping bar had taught him a lot about how to speak to belligerent and stubborn men and, within a few minutes, he managed to convince the elf to give the adventurers a chance. And so, with Manipanilua’s knowledge of The Deeps to guide them, the party continued their journey south into the territory of the locathah.

***

Thanks to the aid of an enchanted amulet given to him by the adventurers, Manipanilua could now breathe freely in the open air and he directed Macready toward a beach of jagged, glassy stones in the southwestern sea. The sea elf was certain the lair of the locathah must be nearby and, when a shout came from the starboard rail, his suspicions were confirmed. Fishfolk barbarians, six in total, had crept up the sides of the vessel and were assaulting the hobgoblins on deck. An alarm was raised and, soon, the adventurers were up the ladders to join the fight!

Hantash and Manipanilua met the locathah head on as Ginx seared the scales from the barbarians’ hides with rays of flame and Rome blasted the fishmen with powerful waves of sound. When a pair of locathah overtook the hobgoblin warriors guarding Throrgrin, Hantash was quick to defend his mutated friend and his keen falchion made quick work of the invaders. Meanwhile, Macready and Chance were suddenly ambushed by a pair of the scaly scallywags who had clawed their way onto the aft deck. It had been some time since Macready had battled more than an angry drunk, but he and the able carpenter held their own until help arrived.

Brynjar and Fizzwidget, an adventuring rogue and sorcerer who had, up to this point, been content to merely blend into the background assisting the crew with repairing and manning the Tempest, could no longer stand idle as their brave captain struggled against the locathah threatening to pull him overboard. A bolt from the half-elf’s crossbow found the gills of one of the creatures while the gnome’s icy magic sheared the slimy flesh from the other barbarian’s bones. Outmatched by the adventurers, one of the remaining locathah leapt back into the water as Hantash’s blade severed the lower leg of another fleeing foe. Seemingly immune to the cursed waters of In Lhun, Manipanilua fearlessly dove after the escaping locathah. The elf returned moments later with good news. Not only had he killed the creature before it could summon aid, he’d tracked it back to the lair of its tribe.

***

Convinced that weakening the kraken Mahg’og’s allies would be the best way to weaken the monster itself, the adventuring party, now joined by Brynjar and Fizzwidget, accompanied Manipanilua into the depths and made their way to the entrance of the locathah tribe’s cave. There, only a short distance into the lair, they found several seaweed fishing nets weighted with chunks of raw adamantine hanging from the ceiling of the cave and drifting in the lazy current. Alerted by the sounds of Hrothgar and Hantash’s plate armor creaking as they swam, seven locathah warriors rose from their sleep to defend the cave but it was too late. Five of the fish-men were killed by one of Ginx’s fireballs before they could even retrieve their weapons, and the remaining pair of badly injured warriors were finished off by Fizzwidget.

“If that’s who they have guarding their main entrance, we’ll be back aboard the Tempest in time for breakfast!” the gnome amusedly commented as his companions searched the room and collected the precious adamantine from the nets.

“That bunch were likely just hunters resting after bringing in their nets, judging by the smell,” Manipanilua sniffed, his shark-like senses catching hints of fresh cavefish from the nearby Shallows. “Be prepared for stauncher resistance inside.”

Despite Manipanilua’s caution, the battle against the locathah turned out to be more of a fish fry. Hantash had barely leveled his blade at an unprepared fishfolk warrior in the next chamber when another of Ginx’s fiery explosions ripped through the cave incinerating the creature and twelve of its companions. The panicked, gurgling screams of the locathah alerted a group of 20 warriors sleeping in an adjoining chamber who were grossly outmatched by the goblin and his allies. Fumbling for simple spears and crossbows, the creatures offered little challenge to the adventurers who simply blocked the exit to their barracks while Ginx and Fizzwidget annihilated them with flame and ice.

Only a single locathah warrior survived to flee through a north passage deeper into his tribe’s lair and, tired of watching the goblin kill everything, Manipanilua charged after the creature with Hrothgar close behind. The locathah’s path led the pair into a wide hall where stood two large bronze statues. The figures were armed with staff and bow respectively and both had a noble, celestial air about them. As Manipanilua swam past the nearest statue, the figure holding the staff, its eyes flashed and a cloud of freezing mist poured from its weapon into the corridor. Chilled by the thick fog, the sea elf and Hrothgar ducked into a side chamber to escape the mist but there was no exit from the room. They would have to go back into the passageway if they hoped to escape.

Hantash and the others, having caught up with Manipanilua and Hrothgar, stood at the edge of the freezing fog seeking a way through the corridor but their view was wholly obscured. Attempts at scouting the way ahead were met with numbing cold and Rome and Fizzwidget soon learned the brazen archer’s bow was just as deadly as the wizard’s staff. Arrows of light whizzed unerringly through the mist striking the gnomes as they attempted to pass.

Eager to prove his skills, Brynjar volunteered to enter the gelid cloud and examine the statues for any means of disarming the traps. After receiving a protective spell from Ginx, the rogue pushed into the fog and began his inspection. Hantash, on the other hand, decided he already knew how to shut down the sinister statues. Moving through the cloud toward the bow-wielding warrior, the fighter detached his warhammer from his belt and began to beat the sculpture into scrap.

Even with the barrier of arcane energy protecting them from the cold, the freezing fog chilled the adventurers’ bones. From the safety of the small chamber he shared with Manipanilua, Hrothgar channeled healing energy to keep his allies alive before moving back into corridor to explore further up the tunnel. On the other end of the cloud, the dwarf spotted three large, locathah warriors defending a narrow entryway while a fourth injured warrior limped past them. The cleric pushed through the mist only to be suddenly pinned under a portcullis gate dropped on him by one of the locathah. Though it shared the uncommon black and red scale patterns of its companions, the creature had only one arm and seemed to command the other warriors.

“Moun tihel siphoi tour malc ei huatt!” the warrior shouted at the struggling dwarf. Unfortunately, Hrothgar didn’t speak a lick of Aquan but he sensed the locathah were offering parley based on the fact they hadn’t skewered him while he lay at their mercy. Upon dealing with the traps in the adjoining corridor, Hrothgar was quickly joined by his companions and asked for someone to step forward who spoke the fishfolks’ tongue.

“He says his name is Sha’ag. He and these two warriors are the chieftain’s elite guard, but he says the chief isn’t here,” Manipanilua translated. “My people’s priest, Himo, came here and challenged their old chief for leadership. Himo killed the chief and took over the tribe for Mahg’og.”

Before Manipanilua could continue, Ginx blasted one of the warriors through the bars of the portcullis with a ray of flame. The creature reeled back in pain before growling and lowering his spear toward Hrothgar’s throat. “Enturg!” Sha’ag roared seizing the warrior’s arm before he could stab the dwarf. As the pair argued, Hantash took the opportunity to wrench open the gate, freeing Hrothgar.

Despite Sha’ag’s injury, the other locathah seemed scared by the maimed warrior’s display and backed down, retreating through the corridor behind them. Sha’ag then turned to the party, his hand on the hilt of his sword, as he waited to see if they would continue their attack.

“Uvlam fof!” Fizzwidget chastised the goblin. “He’s trying to tell us this Himo character is bad for their tribe! Sha’ag would have challenged Himo for leadership himself, but his tribe won’t accept a crippled chieftain.”

“The gnome is correct,” Manipanilua spoke, a little surprised by Fizzwidget’s Aquan fluency. “Sha’ag says it goes against their traditions to defy the chief, but Himo told him to kill the women and children if any intruders made it this far. He says he’ll tell us everything he knows about Mahg’og and Himo’s plans if we spare them and leave in peace. It could be a lie, but I can say we never had much trouble with the locathah before Himo betrayed Madowlieloren.”

Deciding enough blood had been spilled for one day, the adventurers agreed to Sha’ag’s offer and allowed his people to see to their wounded and dying. In return, the warrior told the party that Himo had taken the tribe’s best warriors west into The Shallows leaving old kelp farmers and young hunters to defend the lair. Sha’ag knew little about Mahg’og’s master plan, but Himo had told the tribe the kraken promised the locathah new hunting grounds and fertile kelp beds for their crops in exchange for their obedience. The elf wasn’t expected to return soon. He’d incited the locathah against the tritons and merfolk of The Shallows by claiming the lake dwellers were invaders who had usurped the western waters from the tribe when their communities fell into the dungeon, and Sha’ag suspected Mahg’og wouldn’t release Himo or his warriors from service until he was certain the entire Shallows was under his control.

“Sha’ag says the tribe’s laws dictate they must be loyal to Himo unto death, but he can be removed from his position if he loses a trial by combat,” Manipanilua translated. “The chief must accept any challenge to fight made by a worthy warrior, but the combat must be witnessed by members of the tribe and the chief has the authority to choose the time, location and manner of weapons.”

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Hantash?” asked Rome.

“If we find Himo and I challenge him to a fight, we can take command of the tribe and turn them against Mahg’og,” replied the half-orc. “It’s worth a shot.”

“I’ve witnessed what you can do with that blade of yours, Hantash, and I’m certain Himo could not match your prowess, but I insist it is my right to challenge the priest first,” Manipanilua sternly spoke. “He betrayed my people and hastened their descent into madness and death. I won’t let anyone stand between me and revenge for my people.”

Having witnessed the state of Madowlieloren, Hantash agreed but the party would have to find Himo before anyone could challenge the priest for leadership of the locathah. To that end, Hrothgar spoke saying he could possibly locate Himo if he had a description of the priest’s vestments or accoutrements.

“Sha’ag says Himo wields a mace bearing a spiked skull and wears a coat of shark skin,” Manipanilua spoke. “Himo also carries the scepter of the chief. He says the scepter looks like a gilled tube and it allows Himo to prophecy danger.”

“That will do,” Hrothgar smiled. “I’ll prepare the divination I need and we can search for his mace. I’ll wager it’s similar to the weapons I’ve seen carried by a certain detestable cult I won’t mention by name.”

Leaving Sha’ag and his warriors to tend to their people, the adventurers returned to the Tempest with news of their victory and with hope of freeing the fishfolk from Mahg’og’s control. “Sha’ag’s life is in our hands now,” Manipanilua remarked to his allies. “He went against the tribe’s law. They’ll hold him until Himo or another chief returns to pass sentence on him.”

“Then I guess we’d better find Himo and end his reign over the locathah before he returns,” Hantash replied.

***

Macready brought the Tempest to anchor near the southwestern shore of The Deeps not far from the locathah lair the following day. The sound of a terrible storm and brisk, powerful gales met the adventurers as they climbed onto the deck and the salty captain reported a monstrous wall of wind and surf had prevented the vessel from traveling any further south. This, Manipanilua explained, was the mysterious and dreadful tempest that blocked off access to the elven community of Eolis. More frightening than the weather, however, were the disfiguring mutations that had overcome some of the party’s members during the night.

Prolonged exposure to the water within the locathah caves had mutated Ginx, Rome, Hrothgar and Brynjar and each had begun to hear sinister voices urging them to horrific and obscene acts. Ginx’s eyes had been replaced by a smooth pulsing membrane that thrummed constantly with vibrations that bounced off of anything within 60 feet of the goblin. Though he was now blind to anything outside this range, it was nearly impossible to hide from the sorcerer up close. Rome, on the other hand, had woken to the pain of a pair of hairy, bat-like wings bursting through the skin of his back. Though small, the wings provided enough lift to carry the gnome slowly through the air.

Hrothgar’s mutation caused the dwarf less physical pain at the cost of his good looks. A thick mat of coarse reddish brown fur now coated the dwarf’s hide, replacing his beard and hair to boot. To Hrothgar’s surprise, the fur proved highly resistant to the steel knife he used in a hasty attempt to shear it away. For Brynjar, the effects of the toxic water were truly a mixed blessing. The rogue’s bones and muscles had swollen to freakish proportions providing him with incredible strength and fortitude, but the thickening of his skull had squeezed and shrunk his brain resulting in a noticeable loss of cognitive ability.

Fortunately, the afflicted adventurers managed to block out the demonic voices threatening their sanity, but the transformations had taken a terrible toll on their self-image and moral attitudes. Before the curse could worsen, it was decided the party would make for land as soon as possible and attempt to find a safe place for Macready and the rest of the crew. Then, after loading an unconscious Throrgrin into the Tempest’s rowboat, Hantash and the others made their way to shore.

The south beach consisted primarily of a few hundred feet of rocky, uneven tidal pools filled with bizarre, mutated anemones and sea stars and, the adventurers made their way west after abandoning Throrgrin in a small cave. It wasn’t the most honorable way to say goodbye to his friend, but Hantash hoped the dwarf would manage to survive long enough on his own for his companions to discover a cure for the curse ravaging his body. As the group neared the easternmost edge of The Shallows, Ginx growled out a warning that a pair of small creatures were hiding in the rocks ahead near the bloated corpse of a merman.

Ginx’s uncanny new powers of perception hadn’t lied. A pair of goblins claiming to be refugees from Dragonpoop Bastion revealed themselves upon being challenged by the party. The goblins, Snicket and Ginnel, swore they had nothing to do with the merman’s death, but admitted they’d considered eating the corpse since their own food supplies had been depleted. After warning the goblins about eating any of the fish from the nearby water, the adventurers directed them toward the Tempest where Macready could provide them with temporary shelter and a healthier meal. The goblins happily thanked the party and made their way quickly toward the ship.

Eventually, the party came to a great mound of red sand stretching sixty feet across the beach. Weak waves crashed against the mound, which smelled of carrion and rotting kelp. Flying above the mound, Ginx detected a number of small lumps, each the size of a sleeping man, rising from its surface. Cautiously, Hantash investigated the mound soon discovering the lumps were burial plots for the mummified remains of several locathah and merfolk. One of the plots however contained a lizardman, still alive though unconscious. A large pair of puncture marks revealed the reptilian warrior had been poisoned by a creature of enormous size. Hrothgar healed the lizardman’s wounds as well as he could, but the creature was still too weak to wake so the adventurers decided to move him into a nearby tunnel where he might be safe until they could return.

Strings of shells and polished stones swayed gently throughout the tunnel adjoining the crimson mound, and the adventurers soon found a small chamber containing a chest of gems, old coins and precious stones where they could leave the unconscious lizardman. After collecting the trinkets from the chest, the party moved on until they discovered a wide chamber tiled in thick stone squares painted red and black. A graphite plank balanced upon a fulcrum in the center of the chamber, and Brynjar warned his companions the room smelled like a trap.

Avoiding the floor seemed like a safe plan, but Hantash noticed the tiles were loose and attempted to pluck one up. The half-orc retrieved one of the red tiles without injury but, upon inspecting the slate-gray plank he received a painful electric shock. Undeterred, Hantash placed the tile upon one end of the stone teeterboard and, as expected, it tipped until it touched the floor. With some experimenting, the party discovered the stone only generated electricity when it was perfectly balanced. Not necessarily a trap, the adventurers couldn’t determine the device’s purpose and so they left the plank in its “off” position and left the chamber.

Before long, the party discovered a long hall past a small room where javelins had been rigged to fall from the ceiling. The hall featured a set of stout spears affixed into the walls and pointing toward a sealed stone portcullis as if to ward off an attack. Naturally, the adventurers decided to open the portcullis and Brynjar soon disabled the mechanism barring their entrance. The chamber beyond the stone gate was roughly 20 feet across on every side, and the large, bizarre skeleton of some devilish monster hung dripping with ooze from a series of chains attached to a ceiling high above the chamber floor. Going in for a closer look and hoping to identify the creature, Rome was suddenly struck by a pair of massive pincers from above as an eerie white light suddenly filled the chamber.

Centuries ago, celestials had hung the remains of a foul devil within the chamber taking precautions against its evil spirit escaping back into the dungeon. Little did they know, a tiny lantern scorpion had skittered into the cell before the portcullis was sealed. The devil’s tortured spirit possessed the scorpion and, over time, the creature had grown to monstrous proportions and taken on many of the fiend’s attributes. Now the creature perched upon the wall above the chamber door, its bulbous stinger glowing like a massive barbed bug zapper. Before Rome’s allies could act, the beast’s tail whipped at the gnome like a reed in a hurricane.

The scorpion’s savage attack knocked the bard from his senses and the monster began a swift ascent toward the ceiling of the chamber with its prize. Shocked and terrified, Brynjar threw the switch on the portcullis sealing Hantash inside the room with the monster before anyone else could respond. “Erbrigol!” Fizzwidget swore at the fleeing rogue as he pushed forward to reopen the chamber. “Mani! Ginx! Get in there and help them!” he shouted as the portcullis raised to reveal Hantash had already been stung by the monster within.

Hantash snarled through the pain of the scorpion’s attack. The half-orc was built of sterner stuff than Rome and he easily fought off the deadly effects of the beast’s venom but, without greater reach, he couldn’t mount an effective counterattack. Fortunately, Fizzwidget had the fighter’s back and cast a spell of flight upon the fighter who quickly charged up after the retreating scorpion. Warned against throwing any fireballs for fear of incinerating Rome, the goblin begrudgingly waited for Brynjar’s nerve to return and then flung the rogue into the air with burst of telekinetic force. The half-elf flailed frantically in a vain attempt at grappling the monstrous arthropod in midair but his grip missed and he came crashing back down to the floor, much to Ginx’s amusement.

Cornered by the adventurers, the fiendish giant scorpion fought like a rabid dog but its devilish resilience couldn’t save it from the keen blade of Hantash or the spells of Ginx and Fizzwidget. Its carapace shattered, the monster fell to its doom taking Rome along for the ride. A portion of the gnome’s broken body was recovered from the remains of the vermin and, after resealing the chamber, the surviving party members continued their exploration.

Not far from the scorpion’s cell, the adventurers were surprised to discover a long chamber housing a band of around twenty lizardfolk. Tiered platforms along the walls that once served as seating had been converted into sleeping and storage areas for the reptilians and several impressive divans arranged near the center of the chamber sat upon short pillars facing a regal throne upon a 20-foot dais at the end of the hall. Upon the dais, stood a tall, powerfully muscled lizardman clutching a gleaming greataxe in his claws. Alerted by the sound of Brynjar unlocking the door, the lizardfolk stood ready to defend their home at their chieftain’s command.

“Kii tir wux lemeb udoka jaka, svess-moliki?” the chief asked seemingly unsurprised by the sudden appearance of warmbloods in his tribe’s lair. “Yth shalada dout xiekivi ekess ssifisv sva wer asildk arytissi. Yth tepoha ehis throdenilt ihk wux.”

“Hesi xiekivi? Wux tepoha ocuirtor lyrik svess-moliki?” Fizzwidget replied in amazement before addressing his companions. “He says they allowed more smooth-skins to camp in a place they call Ten Warriors. He thinks we’re part of that group.”

Soon, the adventurers learned the chief’s name was Hassslessh and his people were all that remained of a tribe that once served the dragon Thorodin. When the lake they inhabited fell into the dungeon, the survivors used the confusion to escape into the tunnels hoping the dragon would think they had all perished. Since then, the tribe had managed to evade detection by the other races inhabiting The Shallows by keeping to the southern shores on the edge of The Deeps.

“Hassslessh says a great big spider in the red sand kept his tribe from leaving The Shallows,” Ginx informed his companions. “They made the javelin trap we saw to keep its babies out of the tunnels.”

The adventurers informed Hassslessh of the lizardfolk warrior they had recovered from the spider’s mound and then asked if they could be taken to Ten Warriors to meet the other smooth-skins he had mentioned. Ten Warriors turned out to be a grand hall where a 20-foot banner bearing the image of a rearing bear hung from the western wall. Ten statues of hound and eagle-headed warriors stood at either side of the chamber and empty marble fountains occupied the corners of the room. The presence of the statues seemed to fill the room with peaceful, positive energy and Hrothgar remarked the chamber felt hallowed.

“This is the safest I’ve felt since coming to this thrice-damned dungeon,” Hantash commented as the party’s guide led them into the chamber.

“Don’t get used to it,” replied a voice familiar to the half-orc. Thomas Rose, Four Waters’ chief engineer and commander of Rose’s Rough Welcomers, stepped out from the shadows to greet the fighter and his companions. Rose had led the remaining survivors of Dragonpoop Bastion into the lizardfolks’ territory after escaping the kraken and Hassslessh agreed to let the refugees camp at Ten Warriors in exchange for some provisions and tools and Rose’s vow that none of his people would attempt to open a simple wooden door to the south of their lair.

“The door is locked, but the lizards say they’ve heard evil spirits whispering from the other side,” Rose explained. “They’re a superstitious and primitive bunch, but we had nowhere else to go so I agreed to their deal. I can guess what you’re all thinking, and I should warn you they’ll expect you to honor the agreement now that you’re here.”

“Trust me, Col. Rose,” Hrothgar began as Ginx and Fizzwidget snuck out of the hall. “After what we’ve been through in The Deeps, I’m pretty we’ve all had our fill of evil, demonic voices.”

Shadow Lodge

Dotting for later. Sad my group never finished this.

Liberty's Edge

Pathfinder Battles Case Subscriber

The campaign is going strong, and the party is currently exploring a new region. Hopefully, I'll have a new update within a couple weeks. Thanks to anyone who's patiently held on the last few months!

DAYS 413-415 ARCHKÉLOS

featuring The World’s Largest Adventuring Party:

Hantash – Half-Orc Two-Handed Fighter
Ginx – Goblin Dragon-blood Sorcerer
Hrothgar – Dwarf Cleric of Bolka
Brynjar – Half-Elf Rogue
Fizzwidget – Gnome Dragon-blood Sorcerer
Balabar Fizzlewink – Gnome Nature Oracle

“It’s too smoky for me. What do you see?” Fizzwidget asked nudging Ginx. The sorcerers had run off to investigate a mysterious door after hearing of how it was shunned by their hosts, a tribe of reclusive lizardfolk. Not ready to risk unlocking the door, the pair had simply cast a spell of invisibility upon it, which allowed them to see through to a narrow passage that was, unfortunately, filled with a black, billowy haze.

“I see a flat, blocky thing with a floppy, ringy thing hanging on it,” the goblin growled pawing at the pulsing membrane growing from his face. The goblin’s Deeps-spawned mutation imparted amazing, lidar-like perception, but it had been thwarted by a simple, sealed door. “Let’s just open i-”

“There you are!” Hantash interjected as he appeared from around the corner with the rest of the party and a couple of new additions to the group. A spritely looking gnome astride a large wolf glanced somewhat disapprovingly at the sorcerers as Ginx hastily dispelled his invisibility magic. “We weren’t doin’ nothing!” the gnome and goblin blurted in unison.

The party briefly debated exploring beyond the door, but ultimately decided to hold off until there was no other option. The lizardfolk chief Hassslessh and his tribe had shown a kindness to the refugees from Dragonpoop Bastion and, for now at least, Hantash, Hrothgar, Brynjar and the new gnome, Balabar, wished to respect the tribe’s wish that the door remain undisturbed. Instead, the party decided to rest for the night and then stick to their original plan and strike out for the Shallows in hopes of locating Himo, the evil elf priest who had betrayed the people of Manipanilua. While they slept, the mutant sea elf volunteered to return to the Tempest and deliver word that the party had found safe refuge among the lizardfolk.

***

The following morning, the adventurers headed out from Ten Warriors to scout a safe escape through The Shallows. Through an elaborately locked portal north of the statue-filled hall, the party came to strange, mirrored tunnel which curved northward to the left and right as if forming a ring. The party proceeded cautiously through the passage taking note of bizarre transformations affecting their reflections. One moment, their images would appear monstrous and savage or distorted and strange, the next they would cast no reflection at all or their reflection would appear reversed or at an odd angle. This confusing chirality soon took its toll on Brynjar’s demon haunted mind, and he suddenly howled madly and launched a crossbow bolt at Hantash.

The raving rogue flailed frantically at his compatriots convinced they were devilish doppelgangers until he was laid low by a falchion-pommel pummeling. Suspecting the mirrored hall was to blame for Brynjar’s sudden bout of madness, the party hastened their efforts to find a way out and it wasn’t long until they discovered a simple, wooden door along the interior wall of the ring-shaped chamber. Setting Brynjar’s unconscious form at his feet, Hantash gave the door a push with Hrothgar at his side. The door flew open with a sudden rush of air that sucked Brynjar through the portal as Hantash and Hrothgar grasped at the door’s threshold! Through the open door, the adventurers could see an immense, vertical shaft intersected at random angles by barbed chains. At the mercy of the powerful vacuum within the shaft, Brynjar was thrown mercilessly against the chains as his body flailed down among images of tortured devils and tormented demons that flickered across the wall of the chamber like a fiendish phantasmagoria.

Hantash and Hrothgar soon lost sight of their unfortunate companion and, believing he must be dead, they muscled the door closed and proceeded through the mirrored hall to where their remaining allies had fled into a narrow passage on the north radius of the chamber. The passage was rubble strewn and slivers of a rent iron door hung precariously from a single bent hinge bolt at its entrance as if some hulking monstrosity or madman had burst through to escape the ring of mirror-polished steel.

The passage beyond the destroyed door led through a ruined chamber and the hastily broken down remains of a simple campsite to a row of empty prison cells and a masterfully painted chamber made to resemble a grassy hillside under starlight with illusion-quality detail. For a moment, the adventurers thought they had somehow found an exit from the Dungeon but the pained groans of Balabar’s wolf as it pawed at the smooth, illustrated walls proved the chamber’s deception. It didn’t take long for Ginx to locate a button disguised as a sparkling star which opened a hidden door in the chamber’s east wall and, before long, the party found itself once again on the crimson-hued beach where they had discovered the water spider’s mound.

“Weren’t we supposed to meet back up with Mani around here?” Fizzwidget inquired. The sea elf’s absence had gone unnoticed up until that moment. “Sha’ag might have betrayed us and attacked the Tempest once we were away,” Hantash suggested. “Mani and the others might need our help.”

“Defeating Himo should be our first priority,” Hrothgar gruffly replied. Since becoming afflicted with the Deep’s taint, the dwarf’s moral compass had drifted in a slightly more pragmatic direction. “If the sea elf can’t defeat a few locathah kelp farmers, he’ll likely stand no chance against a battle-hardened elf priest. I can prepare a sending to contact him later.” Outvoted by his less scrupulous companions, Hantash relented and followed the party north into the swamp.

With Hrothgar’s magic to guide them and a little flight magic to speed their progress, the party soared over the flooded marsh and around the branches of the mired mangroves. The dwarf cleric concentrated on a mental image of what he believed to be Himo’s mace, a horned skull atop an ornate haft, as he led his companions through the swamp and, as he neared a waterlogged willow, he alerted his allies that they were close.

“This doesn’t feel right,” Hantash growled. “I expected to see a small army of locathah, not a half-drowned hibiscus. I think your prayer is broken, Hrothgar.”

“That’s a willow tree, actually,” Balabar quickly pointed out. “A hibiscus is a flower of the mallow family native to-”

“Silence, Balabar!” Hrothgar shushed as he neared the tree. “I think I see something down below the water. Is that…a chest?!”

As the dwarf and Hantash dove down for a closer look, it appeared as though they were suddenly ensnared by the wispy limbs of the tree. A half-dozen thin tendrils coated in a strength-sapping toxin suddenly whipped through the water taking the adventurers by surprise as Hantash’s boot seemed to become stuck in a hollowed out section of the tree. “Aaaugh!” the half-orc yelped as stony blade-like teeth tore open his lower leg. “This is no tree!”

The illusion broken, the adventurers fought back with all their might against the cruel monster hiding within the marsh! Gifted with a demonic ability to conceal itself within a veil of illusion, the roper, a bizarre, sadistic and malevolently intelligent beast, had tortured and devoured many creatures during its many centuries of life. Normally its many poison-laced tendrils and vicious bite were enough to slaughter any number of beings fooled by its disguise, but this time the thing had met its match. Hantash’s incredible fortitude proved too strong for the monster’s toxin and the combined magics of Fizzwidget and Ginx severely weakened the roper allowing the fighter to sunder its rocky hide with his falchion.

Though the roper managed to inflict crippling wounds to Hantash, the terror of the marsh was reduced to a gory, broken shell within moments. Wary of another ambush, Hrothgar quickly healed the half-orc’s wounds before investigating the monster’s prize, a rotting, wooden chest barely held closed by a loose, rusted latch. A small assortment of enchanted items recovered from the roper’s previous victims rested within the chest along with a few worthless baubles, but there was nothing that looked like the mace described by Sha’ag. There was, however, a peculiar crystal shard of unknown enchantment that seemed to stir faint feelings of curiosity in the assembled adventurers. None of the adventurers desired the crystal enough to fight over it, but something about it told Ginx it was too special to be left behind and he happily stowed it in his pouch.

“I just don’t understand what happened,” Hrothgar fussed. “I felt something pulling me in this direction, and I was sure the spell was leading us to Himo. Perhaps something within the swamp is interfering with my divination?” The cleric didn’t know how close he was to the truth. Ginx’s new treasure, the mysterious rock crystal was, in fact, an accursed gem known to scholars as The Crystal of Vile Attraction. The shard’s magic instilled feelings of euphoria in good and neutral creatures causing some to kill for it while evil beings grew increasingly irritated and bloodthirsty in its presence. Worse yet, the crystal possessed an aura about it that drew creatures to it ensuring its corrupting influence would spread forever.

Leaving the dead roper to rot beneath the murky water, the party made its way north until they found a mound of slippery vegetation barely rising above the surface of the flooded swamp. There, the adventurers made camp under a copse of trees conjured by their new companion Balabar. The gnome and his bonded wolf companion, Woofgang, had come to The Shallows hoping to study and perhaps reverse some of the damage caused to the swamp by centuries of demonic influence. Now, the oracle just wanted to escape until The Barrows could muster some sort of resistance to the kraken.

A few hours passed before the adventurers noticed large forms moving through the water toward their refuge. A quartet of merrow approached the mound cautiously, likely surprised to find the small oasis created by Balabar’s magic. From the trees, Ginx and Fizzwidget watched as their companions prepared themselves for battle but, when the ogres spotted the warriors among the grove, their leader motioned for his companions to stop.

“Hemm usi bro a’n Arloedh a’n Downvor,” the giant grunted, his spear lowered to imply peaceful intentions. “Esowgh piw?”

Before anyone could respond, a hail of diamond-hard crystals rained out of the trees followed by a searing blast of flame. “What in the Nine Hells!?” Hantash shouted at the tree-bound sorcerers, but it was too late for diplomacy. The nearest of the merrow valiantly, but uselessly, tried to defend himself as his companions fled back into the water and, within seconds, three of the merrow lay dead in the marsh, their bodies blackened and slashed. Only the fourth giant, having stayed further back than the others, managed to flee into the safety of deeper waters where it vanished from sight.

“I heard something about a Master of the Deeps!” Fizzwidget called from the treetop.

“They were going to attack us!” added Ginx.

“They said we were in the land of the Master of the Deeps, you half-cocked half-wits!” Balabar growled. “They wanted to know who we were and, presumably, what we’re doing here! We might have learned something from them!”

“There’s nothing we can do about it now,” Hantash sighed. “We’d better find another place to camp before the survivor brings reinforcements.”

***

After abandoning the slimy mound and their conjured oasis, the party made their way north until they discovered a thick curtain of vines hanging at the entrance to a flooded foyer. By all accounts, this was the doorstep of the infamous hag coven rumored to dwell in The Shallows but there was no sign of the crones or the merrow said to serve them. Rather, the adventurers discovered a mismatched pair of damp refugees huddled together atop the remains of a fallen balcony.

A scantily clad, bronze skinned human woman and a large minotaur with an ornate scarab jewel set into his brow greeted the adventurers warily as the party waded or flew into the humid chamber. As droplets of glistening, grimy water glided down the broken balustrades, the unlikely duo informed the party that they had come together by chance during Mahg’og’s attack on The Shallows.

The minotaur Killik, whose tawny hide subtly possessed the appearance of packed clay, was a former member of the Golden Axe tribe from the labyrinth in Region F. Never a proponent of his tribe’s aggression, Killik felt the decimation of his people by the Celestial Garrison proved the Dungeon’s minotaurs were on a path to destruction. Abandoning his people, the minotaur entered the service of the sphinx Arnarah who shared the ancient secrets of a prestigious order of guardian warriors with him in exchange for his help protecting the young harpies under her tutelage.

Killik had tracked an impulsive harpy youth who had run away from the labyrinth to The Shallows. Thinking the hags might be able to locate the creature with their magic, he had arrived to the coven’s lair during the kraken’s attack. It was there he found the woman, Lightspar, battling a small band of locathah warriors. The minotaur helped the woman defeat the fish-folk and then chose to stay with her until her wounds were healed.

Lightspar claimed to be a sworn sister to the hags inhabiting the dark tunnels. Her “sisters,” she informed the adventurers, had abandoned their home when it appeared the kraken’s forces were closing in, but Lightspar had chosen to stay behind to await the arrival of her missing children. The hags, she went on, said they were going to seek shelter among family to the south but they would return for Lightspar as soon as it was safe.

Parts of Lightspar’s story didn’t add up to the adventurers and the woman seemed reluctant to share more than a few confusing, cursory details about herself and her children, but some subtle aura of genuine kindness and nobility about the woman dissuaded the party from questioning her further. For now, it was enough that Lightspar and Killik welcomed the party to rest with them upon the cramped and crumbling balcony.

The party woke the next day relieved to find contact with the water in The Shallows did not yet carry the same risks as the corrupted water in The Deeps. To be safe, Ginx struck upon a terrific idea to use a simple low level spell to sheathe himself in a thin bubble of air. The spell proved effective at keeping the goblin dry and, quite happy with his ingenuity, he volunteered to join Hantash, Hrothgar and Balabar on a scouting mission into the swamp.

Killik welcomed the opportunity to join the adventurers, but Lightspar refused to accompany the party while her children were missing. Telling the adventurers he would catch up with them later, the minotaur stayed behind to help Lightstpar secure the camp. Whether it was because Fizzwidget didn’t trust the strange duo or because he was genuinely concerned for Lightspar’s safety, the gnome offered to stay behind to assist.

***

It soon seemed the adventurers’ scouting mission was to become a genocidal purge. No locathah or merrow patrol could escape Ginx’s senses and, upon spotting any number of the creatures, the goblin unleashed fiery burning death upon them. The few survivors only escaped by fleeing, and soon it appeared Mahg’og’s forces must be depleted. Hubris may have taken the party all the way to the ruins of Dragonpoop Bastion and the triton colony if not for the discovery of a strong magical radiation emanating from a dome-like mound within a flooded gully.

As Balabar, Ginx and Hrothgar waited a safe distance away, Hantash investigated the strange mound only to be surprised by a sudden eruption of bubbles boiling up from the mud below. “Jaseve ve qe,” growled a deep, rumbling voice from within the rocks. “Si tepoha thric tuor ekess sone wux, shar si geou sjek si zklaen,” it warned.

“That’s Dragon-speech!” Ginx proudly exclaimed. “The rocks are saying you should leave them alone or they’ll eat you!”

“Si mi ti vi tonash,” the thing beneath the waves grumbled. “Si mi Archkélos.” it boomed.

“The rocks aren’t rocks,” Ginx explained. “They’re Archkélos, whatever that means.”

Archkélos, it was revealed, was a dragon turtle. The same dragon turtle, in fact, which had taken part in the assault on the merfolk temple during Mahg’og’s invasion. The monster explained that he had once challenged Mahg’og for rulership of The Deeps, but the dragon turtle drastically underestimated the kraken’s power. Mahg’og’s tentacles cracked the mighty dragon turtle’s shell and Archkélos was forced to surrender becoming the kraken’s enforcer.

“Archkélos says he came here after he was wounded in the merfolk temple,” Ginx translated for his companions. “He hates Mahg’og and used his injury as an excuse to flee the battle. He’s been hiding here and resting so he can escape back into The Deeps.”

“But why reveal himself to us?” Hantash asked. “If he hadn’t spoken up, we might have assumed he was just a buried celestial trap and moved on.”

Archkélos told the goblin word of the party’s attacks on Mahg’og’s scouts had spread quickly and that he had learned of their presence by eavesdropping on a passing locathah patrol. The dragon turtle didn’t know what the kraken’s forces were planning, but he had heard enough to suspect the adventurers were heading into a trap. “Archkélos says we might beat whatever is waiting for us, but he knows another way we can hurt Mahg’og without risking our lives,” Ginx continued.

The dragon turtle revealed Mahg’og was keen to locate the pieces of a powerful ancient weapon called the Watrazor. Archkélos didn’t know if the weapon could kill the kraken, but he knew the monster wanted its magic for himself. The kraken currently possessed three shards of the weapon, but he had once entrusted Archkélos with a fourth. Now, out of spite and in revenge for his scarred shell, the dragon turtle wished to pass the shard on to the adventurers provided they take it far from kraken’s grasp.

“Archkélos will give us the blade if we follow him to the edge of The Deeps,” Ginx spoke. “He says Mahg’og will eventually come to take it from him, and he won’t be able to hold onto it if he’s caught. He wants to make Mahg’og chase him far away while we take it somewhere else.”

The deal seemed more than fair to the adventurers and they readily agreed to Archkélos offer. The dragon turtle seemed pleased and, with a deep chortle, he lumbered free of the black mud and plodded out of the gully. Fortunately, Archkélos easily resisted the enraging effects of the foul crystal within Ginx’s pack but the adventurers weren’t out of the swamp yet. Ever cursed to bring greed and death to those who possessed it, The Crystal of Vile Attraction’s magic radiated across the marsh subtly tugging at the patrols of monsters searching for the party. They’d nearly reached the eastern edge of The Shallows when Archkélos spotted a war party of scrags, merrow and locathah gaining on the adventurers.

“Wer arytissi di Mahg'og tepoha ehtaha udoka!” the great beast roared. “Clax wer inloilfrey vur gethrisj! Si geou zexenuma zara!”

“Archkélos wants us to take the shard now!” Ginx excitedly translated. The horde of monsters were too far away for the goblin to “see” but he could hear the conch horns of the locathah growing louder as they advanced. “He says he will stay to fight!”

Before anyone could reply, the first group of attackers was upon them. A trio of locathah riding fiendish bull sharks thrashed toward the party at incredible speed as a pair of merrow swam close behind. Archkélos’ neck swelled blazing red as his beaked jaws unleashed a wave of blistering heat that boiled the water around the attackers. “Ginx, Balabar, make your way back toward the spider mound!” Hantash barked preparing his blade for an incoming scrag. “Hrothgar and I will be right behind you!”

The gnome and goblin withdrew slowly, Woofgang protecting his master’s flank while Ginx anxiously hesitated wanting to rain fiery death on his enemies. The sorcerer should have fled when he had the chance. As Hantash and Archkélos held the front line against the attacking amphibians and their terrible tiburons, the scrag leader mounted atop a giant fiendish squid directed another shark to flank the adventurers. The beast quickly got around Archkélos and, sensing the invisible goblin nearby, snapped its massive jaws around him.

Ginx’s attempts to cast spells within the shark’s gullet were constantly thwarted by the violent thrashing of the fish and, because he had been invisible when he was swallowed, none of his allies knew he was in danger. The shark finally fled the battle after Woofgang crushed its tail in his jaws, but it took Ginx with it as it escaped. By then, Hantash and Archkélos had managed to defeat their attackers with some help from Balabar and Hrothgar, but the squid-riding scrag was already summoning reinforcements with his own horn. Before any other monsters could arrive, the remaining adventurers fled east to the crimson mound of the water spider where they quickly took the Watrazor shard from the dragon turtle and raced back to Ten Warriors.

The goblin Ginx was never seen again, but one small victory was gained with his death. The Crystal of Vile Attraction was now contained within the belly of the shark which had killed the goblin. Though the party didn’t know it, the very item that had spelled doom for the sorcerer would soon begin to sow discord among Mahg’og’s forces and that would buy them the time they needed to regroup with Fizzwidget and Killik and finally escape from The Shallows.


Velcro Zipper wrote:


featuring The World’s Largest Adventuring Party:

Hantash – Half-Orc Two-Handed Fighter
Ginx – Goblin Dragon-blood Sorcerer
Hrothgar – Dwarf Cleric of Bolka
Brynjar – Half-Elf Rogue
Fizzwidget – Gnome Dragon-blood Sorcerer
Balabar Fizzlewink – Gnome Nature Oracle

I think Lord Antagonis might say it's the world's shortest adventuring party.

Been a long time since I've read this. And with all the wipeouts it's hard to read as a narrative.

I remember the early parts of this the best. Lately it's just a blur.


I've been enjoying this saga.
Not only am I impressed with the stamina it's taken to get this far, but I appreciate the effort it takes to keep us up to date on what's taken place.
Would I prefer that all the characters survived? (or at least the ones I've liked)
Sure, but this is a tough dungeon and things happen.

I am curious as to what levels the characters are up to and how many players it's taken to get this far, but VZ will tell the tale as he can.

Thanks again, Velcro Zipper.
I'm looking forward to the next installment.


Cornielius wrote:
I've been enjoying this saga.

I just noticed this thread, and am only a third of the way through reading it, but I concur. I'm...going to keep reading.

Liberty's Edge

Pathfinder Battles Case Subscriber

Greetings and Joyous Kwanzaa to everyone! It took a little longer than I'd hoped to get this written, but not nearly as long as the previous entries! After escaping the minions of Mahg'og, the adventurers find themselves on the doorstep of a new region to explore! What terrible new foes await them through the sealed portal shunned by their lizardfolk hosts? Find out next in...

DAYS 416-418 THE ANCHORITE

featuring The World’s Largest Adventuring Party:
Hantash – Half-Orc Two-Handed Fighter
Hrothgar – Dwarf Cleric of Bolka
Fizzwidget – Gnome Dragon-blood Sorcerer
Balabar Fizzlewink – Gnome Nature Oracle
Kylix – Minotaur Fighter/Living Monolith
Horkus – Human Druid/Ninja

“What’s the word from our allies?” Hantash asked Hrothgar. The dwarf had sent a message via spell to the halfling, Bartleby, back in the Barrows and the sea elf Manipanilua who had gone to check on the crew of the Tempest.

“Nothing good, I’m afraid,” Hrothgar replied. “The guilds in The Barrows have taken to arguing over how to deal with the tunnel collapsed by that kraken and the elf says the ship is gone. He’s tracking it, but so far he’s found only debris. No doubt the crew went mad and sailed into a storm.”

“Grim news indeed, my friend, but I think there’s little we can do about it,” Hantash grumbled. “Without Ginx, we’ve little defense against the tainted sea and Archkélos’ sacrifice will mean nothing if we lose the Watrazor shard in The Deeps. Keep in touch with Mani and let us know if he turns anything up.”

The sorcerer, Fizzwidget, and the minotaur, Kylix, had eventually left Lightspar to wait for her children and made their way back to Ten Warriors. The chaos and infighting amongst Mahg’og’s troops brought on by the Crystal of Vile Attraction greatly aided in their passage and, since returning from The Shallows, the party had been occupied with how they might bypass the door shunned by the lizardfolk. Nobody wanted to risk angering the reptilians, but traveling through the portal now seemed like the only way to escape the kraken-occupied region. Hantash and Hrothgar felt a diplomatic solution could be reached, but the gnome, Balabar, grew impatient and sought alternative means of egress.

The lizardman, Sslore, was feeling much better after his rescue from the water spider’s mound and, to show his appreciation, he’d introduced the adventurers to his best friend Ghaurrdon. Ghaurrdon was an anomaly among his more community-minded brood. A slick opportunist obsessed with wealth, the lizardman had acquired a modest stockpile of equipment by raiding the swamp and surrounding dungeon with plans to eventually trade the gear for more valuable loot. There was nothing Ghaurrdon wouldn’t do for money and the shrewd reptile agreed to cover Balabar and Fizzwidget’s trail through the shunned door in exchange for an enchanted ring and a few potions. Meanwhile, Hantash and Hrothgar were meeting with the lizardfolk chieftain Hassslessh.

After hearing about the party’s battle in The Shallows, Hassslessh was convinced it was only a matter of time before Mahg’og’s forces came poking around in search of the adventurers and their people. The lizardman was in the mood to throw the lot of the warmbloods back out into the swamp, but Hantash had a plan that might benefit both the Barrow-folk and the reptiles. The half-orc’s former commander, Col. Rose, agreed to lend his engineering skill to the lizardfolk tribe in exchange for passage through the forbidden door for the adventurers. With the veteran soldier’s help, the lizardfolk could improve their javelin traps and construct false walls and other contraptions to defend their home from invaders. The additional fortifications would provide an extra measure of security for the refugees as well so everybody won…except, of course, for Balabar and Fizzwidget who paid for something they could have gotten for free.

***

Having entered the forbidden door ahead of their companions, Balabar and Fizzwidget were the first to discover the small shrine on the other side of a smoky black fog that filled the entryway to the chamber. A stone plinth inscribed with strange designs stood behind a simple table where a silver bowl filled to its brim with blood and black hair rested beside a fine dagger. Within moments of the adventurers’ examination of the shrine, the mysterious sigils began to hum and glow. An instant later, several bolts of mystical force launched from the stone.

Balabar and his large wolf, Woofgang, crammed into the narrow tunnel that led into the room, but seeking cover was useless. Ghordyn had locked the door behind the adventurers, and the arcane missiles veered around obstacles and corners to blast the intruding adventurers. The stone column didn’t seem like it was going to run out of ammunition any time soon, and, braving the hail of force bolts, Fizzwidget flipped over the blood-filled bowl and frantically searched the corners of the room for an escape. The sorcerer was soon joined by Balabar and Woofgang and, together, they soon discovered a hidden door at the far end of the shrine chamber.

As the inscribed column continued to pelt the adventurers, Fizzwidget slid open the concealed door only to discover someone had placed a cabinet in front of the door on the other side. “Knock it down, Woofy!” Balabar growled as another force missile burst against his backside. The massive wolf shoved the cabinet over with a whine and leapt into what appeared to be a simply furnished bed chamber featuring another plinth. Fizzwidget followed close behind, slamming the hidden door as he came but there was no time to investigate the room before another trap was sprung. Balabar’s intrusion had tripped a magical sensor causing a fiery explosion to fill the chamber incinerating most of its contents. When the blast subsided, only the charred fragments of the cabinet, a blackened bed frame and a burning mattress remained of the room’s furnishings. Grumbling incomprehensibly, Balabar and Fizzwidget patted out their smoking garments and exited the chamber.

***

It took Hantash and his remaining companions a little more time to transit the shunned door than Fizzwidget and Balabar but, when they did, they were joined by a new ally. Horkus was still a novice druid when the Scrolls of Ter’Kaal were brought to The Barrows. Always more at home among the shadows than among nature, he obtained a copy of the ogre mage’s journal and found the tales of mysterious, invisible assassins to his liking. It wasn’t long until before he’d combined the wildshaping magic of his druidic roots with the stealthy arts of the ninjas meticulously described in Ter’Kaal’s stories. Eventually his training took him to Dragonpoop Bastion where his new skills helped him escape Mahg’og’s attack. Now, the shapeshifting shinobi helped his new companions by unlocking the forbidden door.

The adventurers entered the small shrine to find a gore-stained table before the blood-spattered bowl Fizzwidget had struck. The foul, ichor-drenched tangle of hair that had been in the bowl clung to the stone plinth in the recess at the end of the chamber and, as Hrothgar examined the column, the stone began to glow. Once again, a salvo of mystical bolts burst from the stone causing the adventurers to seek shelter. With the constant barrage of missiles for inspiration, it didn’t take long for the party to discover Balabar and Fizzwidget’s trail and Kylix flung open the door into the smoke-filled chamber beyond. The fire lit by the two gnomes still burned weakly amid the ruins of the bed and cabinet and, as his companions hurried into the chamber, Hrothgar doused the flames with a simple prayer.

“I hoped we’d be rid of fire hazards and arson once Ginx was dead,” the dwarf harrumphed.

“I guess two gnomes are as bad as one goblin,” Hantash replied.

The adventurers followed a trail of ash and singed wolf fur through what seemed to be a long-unused scullery where a dark, rust-colored stain upon the floor suggested some past evil had transpired there. Another of the strange columns stood silently within an alcove at the back of the chamber, but gave no indication of being trapped. To the east, a neutrally hinged door led into a small intersection of tunnels, each closed off by its own similar door. The north tunnel led into a long gallery of bas reliefs where someone appeared to have gone through immeasurable trouble to clean smeared blood from the images which stretched from floor to ceiling. The unknown cleaning crew had done a poor job of removing the mess, and snippets of Infernal, Abyssal, Ignan and Terran curses could be gleaned from what remained.

More half-washed, bloody graffiti met the eyes of the adventurers as they checked the remaining doors, but it was the south door that put them back on the right track. By this point in their exploration, Balabar and Fizzwidget had taken to flying through the tunnels in an attempt to avoid setting off any more traps but Kylix detected a bit of Woofgang’s fur that had rubbed off on the south doorframe as the large wolf passed through it. Anxious to catch up to their companions, the adventurers headed through the south tunnel until they came to another intersection.

Here, the party saw that the west and south passages appeared to exit into some sort of cavern. Kylix tracked Woofgang across the center of the connecting tunnels but, as he stepped into the junction, the floor beneath his feet suddenly gave way. A gust of freezing wind howled out from below the minotaur who barely managed to leap to the edge of the pit. The brute had saved himself from a bed of poisoned iron spikes at the bottom of the hole, but the brumal wind buffeting his body would sap his strength if he didn’t move quickly. Kylix pulled himself to safety, and his companions made their way carefully over or around the pit suffering only a bit of a chill.

The south tunnel opened onto the craggy shore of a smoking river of lava. Glassy stone cleaved into furrows by centuries of magma washing ashore covered the floor of the large cavern that yawned before the adventurers, and the acrid stench of volcanic gases filled their nostrils. “Do you think it could be The Tanbera?!” Hrothgar exclaimed. “Will it lead us back to The Barrows?!”

Before anyone could answer, the sound of harsh scrabbling clacked across the stones from the east. A quartet of obese, gray, goblin-ape things hobble-hopped quickly across the shore, their pendulous, rubbery arms propelling them over the rocks far more efficiently than their squat, flabby legs. The creatures seemed panicked as they fled toward the adventurers who intercepted them with weapons drawn and spells at the ready. The stupid, frightened beasts died without much of a fight. Only one of the things offered even the slightest bit of resistance, releasing a nauseating, wet miasma from its hemorrhoid-pocked posterior out of fear and defiance. From the direction the creatures had come, the adventurers suddenly heard the familiar voice of Fizzwidget shouting and they hurried to the gnome’s rescue.

The adventurers scrambled quickly up over a hill of rough, pitted black stone through a small maze of fissures to find Fizzwidget and Woofgang besieged within a cramped gully by a trio of emaciated, leering demons whose leathery flesh dripped with foul slime. Two of the creatures flanked the wolf with wicked longspears and, as the third demon leapt at Fizzwidget from the rocky cliffs, another pair of the fiends emerged from the shadows of the gully’s north rim.

Hoping to rescue Balabar’s canine companion, Horkus vanished from sight and shifted into the form of a deinonychus. The ninja hoped to get the drop on the demons assaulting the wolf but the creatures weren’t fooled by his disappearing act. Horkus leapt at the nearest demon only to be skewered by the thing’s spear, discovering too late that the demons could easily perceive his invisible form. Woofgang fought bravely against the demons, but the wolf soon succumbed to its wounds as Horkus fled for his life. Meanwhile, Hrothgar, Kylix and Hantash tried to deal with the demons swarming down from the hills around them.

The gaunt fiends assailing the adventurers lunged and sprung acrobatically from the surrounding hills, flanking the warriors when they could and slashing and gnashing with horrid claws and piranha-like teeth whenever the adventurers closed in to escape the demons’ wicked spears. Hantash and Kylix sliced, bashed and gored deep, oozing furrows into the demons’ hides , but the fiends’ wiry frames were coated in an acidic slime that pitted and burned their weapons. Hrothgar was kept busy tending the wounds of the fighters while Fizzwidget hovered overhead lobbing spells at the demons from above.

Horkus, still determined to rescue Woofgang, resorted to his druidic magic to surround the unconscious wolf with a cloud of obscuring mist. The fog seemed to hamper the demons but, as soon as Horkus crept in to stabilize Woofgang, one of the fiends dispersed the mist with its abyssal power. A pair of demons immediately charged Horkus who used another cloud of mist to escape. Hidden within the mist, the demons chittered hideously and set about to their evil work. Moments later when the fog was once again dispelled, Horkus found Woofgang’s belly had been slashed open. Disheartened by the death of the wolf, Horkus regrouped with his companions and fought off the remaining fiends.

As vicious as the demons were, they were no match for Hantash or Kylix in a toe-to-toe or toe-to-hoof fight. Hindered by the rocky terrain, the fighters closed ranks and defended Hrothgar as they cut the demons down one by one. The cleric’s sturdy armor and divine blessings (not to mention his Deeps-afflicted curse) protected him from any attacks that came his way, and with nearly a full days’ arsenal of spells at his disposal, Hrothgar steadily healed the damage inflicted to his allies. Before long, the adventurers had the monsters on the run and Fizzwidget managed to blast one of the fleeing fiends as it crested the black hills trying to escape. The remaining demon leapt to safety on the other side of the rocks where a sudden flash of crackling light and a shriek of pain signaled the fiend’s demise. As the adventurers prepared themselves for some new threat, the silhouette of a robed figure appeared from the shadows at the south rim of the gully.

“I mean you no harm. Please lower your weapons,” the figure croaked, its voice hoarse and strangely disjointed. “I tracked this group of babau in the midst of one of their dretch hunts hoping to give them a taste of their own medicine. Others may be lurking nearby.”

“Maybe we’ll lower our weapons once you’ve introduced yourself and explained your presence here, stranger,” Hrothgar grunted. “You don’t seem like a demon, but this dungeon is filled with tricksters. How do we know this isn’t a trap? Remove your hood so we might get a better look at you.”

“You’re wise to not trust me,” the being replied pulling its hood back to reveal a rugged, flame-scorched human face. An ugly, craterous mass of melted skin spread down from the man’s forehead to the right side of his chin where the whiskers of a dark beard along his left jaw were burned bare. “There are worse fiends than the babau in this place and some might tempt you with a pretty face but, as you can see, I am neither a demon nor a beauty. My name is Larna. I am an anchorite and, as I mentioned, I was following the babau hoping to ambush them. My home is nearby. I’ll understand if you refuse, but you’re welcome to follow me there. Once we’re safe, I’ll try to answer any questions you might still have.”

Larna’s words seemed to set the adventurers at ease but, before they would follow the hermit, there was still the matter of questioning Fizzwidget about the missing Balabar. As it turned out, the oracle wasn’t missing so much as he was hidden. While traveling through the tunnels north of the gully, Balabar had fallen victim to a magical trap that sapped his strength and struck him unconscious. Fizzwidget and Woofgang brought the gnome as far as the gully where they found a small niche where they could secret him away until he regained consciousness or help arrived. The small ravine seemed like a good place to hide from any unfriendly locals until an octet of dretches chased by a half-dozen babau tumbled into their camp. Now, Balabar’s hiding place would become a grave for the wolf that had died defending him. The party sealed Woofgang’s remains into the shallow nook after retrieving Balabar and followed Larna to his home.

***

Larna led the adventurers to the edge of the lava river and drew their attention to a small island of jagged, black stone that rose out of the magma like a clenched gauntlet. A modest, but foreboding keep with walls as dark as the surrounding stone stood in the center of the island. “You’ll need a safe way over the lava to make it,” Larna informed the party. “I can help if you don’t have the means.”

Magical flight was well within the abilities of the adventurers, if only even for a few minutes, and, within moments, the party stood at the doorstep of the shadowy keep. “Welcome to Hearthblack,” Larna grinned unsealing the heavy steel door protecting the keep. “Welcome to our humble home.”
Hearthblack’s interior consisted of a simple square hall decorated by three great tapestries depicting what appeared to be the history of a tribe of warrior elves battling men, giants and finally a bear-like monster wielding a red broadsword. A fourth tapestry above the door to the hall showed the image of a lone elf holding the monster’s sword in one hand and raising its severed head with the other. A table of bronze, an iron coffer, several chairs and a simple cot were arranged about the room, and a wide gate in the southeast corner concealed something that glowed red behind a wall of acrid smoke.

“At the door, you said ‘our’ home,” Fizzwidget spoke eyeing the thick haze behind the gate suspiciously. “Don’t anchorites usually live alone?”

“Not always,” Larna replied. “But I misspoke at the door. Hearthblack was once home to myself and one other.” The hermit’s mood turned grim as he recounted the tale of the warrior Aramnan, a wild elf of Eolis, exiled to this region the elves called Corocalad, The Ring of Light and Fire. Larna, who had left Eolis by choice years earlier, was already residing in Hearthblack when Aramnan found herself cast into the demon-filled cavern, and the hermit was initially apprehensive about sharing the small keep after so many years alone.

“But you’re human,” Fizzwidget pointed out. “I thought Eolis was an elven city?”

“The dungeon is a dangerous place,” Larna replied. “People die. Especially inexperienced acolytes who go delving into places they are unprepared to handle. Fortunately, Eolis is home to a few priests capable of plucking souls out of Pharasma’s queue…even if those souls return to find unfamiliar faces to greet them from the other side of the mirror. I am still an elf, at least in spirit.”

Aramnan proved to be a worthy ally against the demons constantly assaulting Larna’s home and, in time, the two became lovers; their combined abilities even earned the grudging respect of their fiendish neighbors. After many failed attempts to win Hearthblack from the couple, the demons finally agreed to a truce and pledged they would no longer directly attack the keep. “The island was ours, but the fiends made it clear the surrounding cavern still belonged to them,” Larna continued. “We were no longer under siege, but the demons still attacked us whenever we crossed to shore.”

Larna suspected the demons were stretched too thin fighting against the other factions within Corocalad to continue their struggle for the keep and, together, he and Aramnan offered to remove one the demons’ nearest rivals in exchange for a bigger piece of the region. “A devil called Sarnikyan stubbornly held a large section of tunnels with a horde of hellhounds and a pair of fiendish assassins. The same tunnels, I’d wager, that brought you to Corocalad,” Larna recalled. “The demons hated Sarnikyan so much they sent a group of adventurers to help us destroy her. They claimed the adventurers were prisoners they had captured in a region south of here and that they had agreed to help in exchange for their freedom. I suspected a trap, but Aramnan was proud and fierce and I had faith in her…I should have gone with her.”

Rage and grief waged war across the scarred face of Larna as he told of how the warriors had betrayed Aramnan within the lair of the devil. “I stayed behind to guard Hearthblack while Aramnan took the adventurers to battle Sarnikyan,” the hermit growled. “My Aramnan was so strong…I’d never seen anyone so strong. She slew Sarnikyan in single combat but she was wounded badly during the fight and the adventurers…those gutless cowards, they murdered her! They swarmed her before she could regain her strength and they cut her down like an animal!”

“Probably not a good time to ask if these adventurers came from Four Waters,” Hrothgar whispered to his companions.

Wisps of flame began to dance around Larna’s shoulders as he continued his tale, recounting the fate of the adventurers who had killed his lost love. “The hours passed until I could wait no longer,” Larna seethed. “I found what the cowards had left of my proud, beautiful Aramnan and my Lord’s grace led me to them…I let one of them live long enough to hear his confession, and then I flung his body into the river to join his companions.”

As Larna grew calm, the flames about his shoulders died down and he weakly took a seat on the simple cot in the corner of the hall. “I apologize if I startled any of you,” the priest spoke. “This all happened so recently, and I haven’t spoken aloud of it since that day.”

“We’re sorry to hear of your loss,” Hantash replied. “But, if you don’t mind me asking, what lies behind that gate? What does the smoke conceal?”

Larna glanced at the billowing haze beyond the ebon bars and managed a curt smile. “Years ago, Aramnan won the loyalty of a beast of Corocalad,” he remarked. “The creature hasn’t left its pen since it helped me to return her remains to the island.”

“She’s here?!” Fizzwidget stammered without thought, his eyes darting toward the great iron coffer near the edge of the Larna’s bed. “Is she…in there?”

“Many mysteries have been revealed to me during my hermitage,” Larna replied brushing aside the gnome’s outburst. “I feel I am on the cusp of discovering a means of returning life to Aramnan. I just need more power. It’s why I was hunting the babau. Every time I send one of those wretches back to the Abyss, my understanding of my magic increases…I, I know this is not your fight, but I must ask…Will you help me?”

Larna revealed that he was planning an assault on the lair of Lord Tarnaticus, a warrior necromancer who controlled an area near Sarnikyan’s former lair. The priest hoped that, in the course of destroying enough of Tarnaticus’ undead minions or the villain himself, he would gain enough knowledge to cast the spell required to resurrect Aramnan.

“It’s clear to me you loved her very much,” Hrothgar replied. As a cleric of Bolka, the goddess of marriage, the dwarf was moved by Larna’s story. “Even if you two were never officially married, it seems your hearts were meant to be together. I’ll do what I can to see you reunited. Besides, one less necromancer in the world can’t be a bad thing.”

Hrothgar’s companions agreed, at least as far as Lord Tarnaticus was concerned. Afterall, the villain likely stood between them and their path out of Corocalad and having Larna’s help against Tarnaticus would definitely help. With it decided, the adventurers settled in for the night and prepared themselves for battle in the necromancer’s lair.


Best installment in a while.

I'm kind of confused though. Does this party still have access to the Four Waters community? Or is that way blocked now?

Liberty's Edge

Pathfinder Battles Case Subscriber

The kraken, Mahg'og, destroyed Dragonpoop Bastion and caused the small fort to collapse in front of the only tunnel leading out of The Shallows. A number of spells or hard labor could be used to clear the tunnel, but Mahg'og and his minions still occupy that section of the lake so the adventurers can't get back to Four Waters or The Barrows unless they want to fight the kraken.

The minotaur, Kylix, was a Broken Axe clan member and grew up in Region F. He knows the Red Horns tribe knew a way to get into Region G (Corocalad.) If the party can find the Red Horns' entrance, they can travel through the minotaur labyrinth back to Four Waters. Of course if Kylix survives the journey, the other minotaurs aren't going to be very happy about his return.


If it's looking like you guys are leaving Aquaman's fave part of this dungeon, how big was that area physically?

It seems like it would have to be something like 10 miles by 10 miles or something. Just from what I've gathered from context, some of the dungeon sectors were kind of small.

But if this one is as small as the others, couldn't the kraken swim around the whole thing in a few minutes? Meaning there is really no where not around him.

Liberty's Edge

Pathfinder Battles Case Subscriber

The maps for the various regions are all the same size so, yes, the kraken could conceivably jet anywhere in the region within a few rounds. This presented the same problems as Region M where the Fiendish Elder Air Elemental, Aphnitern, could probably have killed nearly everything in the region within an hour. I solved this problem by just increasing the size of the 5-foot squares on the map to anything from 10x10 to 50x50 or even larger for some parts of the open sea. The book for the WLD even points out how this might be necessary in some instances, and it just makes the size of the dungeon seem even more immense.


Cornielius wrote:

I've been enjoying this saga.

Not only am I impressed with the stamina it's taken to get this far, but I appreciate the effort it takes to keep us up to date on what's taken place.
Would I prefer that all the characters survived? (or at least the ones I've liked)
Sure, but this is a tough dungeon and things happen.

I am curious as to what levels the characters are up to and how many players it's taken to get this far, but VZ will tell the tale as he can.

Thanks again, Velcro Zipper.
I'm looking forward to the next installment.

We are level 13. I know that a few pages back there was a death count by section of characters, but I don't know about players. Our group up here have had 10 players (people that had their own character at least once).


Thanks for the update.
(It makes following a bit easier to keep in context what level the characters are.)

Liberty's Edge

Pathfinder Battles Case Subscriber

Believe it or not, we're back! Despite the lack of updates, I haven't given up on this campaign and I've returned with three new installments for the journal! A lot has happened in the last several months, but I'll get to all that later. For now, let's get to back to the story!

DAY 419 WARRENS OF THE NECROMONGER
featuring The World’s Largest Adventuring Party:
Hantash – Half-Orc Two-Handed Fighter
Hrothgar – Dwarf Cleric of Bolka
Fizzwidget – Gnome Dragon-blood Sorcerer
Balabar Fizzlewink – Gnome Nature Oracle
Kylix – Minotaur Fighter/Living Monolith
Horkus – Human Druid/Ninja

The adventurers set out from Hearthblack early the day following their encounter with the anchorite Larna. The hermit seemed singularly focused on destroying the necrolord Tarnaticus as he repeated warnings about the villain’s control over the undead and urged the party to push quickly into his lair. Before the adventurers made their assault, however, Balabar insisted they make one stop. The oracle’s wolf companion, Woofgang, was still hidden within the rock quarry at the lava river’s edge and Balabar had prepared a spell that would restore life to the beast. Unfortunately, the party arrived to discover a tremor had buried the wolf’s corpse while they rested.

Larna feigned patience as the party set about to excavating the gnome’s cadaverous canine, but the priest had good call to make haste. The adventurers were nearer to Tarnaticus’ lair than they realized, and a band of roving demons or a gang of the necromancer’s own undead scouts could arrive at any moment to tip Tarnaticus off to their presence. Nearly two hours of searching and digging had passed when a cloud of ash rolled off the nearby river blanketing the area and blinding the party. Lost in the choking ash, the adventurers took refuge in the furrows of cracked stone.

Only Fizzwidget’s draconic senses detected what seemed to be a sudden eruption of rock and silt from within the quarry and, when the ash storm subsided, the body of Woofgang lay at the party’s feet. “The storm must have caused a shift in the stone revealing the wolf’s body,” Larna reasoned. Fizzwidget remained skeptical, but his fellow gnome Balabar was simply happy to see his faithful, furry friend. The oracle proceeded to cast his spell and the great wolf was back up on its paws within moments.

Woofgang’s recovery came not a moment too soon. No sooner had Balabar climbed onto the wolf’s back when Hantash let out a warning to his companions. “The river is rising. We must go.” Sure enough, the lava lapping at the edge of the quarry began to creep slowly into the stony scrabble. Larna had warned the adventurers of the temperamental nature of Corocalad. Something within the region caused peculiar and often deadly shifts in the environment. Flooding was only one of the many possible dangers created by these fluctuations but, presently, it was the hazard of most concern.

Thanks to Fizzwidget and Balabar, the adventurers were able to escape the menacing magma by taking to the sky. Using his own priestly powers, Larna led the party to what he claimed to be the front gate of Lord Tarnaticus’ lair. The heavy, ancient doors stood unguarded at the top of a short stair on the edge of a small glassy beach of jet-hued dust.

“Tarnaticus must have ordered his sentries inside when he saw the lava rising,” Larna spoke. “No doubt he reckons there are few better defenses than a river of boiling, molten stone.”

“If your enemy can’t fly,” Fizzwidget grinned. “Let’s get inside and introduce ourselves.”

As the river of magma crept up the beach like an army of fire ants, Horkus slid his lockpicks into the scarred, iron lock within the thick steel doors. The nature-ninja cracked the lock within seconds and Hantash stepped up to fling the doors open. As the doors slammed against the walls of the chamber, the acrid stench of rotting flesh filled the party’s nostrils.

A gang of eight necrotized giants dressed in crude facsimiles of heraldic dress stood armed with pikes before a large, creaking wooden chair draped with moth-eaten curtains and stinking hides in a crude attempt at up-classing the splintering bergére. Upon the “throne,” reclined a handsome human man whose appearance stood in stark contrast to his surroundings. The man’s lordly bearing, striking features and sparkling, regal attire seemed wholly out of place within the grim chamber.

“Who are they that intrude upon the court of Tarnaticus?” the man gasped. “Petitioners, assassins...conscripts perhaps?” he oozed with a grin.

“Uh…that second one, I guess?” Hantash replied with a courteous smile.

“Just charge in and kill him already!” Larna chastised the fighter as he conjured an explosion of flame amidst the necromancer’s zombie guards. The veneer of hospitality dropped instantly from the face of Tarnaticus who suddenly rose from his throne, levitating over the putrefying ogres as waves of dark, crushing despair radiated from his body.

“Kill them,” Tarnaticus wheezed, his flesh suddenly stretching gaunt and grey against his skull revealing the bulging, bloodshot eyes and wild, lolling tongue of a hung man. “Try to not very much damage their corpses. We will make of them fine additions to the court.”

As the zombies lurched forward, Tarnaticus fled toward a large door in the west wall and flung it open with a gruesome cackle. Hantash, Kylix and Woofgang filled the doorway hacking into the shambling giants as the necrolord made his escape. From the second rank, Balabar, Fizzwidget and Larna flung spells of flame and ice into the chamber in an attempt at destroying the brainless brutes pressing from behind the undead phalanx. The adventurers could feel the heat of the lava behind them intensifying as it surged closer and, though magic allowed them to hover above the deadly, burning mass, they wouldn’t all be able to stand upon the landing atop the stair to Tarnaticus’ door when their spells faded. If they didn’t clear a path into the throne room soon, somebody was going to take a lava bath.

As the first wall of reanimated meat shields fell to Hantash and Kylix, the warriors pressed forward only to discover Tarnaticus had left a pair of unwelcome surprises in his wake. The first was a burst of electricity magically warding the throne room against uninvited living guests. A chain of lightning arced through the adventurers as the thunder of heavy hooves suddenly rumbled from the open western corridor. Tarnaticus’ second surprise came in the form of a half-dozen moldering minotaurs wielding grimy greataxes.

The blighted beasts appeared to have been members of the Golden Axe tribe of Region F, but Kylix wasted no grief on his former kin. Rather, the outcast minotaur called upon the monolith mysteries taught to him by the sphinx, Arnarah, to rend the monsters into mist. With a shout, Kylix doubled in stature as he charged the bullish zombies, his companions close behind. The zombies were clumsy combatants but their size, strength and number more than made up for their martial deficiencies. Kylix’s horns and longspear skewered the overripe entrails of the zombies and Horkus’ quick claws worried and tore at the creatures’ worm-eaten limbs but, slowly, the undead horde chipped away at the party’s front line.

Despite the butchering force of his deadly blade, the valiant Hantash was soon overwhelmed by the malodorous mob. Hrothgar had been preoccupied with restoring his allies’ strength after that blast of lightning, but now he saw the half-orc fall beneath a grisly wave of putrefying giants and withering minotaurs. From his vantage towering over the surrounding zombies, Kylix’s supernatural senses revealed the fighter was dead but the Hrothgar had prepared a spell that would snatch Hantash from oblivion if he could reach the half-orc in time.

Displaying a degree of cohesion rarely attributed to the chaotic lot of adventurers, Hrothgar, Fizzwidget, Balabar and Kylix perfectly timed their actions to clear a path to their fallen ally and restore his life and health. As the minotaur and Woofgang stepped into the breach to take pressure off their spellcasting allies, Fizzwidget and Larna blasted the zombies around Hantash allowing Hrothgar’s strong, but squat, legs to carry him just far enough to breathe life back into the half-orc. Before any of the remaining zombies could stomp the woozy fighter’s head back into the floor, Balabar unleashed a powerful healing spell he had delayed for this moment. Fully restored, Hantash recovered his sword, leapt to his feet and slashed at the nearest zombie.

With everyone nearly at full strength, the adventurers beat the undead minions of Tarnaticus back into a searing wall of flames conjured by Balabar until only a mountain of charred and eviscerated flesh remained. Desperate to catch up with the villain, Larna urged the party to quickly clear a path through the corpses so they could continue their pursuit. Kylix and Woofgang dragged away enough of the gory remains for their companions to move on while Balabar and Hrothgar saw to the wounded and, within moments, the party was once again on Tarnaticus’ trail.

The winding halls of Lord Tarnaticus’ lair led from one zombie-plagued chamber to another. It seemed as if the necromonger had been very busy collecting the corpses of minotaurs trying to escape the confines of Region F’s labyrinth and ogres and hill giants from some long forgotten inbred tribe to add to his reanimated menagerie, but the adventurers couldn’t fathom how Lord Tarnaticus had come upon the horrors that awaited them beyond the doors of his vault. A pair of rotting, splinter-scaled dragons with tattered wings and wicked barbed tails shook horribly as they lurched on gray, taloned claws from their perches next to a trio of treasure chests.

Clearly irritated by the perpetual fountain of meat puppets, Larna directed a gaunt, blackened finger toward one of the beasts and hissed in a foul, Abyssal tongue. A beam of pale, green light flickered lightly across the monster’s hide that seemed to increase the rate of the wasting wyvern’s deterioration. Within seconds, and much to the astonishment of the adventurers, the thing rapidly collapsed into a pile of fine gray dust. “Now finish the other so we can move on to their master!” the priest growled. “No doubt the worm’s distance from us grows with every moment!”

Larna’s rage and lack of restraint troubled the adventurers, but they all agreed the cleric had a point and they worked quickly to destroy the remaining monster. At Larna’s behest, they even left the three, sturdy chests undisturbed and quickly made for the next chamber. Once again they were met by a team of Tarnaticus’ mangy minotaurs, but here a new challenge presented itself. The chamber containing the undead was supernaturally dark and crackled with necromantic energy that slowly sapped the adventurers’ lifeforce while it repaired the sloughing hides of the zombies. Fortunately, Fizzwidget still had a few powerful spells at his disposal and a couple of freezing blasts from the draconic sorcerer’s hands put the zombies on ice while Hantash and Kylix blocked up the room’s exit.

The gruesome gauntlet finally came to an end at what appeared to be a twisted, necromantic workshop on the edge of the river of magma. Chipped and cracked tables of gore-stained stone stood arranged in a rough “U” bordered a broken balustrade overlooking the fiery flow below. Shards of onyx cradled in bowls of tarnished copper rested amid a variety of bronze and copper surgical and embalming tools and a pile of elven corpses laid scattered about the floor or piled into a corner of the chamber. Most fearsome of all however, was an enormous, toadlike monstrosity peeling and devouring flesh from the cadavers as it squatted near the center of the room.

“Fiend’s luck, it’s a hezrou,” Larna spoke under his breath. “The demons are no friends to Tarnaticus. Let’s hope it isn’t working with the villain. I’ll try to speak with it.”

As the adventurers stood ready to attack, Larna approached the wretched smelling hulk calling out in the black tongue of demons. To those unversed in Abyssal speech, it appeared the cleric and the hezrou were engaged in a game of intimidation with Larna coming out the clear victor. The beast coarsely croaked its answers to the priest and resumed its feast, thick, yellow drool glistening on its thin, froggish lips.

“The thing claims it came up from the cavern to avoid the rising lava,” Larna informed the party. “Like the rest of its ilk, it considers Tarnaticus a nuisance so it decided to help itself to the necromancer’s stock while it waits for the tide to go out. It claims it hasn’t seen anyone pass through, and I’m inclined to believe Tarnaticus got here first or slipped past unnoticed hoping the demon would attack us. Either way, the hezrou says he won’t bother us as long as we let him eat in peace.”

“Sounds good to me,” Balabar chirped anxious to avoid the nauseating fiend. “There’s a hall here that looks like it goes around this chamber. I say we explore it and see if it leads away to another exit.”

The hall Balabar suggested was filled with small shelves containing more onyx, a desk and a dozen more elf bodies. Disquietingly, Larna suggested the elves might have been captured from his former home of Eolis but he didn’t seem at all bothered by their fate. Seeing that the tunnel led back out onto the balcony overlooking the river, Horkus and Hrothgar decided to gather up the shining onyx shards while their companions decided their next move.

No sooner had the clacking of the pilfered, polished stones echoed through the hall when there came a muffled groaning from the corpses at the party’s feet. From the floor, reanimated elves began to claw and grope at Hrothgar and Horkus’ legs while other corpses stiltedly jerked up to challenge their allies. The elven dead proved much easier to deal with than the giants and minotaurs from the previous halls, but the true terror came from the enraged horking of the hezrou in the main chamber.

As Balabar and Horkus fled the side tunnel, they emerged to find the demon grappling with a trio of its former hors d'oeuvres. The monster tore one of the zombies in half while stomping another under a flabby, clawed foot. Then, clamping the third zombie in its ridged jaws, it flung the stone tables aside and charged the adventurers who had ruined its meal.

A visible cloud of what smelled like patchouli oil, stale beer and dog farts clung to the Abyssal brute threatening to overwhelm Woofgang’s sensitive snout, but the dire wolf braved the miasma to defend Balabar until more help could arrive. Within moments, Kylix and Hantash arrived to even the odds and the warriors moved to flank the demon with Horkus. The enraged monster lunged at Hantash with its jaws delivering a terrible bite to the fighter’s shoulder, but Hantash fought the hezrou off with a wicked blow across its corpulent gut. Surrounded on all sides, the hezrou flailed its claws and gnashed its teeth at whatever target drew closest while the elven dead continued to shamble and grope at the living and demonic alike.

After blazing a path through the previous chambers of walking dead, the party’s spellcasters were beginning to run low on their magical reserves and some chose to ration what little power remained in them. The adventurers knew the cleric, Hrothgar, was a capable warrior with his enchanted hammer, but Larna surprised everyone when he retrieved a battered and burned battle axe from his bag and cleaved a quartet of cadavers in one cascading cut. Meanwhile, the sorcerer Fizzwidget conserved his own spell energy by taking on the form of a dragon and lashing out with his own chilling claws and teeth to strike down the remaining zombies.

Despite its size and demonic strength, the hezrou was soon reduced to a bubbling puddle of vile, stinking goo by the combined efforts of the adventurers. A thorough search of the workshop’s only remaining egress revealed a long tunnel terminating at a large, solid block of onyx which appeared to be undergoing a process of sculpture. The work was still too crude to determine what the bestial figure was meant to represent, but it soon became clear where Tarnaticus was acquiring the ebony shards scattered throughout his laboratory.

“The only thing west of here is a tribe of ettins in league with the demons,” Larna informed the party. “I wouldn’t put it past Tarnaticus to lead us into their territory hoping we might die fighting his enemies, but I don’t think he would place himself between us and them.”

“It looked like there were a couple other doors back in the throne room,” Hantash pointed out. “If he didn’t go west, he may have flown back over the lava to the same door we used to get in. We’ve no way to track him so it might be worth a look.”

“I bet he hid inside one of those treasure chests we left behind,” Balabar piped.

***

Back in the throne room, the adventurers found no sign of Lord Tarnaticus’ return but they did discover a disturbing clue as to where he might have gone. In a small library guarded by a gang of zombified bugbears, the adventurers discovered the rambling manifesto of the nefarious necromonger. Or rather, they would have if Hurricane Fizzwidget hadn’t blasted the room with a gale of freezing dragon’s breath to get rid of the zombies. From the scattered, torn remains of the manuscript, the adventurers did manage to piece together enough information to deduce that Tarnaticus had recently learned of the death of the erinyes Sarnikyan and the abandonment of her nearby lair.

“He could be there now!” Larna exclaimed.

“It’s worse than that,” Hrothgar pointed out. “If he knows about the tunnel we used to enter this region, he could be on his way to the refugee camp. Our people could be in danger.”

Their resources and reserves of strength nearly exhausted, the adventurers were in no hurry to begin a new battle but all agreed that Lord Tarnaticus was a terrible threat to the refugees and lizardfolk in The Shallows. Before they could pursue their quarry any further however, a yellow cloud rolled out of the second chamber adjacent to the throne room.

Hantash and Horkus were investigating the second chamber when they found a locked chest at the foot of a soiled, dilapidated bed which was lousy with squirming and wriggling insects. A portrait of a man matching the handsome illusory appearance of Lord Tarnaticus hung above the bed indicating the room was the necrolord’s personal chamber and the adventurers were eager to see what Tarnaticus might have secured within the heavy box. Horkus carefully inspected the container for traps but missed the faint arcane runes inscribed along its edges and, as Hantash lifted its lid, a fog of acidic mist poured from the open container.

Unable to see the fog’s source, Hantash grabbed the chest and ran out of the room hoping to save its contents from the acid. The vile plume spilled into the throne room engulfing Balabar, Woofgang and Kylix, but Hrothgar had fortunately prepared a dispelling abjuration that was able to disable the magical trap and allow the adventurers to safely inspect the chest’s contents.

The cloth lining and a few articles of fine clothing were reduced to an ill-smelling pile of rags by the acid fog, but a fine longsword and scabbard remained unscathed among the chest’s contents. The sword’s dark, serrated blade shimmered like oil on water and strange, vaguely arcane markings that made little sense had been scratched into its surface. The weapon was clearly enchanted and radiated powerful illusion and evocation magic.

“Why would Tarnaticus leave such a powerful weapon behind?” Balabar wondered aloud.

“I’ll be sure to ask him right before I drive it through his skull,” Horkus replied liberating the sword from the fouled chest. “His loss is our gain, I say.”

With no further delay, the adventurers quickly made for the former lair of the deceased devil Sarnikyan. The river of magma still encroached into the haunted halls, but the pit trap the party had encountered at the structure’s entrance now protected them by serving as a reservoir for any lava seeping into the tunnels. Tracking Lord Tarnaticus through the corridors proved to be an insurmountable task thanks to the necrolord’s supernatural powers of flight, but Sarnikyan’s safehouse was small enough that it didn’t take long for the party to catch sight of their quarry.

Lord Tarnaticus’ rasping voice croaked out a curse as he glanced back at the adventurers only a moment before ducking around a corner at the end of the passageway that led between two wide stone columns inscribed with a peculiar series of broken lines. The minotaur Kylix fittingly led the charge against the necromancer but, as the party passed between the inscribed columns, they were blasted by a deadly combination of necromantic energy and unholy flames.

Kylix collapsed between the pillars of death and fire, saved only by the timely intervention of Fizzwidget’s abjurative magic, but the spirit-drained minotaur was out of the fight before the party had even closed with their enemy. His companions doggedly pushed on, rushing after Tarnaticus through a chamber concealing a battery of spear-launching tubes hidden among defaced bas reliefs of angelic beings at war. There, the oracle Balabar met his untimely demise when a salvo of lances perforated his body leaving his corpse to flop in his saddle like a crash test dummy. Without his master’s guidance, Woofgang’s instincts took over and the wolf’s first thought was to protect the gnome’s remains by retreating to the rear of the party.

The battle-weary adventurers finally believed they had Tarnaticus cornered when they escaped through the spear-trapped chamber to find the necromancer hovering at the center of a large chamber where a great pile of blackened bones blocked up the only exits from the room. “Not as yet, harvestmen,” the grim ghoul chortled, his eyes glowing with emerald fire as halos of ebon energy ringed his withered claws. “Not as yet the stalk before your sickles!”

Suddenly, an immense, devilish dog-like skeleton exploded from the pile of bones at the south wall, leaping upon Hrothgar and Hantash as Tarnaticus flew to the ceiling of the chamber. The calcified canine snapped its jaws at the adventurers distracting them as its master rained unholy blasphemies from the air, but the bony beast was doomed once Fizzwidget joined his companions. The draconic gnome cracked his knuckles while intoning a powerful necromantic curse that splintered the osseous mongrel. Before the monster could recover, Hrothgar delivered a powerful blow from his enchanted hammer that shattered the creature’s skull.

Now, only Lord Tarnaticus remained and the adventurers were quick to close with the villain before he could once again elude them. Fizzwidget used the last of his flight spells to put Hantash in range of the necromancer while Horkus attempted to harry Tarnaticus and Hrothgar burned through the last of his spells to heal his companions.

“We could use a little help here!” Hrothgar shouted to Larna. The hermit had expended most of his magic against Tarnaticus’ horde of zombies, but he still had a couple of tricks up his ragged sleeve. The anchorite’s eyes glowed with baleful fire as a hail of jagged bone shards burst from the floor and sliced through Tarnaticus’ withered flesh. Feeling the pressure of the combined assault of his enemies, the necromantic ne’er-do-well’s jaw suddenly cracked open to reveal a long, slime-coated tendril of pulsing meat ending in a crown of talons.

Tarnaticus’ tongue darted toward Horkus like a striking cobra, its glistening ichor paralyzing the ninja and sending him crashing to the floor. “This is no necromancer!” Hrothgar shouted to his companions. “The maak aln haak is a mohrg!”

“That’s convenient,” Hantash grinned. “Because that’s exactly where I’m about to send him!” With a roar, the fighter unleashed a hammering flurry of slashes that would have eviscerated a lesser creature, but the sheer evil of Lord Tarnaticus seemed to deflect the half-orc’s attacks. Only two of Hantash’s blows connected, but the mohrg was wounded badly and it shrieked in pain before its cries became an eerie, dry moan. The remaining heroes groaned in agony as their skin peeled and flaked away into dust.

Already wounded from his previous battles, Hantash collapsed as his body’s moisture was sapped away by the mohrg’s spell. Seizing the opportunity to flee, Lord Tarnaticus raced away toward the chamber’s exit. “We’ll never catch him if he makes it past the columns!” Larna shouted, releasing another burst of dagger-like bone shards at the weakened monster as it fled.

“He’s not going anywhere,” Fizzwidget growled. Beating his wings with all his might, the dragon-shaped gnome raced ahead of Lord Tarnaticus and sealed off the tunnel with a trio of thick, icy spikes that sprang from the floor and crashed into the ceiling. Hrothgar, meanwhile, channeled his last spell into a pulse of healing energy that brought the dehydrated Hantash back to his feet.

As the fighter stood, Hrothgar ran after Lord Tarnaticus but the mohrg’s tongue slashed the dwarf’s cheek causing the cleric to stumble and fall to the floor. “Fools!” the mohrg wheezed. “Tarnaticus cannot be caged! Tarnaticus will be free!” With an unholy, rasping scream, the monster charged Fizzwidget who quickly darted aside bringing Tarnaticus face to face with Larna. “No, fiend,” the hermit hissed. “Tarnaticus will burn!”

The anchorite’s body crackled with electricity and, as Hantash hauled Hrothgar’s limp form up from the floor, a storm of lightning lit the hall in an explosive shower of sparks and thunderbolts! Only wisps of dust and ash remained of Lord Tarnaticus once the waves of energy cascading from Larna’s body subsided.

“It is done,” the priest grimly spoke to the surviving adventurers. “Thank you.”

***

None of the remaining adventurers were in any mood or condition to risk the journey back to Hearthblack so Larna agreed it would be best to camp in Sarnikyan’s halls until they were rested enough to return to the keep. Once Hrothgar and Horkus recovered from their paralysis, they helped to haul Kylix into the bonestrewn chamber where Hantash barred the doors so the party could get some undisturbed sleep. The dire wolf, Woofgang, who had suffered greatly by the desiccating curse of Tarnaticus, lay unconscious but alive near the remains of Balabar.

“That such a loyal beast should be separated from its master,” Hrothgar softly spoke, eyeing the wounded wolf as he stood watch with Hantash. “Tis indeed a sad spectacle. Someone should say a prayer for them.”

Hantash nodded in silent agreement as the dwarf stood and walked over to kneel at the wolf’s side. Hrothgar returned a moment later and began to unscrew the cap of his drinking flask when Woofgang let out a pained yelp in his sleep. The dwarf and his companion then turned in horror to find Balabar’s corpse gnawing at the wolf’s belly.

“Praise Urgathoa! Tis a Winter Week miracle!” Hrothgar grinned. The dwarf’s eyes eerily bulged from their sockets and his throat seemed to swell. “Now they can be together forever!” The cleric’s jaw cracked open as the slick, thorned tongue of a mohrg suddenly lashed at Hantash!

“Gods, Hrothgar!?” Hantash yelped, deflecting the wicked tendril with the edge of his blade. “Are mohrg’s contagious?!”

“Only when they are demons!” Larna shouted, bolting to his feet. “Your friend is possessed!”

Liberty's Edge

Pathfinder Battles Case Subscriber

You may have noticed a lack of photographs to accompany these journal entries. I recently lost the cord I need for uploading images from my camera but, after so long without a post, I felt posting the story now was more important than waiting to get a new cord. On to the next entry!

DAYS 419-420 ESCAPE FROM COROCALAD
featuring The World’s Largest Adventuring Party:
Hantash – Half-Orc Two-Handed Fighter
Hrothgar – Dwarf Cleric of Bolka
Fizzwidget – Gnome Dragon-blood Sorcerer
Balabar Fizzlewink – Gnome Nature Oracle
Kylix – Minotaur Fighter/Living Monolith
Horkus – Human Druid/Ninja

Larna cursed his oversight as Fizzwidget, Kylix and Horkus sprang to their feet. Had he attributed Lord Tarnaticus’ plethora of profane powers to the hellish boons bestowed upon loyal servants by the goddess of undeath, he might have remembered demonic mohrgs were notoriously difficult to destroy due to their spirit’s ability to possess the bodies of their enemies.

“Can we free him from the villain’s control?!” Kylix called. The minotaur had recovered enough during his rest to hack apart the zombie Balabar, but he might not last long against a mohrg inhabiting Hrothgar’s heavily armored body.

“We could try to dispel Lord Tarnaticus’ evil presence if I had the spell prepared,” Larna answered. “Short of that, only the death of the host will drive away Tarnaticus’ spirit.”

“And if he tries to jump into another one of us?” Horkus asked, leaping to flank the possessed priest.

“Steel your souls and pray your will does not falter,” the anchorite grimly replied.

Hantash slashed furiously at the demon-ridden Hrothgar, saddened at the fate of his loyal ally but knowing there were no other options. The adventurers were still too exhausted from their previous battle to subdue the creature. “Slay your friend, we live again!” Lord Tarnaticus mocked as the party cut Hrothgar down. The dwarf collapsed in a bloody heap at the feet of his allies, and a pall of terrified silence fell over the room.

The adventurers and Larna stood quietly anxious, paranoia creeping in as they sized each other up for signs of Tarnaticus’ possession. “Is there any way to tell who’s possessed?” Horkus asked hesitantly. “You’re a cleric, right Larna? Can’t you channel some kind of holy power to hurt him? Maybe flush him out?”

“Trying to figure out our abilities, Horkus?” Fizzwidget glared suspiciously. “That sounds like something a possessed person might say…but, uh, how’bout it, Larna? Can you do it?”

“A burst of positive energy might reveal the fiend but, in case you haven’t noticed, I am not that kind of cleric,” the hermit grimly replied. “My great Lord grants me only the power to wither and scorch his enemies from this world. I fear His power may only bolster the monster.”

“That seems awfully convenient,” Kylix grunted eyeing the priest. “And would Tarnaticus gain access to that power if he possessed you?”

“A perceptive inquiry, brahmin dweller!” Hantash snickered wickedly striking Kylix from behind. “Tis a shame you shan’t survive to loin the truth, but Lord Tarnaticus has too much at steak to brisket all now!”

“He makes puns now?!” Horkus growled, instinctively moving to flank the fighter. “Okay, this time he stays down!”

Lord Tarnaticus used Hantash’s strength and armor to his advantage, but possessed none of the fighter’s skill and quickly tossed the falchion aside to claw and lash at his foes. The battered warrior’s body, however, could not long endure the blows of his companions. Soon, the body of Hantash fell at the feet of his allies and fear once again gripped their hearts.

In the instant of Hantash’s death, the murderous spirit of Lord Tarnaticus reached out from the void to find purchase in a new victim’s body. Perhaps the undead fiend could sense that Kylix’s life force had been weakened by the trapped stone pillars in the halls outside the chamber. Maybe Tarnaticus simply assumed breaking the minotaur’s will would be an easy task or it could have been chance that led the demonic mohrg to target the monstrous warrior, but whatever impetus drove the vile spirit to latch itself onto Kylix proved to the monster’s undoing.

Tarnaticus’ desperate fear of death had sustained the villain for centuries. Every hero who had ever managed to destroy the morhg’s host had become his newest puppet, their bodies wasting away under the foul shroud of the murderer’s soul. Now, however, the fiend’s all-consuming desire to live was rebuked by the unlikeliest of adversaries.

Despite the soul-draining rays of the accursed column and his brain’s own bestial and dull-witted nature, Kylix’s will was forged in iron and his warrior soul rallied against the invading corruption of Lord Tarnaticus driving the spirit back toward the Abyss. Vanquished at last, Tarnaticus’ terrible soul was dragged into the cold embrace of his mistress Urgathoa. Kylix felt the fiend’s mental tethers wither and fall away into darkness and, at last, he knew the creature was truly dead.

***

In the wake of Lord Tarnaticus’ destruction, Horkus, Fizzwidget and Kylix journeyed with Larna back to Hearthblack with the remains of their slain comrades. The hermit claimed the battle with the demonic mohrg had opened up the knowledge he required to restore life to his beloved Aramnan and that the party would be well rewarded for their assistance. With a little help, Larna placed Aramna’s corpse upon his bed and removed the shroud from her body. It was then the adventurers were shocked to learn the warrior was no ordinary wood elf.

Though lithe of frame and delicate of feature, Araman’s copper-tinged skin bore mahogany red scales and a pair of short, gazelle-like horns adorned her brow. Noting the bat-like wings draped about her shoulders and the hooked claws terminating her wrists, there could be no mistaking the corruption in her blood.

“It is true,” Larna spoke solemnly. “She is per-raug, half-demon. It’s why our people banished her to Corocalad. I kept this knowledge from you because I feared you would deny my plea for help. I hope you can forgive me. I promise I will reward you as soon as I have returned her to life.”

The adventurers shifted uneasily as Larna cast his spell, taking particular interest in the absurd quantity of diamonds the hermit retrieved from the smoky alcove at the rear of the chamber and shuddering reflexively as he invoked the name of his lord.

“Flauros, Lord of Fire and Magma, Father of Salamanders, I beseech thee!” Larna called as the room seemed to grow warmer and shadows began to sway like serpents. “This tribute of diamonds I submit to you in exchange for a boon! I pray thee, take these precious hónr gondren and restore to life your honored champion, Aramnan!”

The brass bowl containing the diamonds suddenly began to glow as intense heat radiated from the vessel. There was a sudden eruption of molten fire within the bowl and a layer of orange flame danced over Aramnan’s corpse as Larna continued his prayer. “Should we do something?” Horkus whispered to his companions. “This woman is half-demon and I don’t know what a Flauros is but ‘Father of Salamanders’ doesn’t sound like a title you give to a god who rewards helpful adventurers.”

“If he finishes this spell, Aramnan is going to return at full strength,” Fizzwidget cautioned his allies. “If Larna covered up her half-demon heritage, he may have lied about her helping him fight the demons. Remember how chummy he seemed with that hezrou before those zombies attacked us.”

“We should wait,” Kylix spoke gruffly. “I trust him, at least about this. If he’d wanted us dead, he had a chance to kill us after our fight with Tarnaticus…just keep you steel handy in case I’m wrong.”
The adventurers waited anxiously as Larna continued the ritual. Dark embers had begun to form upon Aramnan’s body as the diamond offering was consumed within its vessel and, several minutes later, her corpse was encased within a cocoon of molten slag. As the hermit finished his dark prayer, the flames within the bowl and upon Aramnan’s corpse diminished leaving only ash and a husk of hardened pāhoehoe which quickly began to crack and fracture.

Larna hurriedly cleared the shell of stone to reveal the face of Aramnan who gasped for air and then suddenly thrust a taloned claw through the crumbling magma and clutched the priest’s face. A pall of ebon energy wreathed the half-demon’s hand and, as the adventurers looked on in astonishment, Larna’s head withered and blackened within Aramnan’s grasp. The trio of heroes readied their weapons, unsure of what was happening, as the hermit’s body slumped to the ground and the final fragments of lava holding Aramnan fell away as dust.

The adventurers may have attacked then if not for the startling appearance of a ghostly apparition hovering above the fallen hermit’s corpse. Not the ghost of a burned and disfigured human, however, but of a bruised and broken wood elf. The morbid pair passionately embraced each other a moment (as best they could given the spirit’s insubstantial composition) before the elven spectre faded and vanished within Aramnan’s arms.

“Have no fear, strangers,” the half-fiend spoke, her voice eerily reverberating. “This cannibal filth was not my faithful Larna. He was a murderer; one of my murderers in fact…”

Aramnan went on to explain the truth about the mysterious hermit of Hearthblack. Larna, she revealed, had been dead for years, his body crushed by a fiendish spirit of stone dwelling in the quarry to the north. The priest’s devotion to Aramnan was so powerful however, his spirit lingered near the keep promising to protect her until her mission in Corocalad was complete. When Aramnan was betrayed by the adventurers who murdered her, the vengeful spirit tracked down her killers and slew them until only one remained; a scarred and disfigured human cannibal whose body he possessed in order to manipulate the components for his spells. Now, thanks to Fizzwidget and his companions, Armanan lived again and Larna could fulfill his promise.

“My beloved and I are reunited at last,” Aramnan suddenly spoke with Larna’s voice. “Thank you. Now, let’s see what we can do for your friends.”

As he had promised, Larna rewarded the adventurers with a sack of precious gems he offered to sacrifice in exchange for the lives of Hantash and Balabar. Any remaining jewels and the treasure looted from Lord Tarnaticus’ lair was also theirs to keep and, as the adventurers stood perplexed, and perhaps a little conflicted, the spirit of Larna borrowed the body of Aramnan to call to the souls of their fallen comrades.

Of those slain, only Hrothgar refused the ghostly priest’s offer of restored life. The dwarf’s shade claimed he had died happily serving Bolka’s will by reuniting the strange lovers and that he could not refuse the opportunity to be with the spirit of with his own departed wife. There was also the matter of accepting a boon of life restored through power granted by a demon lord, but Balabar and Hantash had less trouble with that.

With their allies returned to life, the party decided it was time to find their way back to The Barrows. Aramnan, understandably less trusting of strangers than her beloved ghost, refused to lead the adventurers to the region’s border but did provide directions and some advice about avoiding the witch-cult of ettins dwelling in the northwestern halls.

“Consider Lord Tarnaticus an audition,” the half-fiend elf spoke ruefully. “Should you survive to return to Corocalad, I may have some real work for you…”

***

Hearthblack vanished into the flickering shadows of Corocalad as the adventurers followed the route suggested by Aramnan, a route that fortuitously took them past the emptied warrens of Lord Tarnaticus. The party hadn’t forgotten about the three locked chests they’d left behind while hunting the mohrg and they elected to make a quick stop at the vault to collect their bounty. What they didn’t expect to find when they arrived was an armor-clad woman whose alabaster skin exuded a halo of divine light.

“None of you exactly stink of evil, but I sense you’ve felt its touch,” the radiant amazon smirked sheathing a silvery blade that seemed to be forged of pure moonlight. “This your work?” she grinned kicking at the rotting bulk of one Tarnaticus’ slain undead wyverns.

The woman, clearly of extraplanar origin, revealed her name was Raverna and that she was a ghaele azata and a former member of the Celestial Garrison. Raverna claimed she had resigned from her position after the great quake left the dungeon a ruin and the Garrison’s leaders fell to bickering over protocol.

“Very bad things were locked up all over this dungeon, and I don’t just mean the devils and demons,” Raverna coolly spoke. “Somebody had to go out and make sure those things didn’t wind up in the wrong hands.”
The headstrong ghaele’s crusade eventually led her to Corocalad where she thought she might find allies among the region’s branch of the Garrison. “The Children of the Inner Light aren’t really part of the Garrison hierarchy,” Raverna explained. “They’re elite, charged with containing the worst of the worst and authorized to do almost whatever that takes. That’s why I thought they’d be willing to help.”

Unfortunately, the Children were caught up in their own struggle. “It’s not my place to advertise the Children’s problems to strangers but, if you want to help, you can find their base to the southwest,” spoke the ghaele. “Or, if you actually want to do some good, you can accompany me until I return to check in on them.”

The adventurers informed Raverna of everything they had already been through and respectfully declined her offer, citing a need to deliver the shard of the Watrazor to The Barrows and find a safe path back for the refugees waiting in The Shallows. Raverna seemed happy to hear the party was on a mission to protect their fellow prisoners and blessed their journey but her smile faded when Kylix mentioned the party’s encounter with Larna and Aramnan.

“It seems the rumors of Armanan’s death were, at least, temporarily true. Nothing good ever seems to last down here,” Raverna sighed. “In the future, I hope you’ll stay away from that demon spawn and her body-swapping boyfriend. They may be the least of all evils in this region, but you should never trust an antipaladin.”

With that, Raverna wished the party luck in their travels and hinted at paying a visit to Hearthblack before leaving the adventurers to collect their hard won treasure. A king’s ransom of jewels, platinum, gold and silver coins gleamed within the three chests and, though the lucre’s value was somewhat diminished within the dungeon, the adventurers knew the precious metals and minerals would be valuable to the crafts-folk back in The Barrows. Packing the loot into their bags, they left the mouldering ruins of Lord Tarnaticus’ former lair and set out once again for their home.

***

As the adventurers flew above the magma river toward the western edge of Corocalad, they experienced the mysterious shifts in the region’s environment with greater frequency and noted a haunting, melancholy voice singing over the roar of the flowing lava. The angelic voice seemed to emanate from an island ruin at the center of the region, and it filled the heroes with a sense of determination mixed with sorrow. None of the party, however, was presently interested in exploring the island and they instead chose to push on through the pall of cold and darkness that had suddenly swept over the river.

With the island ruin behind them, the party soon discovered what appeared to be a flickering mote of celestial light gliding slowly through the gelid gloom. Recognizing the small sphere of luminescence to be a lantern archon, the party quickly hailed the creature and inquired of its origin hoping it might be the custodian archon assigned to the region. The lantern seemed happy to help the adventurers find their way out of the darkness, but informed them it was only a simple messenger for the Children of the Inner Light who had gotten lost in the haze while searching for its comrades. The adventurers informed the lantern archon of their current need to return home, but offered to relay any news it might have to the Celestial Garrison back in Region E.

“I regret to inform you intelligence regarding our current situation is accessible only to official members of the Celestial Garrison and Children of the Inner Light with proper authorization,” the archon chimed. “However, acting commander Evalan may choose to brief you at her discretion should you wish to accompany me to our outpost.”

Once again, the party expressed their need to return to The Barrows but they thanked the lantern archon for its help and informed it they would return to offer their assistance as soon as possible. Soon after parting with the celestial, the adventurers found themselves at the western border of Corocalad where one final challenge awaited them before could escape the fiery cavern. A pair of large, vulture-headed monsters with greasy black wings and cracked, yellowing talons flitted near the entrance to the tunnel leading out of the region. Upon spotting the flying adventurers, the creatures charged letting out with a deafening shriek.

“Lead them toward the shore!” Balabar shouted to his companions from his perch atop Kylix’s shoulders. Sadly, the gnome hadn’t the components to restore his loyal companion Woofgang’s life so he had enlisted the minotaur to serve as his temporary mount. “If our flight spells wear out before we kill these things, we’re all taking a hot bath!”

The avian demons rocketed toward Hantash and Horkus slashing furiously with their wicked claws, but the monsters revealed a more worrisome weapon as they closed in on their opponents. As the foul fowls thrashed savagely, tiny spores like yellow-orange dandelion seeds shook from their feathers coating the adventurers in a fungal crust. The spores’ roots dug painfully into the warriors’ flesh yielding a crop of rapidly elongating choking vines.

Fizzwidget and the minotaur-mounted Balabar tried to keep their distance from the creatures and their fiendish spores as they rained magical death on the demons, but Horkus and Hantash were not so fortunate. As unholy tendrils continued to writhe over and through the harried heroes, the demons’ beaks, talons and wings tore, cut and beat them mercilessly. The monsters seemed inspired in their bloodlust and confounding patterns of mirror images danced around each beast making it difficult to land a successful blow against them.

In the form of a great eagle, Horkus used his ninja arts to strike at his opponent from the shadows, but the druid’s attacks were intercepted by the demon’s deceiving decoys. Undeterred, Horkus vanished once again only to reappear and deliver a rending slash that would have split a man in half. The demon, however, was no man. Screeching in pain, the supernatural fiend of famine and decay pounced on Horkus before he could escape from sight. Meanwhile, Hantash was locked in a deadly struggle over the river of magma with the other monster.

Ordinarily, the half-orc’s mighty blade might have dispatched the dander-spreading demon with only a few powerful strokes but the creature’s illusory reflections had defended the beast long enough for it to land a few wicked attacks against him. Soon, however, the demon’s duplicates were depleted. Seizing the opportunity to strike, Hantash valiantly fought through the pain of the vines invading his body and slashed a bloody arc across the belly of the beast staggering it. A blast of Fizzwidget’s magic and a timely blow from Kylix’s axe were all it took to finish the monster off and send it hurtling into the river of lava below.

His enemy destroyed, Hantash charged the remaining monster who had Horkus pinned on the nearby rocky beach. Beams of flame from Balabar’s fingertips scorched the demon’s hide in an attempt to knock the creature off of the gnome’s ally, but the fire resistant fiend only cawed in sadistic delight as it turned from Horkus’ corpse to meet its demise on the keen edge of Hantash’s falchion.

The adventurers wasted no time mourning for their fallen comrade. Their exit from Corocalad lay just ahead, and delay might only encourage peril. Quickly gathering Horkus’ equipment, the party prepared to enter the blazing maw of the tunnel as it vomited magma down into the hellish region.

***

Shimmering waves of deadly heat and rippling, translucent clouds of poisonous, acidic gas awaited the adventurers as they flew through the subterranean vent leading out of Corocalad. Balabar and Fizzwidget’s magic protected their allies from the flames and corrosive properties of the miasma, but they had no spells to defend against the noxious fumes. All the adventurers could do was push on as quickly as possible through the tunnel and they were lucky to escape with their lives.

The vent ended within a cloister of ruined chambers cleaved through by the unrelenting river of fire and Kylix knew from the crumbling marble masonry the party had entered the labyrinth of Region F. A jungle of vines hung from the walls and ceilings and carpeted the floors of the ancient cells and, as the adventurers came to land within the nearest chamber, there was a sudden wriggling of slick tendrils. Monstrous, choking vines surged from the undergrowth to crush and asphyxiate the adventurers who had no time to recover from their ordeal in the furnace-like tunnel.

Constricting vines dripping with foul slime entangled the adventurers and harried them like a nest of pythons at every turn as they slashed and blasted their way through the lava-lapped chambers. Hoping to discover a means of placating the insidious ivy, Balabar called upon his nature-born gifts to communicate with the vines. The plants, however, were not particularly brilliant conversationalists and relayed only a singular desire to feed and grow.

“We’re not fertilizer!” the gnome shouted in frustration, but the writhing tangle of assassin vines didn’t care. The adventurers, at last, fought their way to a chamber where a ruined pit trap yawned open and deep, its fall-away floor disabled by unrelenting time and the encroaching vines. A corner of the room had completely collapsed into the magma flowing nearby and, as Fizzwidget gingerly stepped around the edge of the pit, he slipped upon the slick vines and tumbled into the humid void. At that moment, the sinewy stalks of a titanic tangle of assassin vines surged through a tendril-choked doorway on the west edge of the pit taking Hantash by surprise.

The half-orc hacked furiously as the calamitous creepers threatened to collapse his armor like an aluminum can, but the assassin vines hauled Hantash steadily into their weave until Balabar and Kylix mounted a daring rescue. Together, the trial-sized oracle and his monstrous mount slashed and burned their way through the brutal brush to recover their embattled comrade.

By the time Fizzwidget used his magic to shapeshift into a dragon and fly out of the dank pit of slime, his allies had finished landscaping the chamber above. The final tangle of assassin vines was reduced to dripping, squishy coleslaw, and the party decided it was time for a much needed respite. The sorcerer reported the bones of several canine-headed humanoids littered the bottom of the pit, but it otherwise seemed a safe place to camp so the adventurers descended back into the hole. Only once the party was safe in their burrow did anyone stop to ask Kylix about his peculiar choice of weapons during the battle against the assassin vines. “Was your axe handle giving you blisters?” Hantash asked. “Tarnaticus’ old sword seems a little small for you.”

Kylix glanced down at the sword blade protruding from his fist and furrowed his brow. The minotaur had taken the weapon from Horkus’ corpse when the ninja died, but he couldn’t remember drawing the ornate sword which seemed almost a letter opener in his monstrous grip. “I guess I was just rattled by the sudden attack and reached for the most convenient weapon at hand,” he grunted. “Hard to swing a greataxe when you’ve got a monkey dancing around on your back.” Balabar huffed at the comparison, but was too hurt and tired to muster a witty retort. Later, while taking his turn on watch however, the gnome did compare Kylix’s sudden predilection for small weapons to impotence, but the minotaur barely seemed to notice the comment.

“Huh?” Kylix snorted. “Sorry, tired. Couldn’t sleep. Kept having this nightmare I was bound and hung by the neck while someone hacked off my feet. I think they wanted to see if I would choke to death before I bled out.”

“…This sword,” the minotaur spoke as if searching for a memory. “It was in my hand when I woke. This is the same sword they used to…why can’t I let it go?” A chill crept up Balabar’s spine as Kylix recounted his awful dream. Had Horkus mentioned a similar night terror while he carried the blade? Could the weapon be cursed? The druid spent so much time in animal form he may have avoided the urge to use it in combat, but Kylix had no such option. “Try to rest, Kylix,” Balabar calmly spoke. “We’ll see about ridding you of these dreams once I’ve gotten some sleep.”

The adventurers made their way out of the pit the following day and, as they reached the edge of the lava river, Balabar asked Kylix to kneel. With a few divine intonations and a wave of his hand, the gnome attempted to break the curse that seemed to be plaguing his friend. “Now, if you can, cast the sword into the river and let this world be rid of it,” spoke the oracle. Kylix looked down at the blade tucked into his belt, breathed in deeply and took the hilt into his hand. In an instant, the bloody, grim blade of Lord Tarnaticus’ was launched into the current of the Tanbera.

“But…the power of that sword…it was worth a fortune,” Fizzwidget stammered. “You couldn’t have waited to uncurse him when we were closer to The Barrows? That place is full of evil jerks who wouldn’t care about a few bad dreams in exchange for that kind of strength.”

“You’re welcome to go in after it,” Balabar mused as the dark steel blade drifted away, the unforgiving magma slowly reducing the sword into glowing orange slag. “The rest of us are going home.”

Liberty's Edge

Pathfinder Battles Case Subscriber

Before we get to the last of these three installments, I want to thank everyone who has stuck with us over the past several months. Though my job and other life responsibilities continue to intrude on my writing time, I still intend to complete this great adventure and record the tale of our heroes until the final fantastic battle! More to come soon!

DAYS 420-421 A MOST UNWELCOME HOMECOMING
featuring The World’s Largest Adventuring Party:
Hantash – Half-Orc Two-Handed Fighter
Fizzwidget – Gnome Dragon-blood Sorcerer
Balabar Fizzlewink – Gnome Nature Oracle
Kylix – Minotaur Fighter/Living Monolith

Kylix wiped a great gob of bloody snot from his snout as he sniffed the air of a damp, moss-encrusted chamber. Sleeping in the humid, vine-choked pit the previous day had led to him and his companions all contracting a nasty case of slimy doom, and the nausea brought on by his organs slowly decaying into oobleck certainly wasn’t helping his sense of direction. The monolithic warrior had never spent very much time in the tunnels controlled by his Red Horn kin, but his instincts told him the party should head west. Unfortunately, this meant traveling straight into the heart of his former clan’s territory.

Like most minotaurs who fled the labyrinth after the decimation of their tribe, Kylix was viewed as a coward, someone who had betrayed the old ways and centuries of tradition in exchange for the yoke of servitude to lesser species. Kylix knew his own kin would attack him on sight, but passage through the maze was necessary if he and his companions intended to reach the Barrows.

Hoping to delay any trouble from his former clan-beasts, Kylix did his best to conceal his face and kept some distance at the back of the party. If he wasn’t recognized, he might be able to claim he was stalking the adventurers in preparation for an ambush. He might have to challenge another minotaur for the right to hunt the party, but it would be better than alerting the whole tribe to his presence.

The long, winding tunnels of the maze soon led the adventurers into a wide hall where a trio of minotaurs stood grunting and snorting near a large iron door. The creatures’ grim faces seemed to soften as Hantash exited a narrow passage into the chamber, and one of the monsters waved the fighter over as it addressed him in Giantish. “I’m not sure what he’s saying, but he seems friendly enough,” Hantash called to his companions. “It seems all those stories we’ve heard about the minotaurs being savage killers aren’t tr-uargh!”

The minotaur’s greataxe suddenly smashed into Hantash cutting him off as he came into range of the monster’s brawny arms and, as the fighter’s companions moved out of the tunnel to back him up, the creature’s comrades charged! The minotaurs fought like ravenous beasts. Even when it was clear they were outmatched, their hunger and rage drove them to continue their struggle. The sound of battle drew the attention of another trio of minotaurs lurking nearby and it soon seemed as if the entire tribe was stampeding out of the twisting corridors to get a piece of the adventurers.

Directing the herd of beastmen was a powerful minotaur ranger Kylix recognized. Aryss was perhaps the greatest hunter the tribe had ever known, and he cunningly used his knowledge of the labyrinth’s tunnels to trap the adventurers between three waves of bloodthirsty warriors. The beasts were no match for the skill of the determined heroes, but they made up for their lack of experience with strength, ferocity and numbers.

From atop Kylix’s shoulders, Balabar scorched the beasts charging in from the east as the embiggened minotaur held off the warriors approaching from the south with wide, powerful arcs from his axe. Meanwhile, Fizzwidget and Hantash blasted and hacked away at a bevy of bovine barbarians flanking the party from the north. Soon, the halls of the labyrinth resembled a slaughterhouse killing floor, but the marauding minotaurs refused to relent.

From the rear of the herd, Aryss charged into the fray, his great blade cleaving into Hantash’s breastplate like an axe into an iron tree. The tauren tracker had learned from a young age to hate humans, and the half-orc shared enough in common with Aryss’ favored prey that he may as well have been waving a big, red cape at the ranger. As Hantash and Aryss clashed amid the chaos, there came a terrified yelp from the south. Balabar had been knocked from Kylix’s shoulders and snatched into the morass of minotaurs clamoring at the eastern tunnel.

Kylix charged the crowd of monsters pulling the gnome away, but a wall of beefy beastmen stood between the living monolith and his comrade. The oracle’s body was soon lost amid the gang of minotaur warriors and carried away into the darkness. However, whatever boost in morale the monsters gained by killing the gnome they lost mere moments later when Aryss let out a pained bellow. Hantash had slit the ranger open from belly to brisket and the minotaurs’ leader staggered through the pile of dead warriors clutching his spilling guts as he fell.

The few remaining minotaurs turned and fled as Aryss’ sword clattered to the ground, and Fizzwidget, Kylix and Hantash wasted no time in regrouping and finding a safe refuge. A nearby chamber offered a welcome respite from battle and an easily defended position. A lava-filled fissure cut off any attack from the north and a narrow door in the south wall offered the only other means of egress.

“They’re testing us,” Kylix huffed. “Killing Aryss should have been enough to convince them we aren’t worth the trouble to attack, but they got Balabar. Killing magic-users always gets their blood up.”

“You don’t suppose they’ll just eat Balabar and be satisfied enough to leave us alone, do you Kylix?” Fizzwidget asked, disturbed at the minotaur’s comment. “He was starting to look a little heavy to me. I blame a lack of exercise. He should have walked more.”

“Balabar was an honorable ally. His healing magic will be missed,” Hantash sternly interjected.

“Hantash is right,” Kylix grinned. “We shouldn’t make light of Balabar’s death…There was nothing light about him.”

***

The adventurers crept out of their refuge hours later to find the tunnels still and quiet. The bodies of their attackers still cluttered the site of the recent battle, but no signs of passage marred the blood-stained halls. The trio cautiously pushed on into the labyrinth and soon came to a long chamber where a group of minotaur warriors huddled around a low fire. The warriors held their spears and axes at the ready as the adventurers approached, but their leader, a lean, almost gaunt, bull with horns dyed red, ordered them to stand down.

“I Kartavi, provisioner of the Golden Axe…of those who remain at any rate,” the minotaur spoke. “You are the ones who killed Aryss, yes?”
Hantash gripped the handle of his falchion as he replied, informing Kartavi that it was his blade that had struck the ranger down.

“Good, good,” the minotaur replied with a grin, motioning for his warriors to lower their weapons. “Prince Rankuli will be happy to hear this. He will want to speak to…that one,” Kartavi paused before pointing toward Kylix. “Your companions will stay. They will be safe. Prince Rankuli has commanded this.”

“Trying to separate us before you attack?” Kylix growled.

“You are in no place to speak of betrayal, negedhys,” the minotaur coolly replied, nodding toward the large crowd of minotaurs who had gathered to glare at the outsiders and their Branded companion. “Follow Kartavi now and be safe. What comes after is for Prince Rankuli to say.”

Kylix begrudgingly followed the thin beastman through a throng of glaring minotaurs to a large chamber decorated with the hides of monsters, men and other humanoids. A small hunk of charred meat about the size of a gnome turned over a spit near the center of the room and a powerfully built young minotaur warrior sat atop a pile of hides while a pair of attractive (by Kylix’s standards anyway) females reclined at his feet. As Kylix entered, the young warrior waved his concubines away and leaned forward on his makeshift throne.

“You are Kylix, yes? Arnarah’s protégé?” Rankuli spoke almost as a condemnation. “I heard the sphinx used her magic to turn you into a living statue, but you look flesh enough to me. Still, whatever she did to you must have helped you and your allies defeat Aryss and his hunters and that couldn’t have been easy.”

“What does the tracker’s death mean to you?” Kylix tersely replied.

“So it’s that way then? No interest in catching up on clan news? No care for what’s happened since you and the rest of the cowards like you abandoned your people for greener pastures?” Rankuli spat. “Fine. Aryss threw in with my uncle after the angels and their machines decimated our tribe. My father’s death should have made me the new chieftain, but Sarmnush claimed I didn’t have the experience necessary to rule the clan. He’s campaigning to succeed my father, and Aryss’ support won many over to his side. Your victory over the ranger and his hunters hurts Sarmnush’s position.”

Kylix gripped his axe tightly and growled. “I knew it! You want to kill us in order to prove your strength!”

Rankuli’s guards moved to protect their prince, but the young bull ordered them to stand down and leave the chamber. “Killing traitors and invaders might win me the support of a few old Red Horns, but then I’d be losing the opportunity to win something much more valuable. You did me a favor by killing Aryss so I’m going to return the favor by not killing you. Now that that’s settled, I’d like to offer you a job.”

“You truly are your father’s son,” Kylix grunted. “What’s it to be then? Something traditional? Perhaps you’d like me to assassinate your uncle so you can pin it on a defector. I suppose you’ll offer me a sack of treasure looted from some dead human adventurer so you can claim Four Waters hired me for the job after I’m captured and killed.”

“I wouldn’t need you if that were my plan,” Rankuli snorted. “That sort of deception is what got us here. I need something greater than blood and war. I need a symbol that proves my right to rule.”

Rankuli went on to explain that the Golden Axe, the tribe’s most powerful weapon, had been stolen from the labyrinth after the battle against the celestials. He suspected a Branded minotaur had taken it into one of the communities outside the region, but he was unsure of which one and had few leads on who would have perpetrated such an act against the tribe. None of the known defectors were known to hate the tribe so much they would rob them of their namesake. Vornmik, the tribe’s historian, and Skrimmi, the weaponsmith who had reforged the weapon, were Rankuli’s top suspects. Both were at the battle, and both had been among the first to abandon the tribe.

The minotaur prince knew Kylix had no love for his former tribe and no reason to help them regain their glory, but he appealed to the warrior’s benevolence. Rankuli described how his father, Markuli, had envisioned a peaceful, albeit morally corrupt, future for the tribe but their decimation by the celestials had thrown the minotaurs into chaos. The beastmen were degenerating into squabbling savages and cannibals. Within a generation, they would be nothing more than maze-lurking monsters with no culture or reason. Their children would become nothing more than animals hunted by glory seeking adventurers from Four Waters and The Barrows. Kylix, Rankuli claimed, could save them.

“The coarse brutes following me don’t have the character to investigate this theft,” the prince admitted. “They’re violent natures would expose them as my agents as soon as they exited the labyrinth and the celestials would kill them. Someone like you, however, someone with a reputation who has already adapted to their society, you could find the thief without causing a scene. I don’t care what you do to the culprit. Let them live if you like. Just get me the Golden Axe so I can save our people. I don’t want Sarmnush catching wind of this so I’ll make sure you’re well paid if you return it without letting anyone know you brought it back. Accept my offer and I’ll ensure you and your allies make it safely to one of the warp gates. Refuse and I’ll make sure you live only long enough to return to your friends.”

Kylix considered Rankuli’s offer carefully. The prince probably couldn’t be trusted, but Hantash and Fizzwidget were in hardly any condition to fight every minotaur between here and the nearest warp gate after their recent trials. Reluctantly, the living monolith accepted Rankuli’s deal but, as the prince escorted him out of the chamber, he was suddenly seized by a half-dozen powerful warriors. “There is one thing I neglected to mention,” Rankuli spoke. “The Golden Axe tribe doesn’t appreciate traitors stomping all over our labyrinth like they own the place. There’s a price to pay for your betrayal.”

The guards holding Kylix forced him to the ground as one of the females from earlier handed Rankuli a massive dire flail. “Your horns will grow back, but they’ll never regain their original shape. Everyone will see you for the coward you are,” the prince growled. “Now, hold still. You don’t want me to miss.”

***

Still aching from his traumatic experience, Kylix returned to find his companions alive and slightly better than when he had left them. In Kylix’s absence, the minotaur Kartavi had summoned the tribe’s venerable witches, Graak and her mad brothers, Teuerc and Boaj, to lend their services to the adventurers in exchange for whatever treasure the party could offer. Hantash traded a few potions for a couple of minor healing spells, but the half-orc was still quite injured and feeling drained from the necromantic energy traps in Corocalad. Kylix brushed aside questions about his injuries, informed his companions they were free to leave and asked Kartavi to lead them to the nearest warp gate.

“There is a thing you should know,” the lean minotaur warned. “The angels. They have taken the warp gate keys. Kartavi has no way to know where the gates will send you. The will of the maze decides our fates now.”

“We’ll take our chances,” Hantash replied. “If any one of us gets out of this maze, don’t wait for the others. Head straight for The Wolag and tell them what’s happening in The Shallows.”

Kylix and Fizzwidget agreed and, one by one, the heroes entered the portal.

***

Jitters sniffed the air as his ears perked up to a peculiar sound. The ratfolk ninja’s senses told him something that smelled of weathered stone and musk was thudding toward him and his companions from the direction of the foreboding tunnel on the south bank of the Tanbera. Instinctively, he darted behind the paladin and the ranger as the warriors drew their weapons.

“Something big,” Jitters squeaked preparing to vanish from sight at the first sign of trouble. “Something heavy. Something…stupid?”

“How can you tell its stu-,” the paladin Recnac began to ask when the sound of mournful lowing and the clatter of plate steel on stone rang from the hall. Just then, a large minotaur stumbled into view. The creature’s horns were broken and it was struggling to remove a breastplate which has somehow twisted beneath its armpit as the contents of the minotaur’s backpack spilled into the corridor.

“The creature seems to be in distress. Perhaps we should try talking to it?” Nicholas suggested, unable to hide his angelic compassion. The aasimar was about to calmly approach the confused beastman when he heard the tightening of sinew at his side.

“Do what you gots to do, oracle,” growled the goblin tracker, fingers flexing against the bowstring. “I’s killed bigger than this one if it gets uppity.”

“Thank you, Morg,” Nicholas smiled. “But something tells me we’re meant to help this beast. I have a very good feeling about this.”


*coughs as he waves the dust away* I don't need to cast a spell to detect the thread necromancy here.

Awesome that you have such extensive campaign logs! They're quite a lengthy read!

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