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Talk about a rough go. The latest installment of our adventure resulted in a pair of encounters nearly every adventurer dreads and even caused one of our intrepid explorers to contemplate retirement. However, I think it may serve as a good lesson about the results of greed and the bottomless pit some adventurers find a need to fill...or not. Either way, some of my favorite monsters showed up, and that's always fun. On with the adventure!
DAYS 101-106 - GODS OF HUNGER
featuring: The World's Largest Adventuring Party
Traxxus - Halfling Rogue
Pallas - Dwarf Fighter
"Rags" - Nezumi (cursed human) Cleric of Sarenrae
Roch - Dwarf Universalist Wizard/Cleric of Nethys
Mark - 1/2 Elf Ranger
Troy - Human Fighter
Cul'tharic - NPC Lizardfolk Fighter/Scaled Horror
A few days after Klibb left the adventuring party, the group, along with the fighter Troy, Cul’tharic the lizard man and Roch the spellcaster, was ready to venture into the region east of the goblin empire. Rags wished to return to the blue zone of the region to cleanse the area of any remaining evil influences but, as soon as the group arrived, Pallas decided to ruin the priest’s plans. Without announcing his plans, the dwarf left through a southbound tunnel.
“I thought our plan was to explore the blue zone first,” called Rags.
“That was your plan,” answered Pallas. “I want to kill gnolls so I’m going south. You can do what you want.”
After their last excursion into Region E, the group was loath to separate and found itself following the dwarf to the south. Before long, the party reached a four-way intersection and Rags once again pressed Pallas to return to the north.
“We’re supposed to kill evil, right?” argued Pallas. “Well, the gnolls are evil so they need to die and I wanna be the one that kills ‘em.”
“It won’t take long to search the northern tunnels,” said the priest. “Besides, Argliss said the gnolls haven’t threatened anyone for over a year. If they are still alive, they’ll likely still be in their camp when we finish up north.”
As the two argued, the lizardfolk warrior, Cul’tharic cast a handful of bones to the ground. “My ancestors say the way south is safe,” the reptilian croaked after a moment. “The only trouble we will face is that which we create for ourselves.”
Dissatisfied with the arguments of Rags and uncaring of the lizardfolk’s omen, Pallas continued south. His companions had little choice but to follow if they wished to keep the group together, but it seemed the dwarf was determined to distance himself from the party.
In a large chamber littered with the footprints of gnolls, Pallas once again ignored his companions’ wishes when he exited through a door where Mark found a trail of boot prints mixed in with the paw prints of the gnolls. Rags once again asked the dwarf to wait, but the dwarf blew him off and explored the tunnel alone. Mark and Traxxus agreed to go after the dwarf while the rest of the party moved east into what appeared to be the gnoll sanctum.
Rags, Shi, Troy, Roch and Cul’tharic searched through the silent halls of the gnoll camp. In a pair of rooms that looked like guard barracks, Shi discovered the bodies of six gnolls. The rooms and bodies appeared to have been searched and nothing valuable remained in either chamber. Then, through an open doorway to the north, Shi spotted a light and heard the sound of conversation and laughter. As the death priest crept to the door, he suddenly heard the room grow quiet and, a moment later, a tall canine-like humanoid poked its head into the hall.
“Oh, um, hello,” stumbled Shi.
The gnoll growled something but Shi didn’t know if the creature was addressing him or someone else. Then the priest heard a human voice from within the room.
“Is that The King’s Common I hear,” came the friendly voice of the man behind the gnoll. A handsome roguish figure appeared looking over the shoulder of the gnoll. “Please come in!” shouted the man. “We’ve had naught but these mongrels for company and not a one of them understands my best dirty jokes.”
Meanwhile, Traxxus and Mark had caught up with Pallas. The errant dwarf’s search had turned up nothing but a room full of dead gnolls and an exit into goblin territory, but he still refused to return to the rest of the group. It was only after the trio discovered a tunnel heading north out of a rubble-strewn chamber that the dwarf grudgingly followed Traxxus and Mark toward what sounded like their companions’ voices.
“Damn,” muttered Pallas as Traxxus announced he’d spotted the lit doorway to the north. As if he was psychically aware of what the rest of the party was doing at all times, the dwarf had plotted a course that would have steered him away from the room had the halfling’s keen senses not picked up the sound of Rags’ squeaky voice. The dwarf agreed to follow Mark and Traxxus, but it was obvious the dwarf was annoyed that he would miss out on valuable experie…er, I mean, alone time…I guess. Rejoining their companions, Traxxus was surprised to run into an old nemesis.
“Traxxus, old friend! How are you, you old son of a mole-bit worm!” shouted the man as the halfling entered the chamber. “I was just entertaining your friends here with tales of our victory over the gnolls!” The man’s name was Wilbert Brechurt, but he was known in certain circles as “Threepenny.” Threepenny and Traxxus had met over a month ago while the halfling was doing some solo work for the commune. The cavalier Balian had hired Traxxus to infiltrate a secessionist gang led by the man and his half-orc bodyguard, “Savage” Sid Lake. Traxxus only succeeded in being captured by Threepenny’s goons, but he was eventually rescued by Balian with the assistance of the prostitute Molly Stuart. Threepenny and Sid were taken into custody, and Traxxus lost track of the man until now.
“It’s because of Traxxus here that Sid and I became adventurers,” Threepenny continued, addressing the rest of the group. “Sure, we had our disagreements when we first met, but we’re really not so different. I started my revolt because, just like you folks, I believe a man is entitled to everything he earns, and the harder a man works the more he deserves. You can’t expect a society to grow strong if you tire it out taking care of the layabouts, I say.”
Threepenny went on to explain how he and Sid met with a group of like-minded prisoners to form their own adventuring company. The group, represented by Threepenny but led by the Contessa Talita Draghignazzo, a mysterious noblewoman, took a job from Argliss to wipe out the gnolls while the adventuring party was busy with the barghests. Aside from Sid and Threepenny, Traxxus recognized the old bugbear shaman from Region B and the barbarian Laze, a former party member. The halfling had only heard rumors about Draghignazzo, and the identities of a half-elf wearing a bandoleer of potion vials and a scarred goblin eluded him. The gnolls among Threepenny’s companions, it was revealed, were traitors to their tribe who chose to side with Argliss’ mercenaries in exchange for leniency from the goblin king.
“There are only a few holdouts in a room to the east,” said Threepenny. “They’ve barred themselves into a cell block so we decided to rest and celebrate before taking them on. Of course, since you’re here I can’t think of a better way to repay your inspiration than to let you have a crack at them as a gesture of our thanks. You’re welcome to rest a bit with us if you like. We were just about to open a new keg.”
“I don’t trust them,” whispered Traxxus to Rags and the cleric agreed. Maybe it was just the man’s reputation, but there was something about Threepenny the rat priest didn’t like. He was just so…nice. Pallas, on the other hand, was already out the door. Free beer meant nothing to the bloodthirsty dwarf who rushed off, warpike in hand, to slaughter the remaining gnolls. Unfortunately for Pallas, the creatures had securely fastened the door from the opposite side, which meant the fighter would have to wait for his companions to catch up before he could get the chamber open.
The party found the cellblock empty on the other side of the heavy iron door. Mark, Rags and Troy searched the cell doors in the north while Pallas and Roch searched the south and Traxxus slipped quietly up the middle of the hall toward a door far to the east. Cul’tharic and Shi waited near the entrance to the room, but moved cautiously when the halfling announced he’d found a thin wire running north to south midway across the hall. The wire ended at a cell door in the south and the halfling eyed it suspiciously. As his companions approached, the cell door was flung open by a gnoll tugging the wire from across the hall. However, the gnoll’s trap seemed to fail as the long hallway behind the door was empty and without peril. The adventurers turned on the gnoll as the creature disappeared into the cell and jumped behind a wall of overturned tables and bed frames, Traxxus taking care to close the south doors before he followed his companions. Three gnolls fired arrows from behind the barricade as Troy, Pallas and Mark rushed inside and leapt over the makeshift wall.
The gnolls were heavily outmatched and Rags shouted into the room for someone to offer the creatures a chance to surrender.
“Ugh..fine, you can give up if you want to,” sighed Pallas in the gnoll language as he swung his warpike into one of the creatures. To make the priest happy, the dwarf pulled his punch on the blow, trying to subdue the beast. Meanwhile, Shi was alerted to a loud clang from behind him as the south cell door fell in a quickly dissolving pile of reddish brown rust. A large, brown, insect-like creature with 10-foot antennae and a tail like a crazy propeller bounded into the cellblock. The effect of the gnolls’ trap was revealed. The monster had been held behind a heavy wooden door at the end of the south hall until the door was left open by the fearful gnolls who hoped it would hinder their attackers. Unfortunately for them, the creature hadn’t discovered it was free until the gnolls were defeated. Shi barely had time to react as the beast charged him and destroyed his armor with one brush of its antennae. Troy, who had come into the hall to investigate Shi’s cries for help, retreated behind the barricade as the thing spotted her suit of plate armor and rushed past the half-naked cleric. Seeing a chance for retribution, Shi swung his unholy morning star at the escaping beast only to see it dissolve upon contact with the creature’s hide. Behind the barricade, Pallas was afraid.
The immense rust monster charged into the cell and reached over the barricade with its antennae shredding Troy’s armor after stopping briefly to destroy the doors of the chamber. Then, as he looked on helpless to stop it, Pallas watched his own enchanted suit of full plate disintegrate into worthless dust. The dwarf’s eyes welled with tears. He’d sunk nearly everything he earned into that armor. Next to his warpike, it was his pride and, apparently, his sole reason for living. As Mark and Troy beat on the creature with axe handles, their own armor destroyed by the monster, Pallas contemplated quitting the adventuring life forever. He picked up one of the gnoll’s greataxes and swung at the monster like a machine, uncaring of whether he even lived through this encounter. Roch, Rags and Shi blasted the thing with spells while Traxxus whipped a vial of alchemist fire at the thing’s back. Cul’tharic, whose own equipment was made from the bone-resin of the formians, charged the thing, stabbing deep with his trident and, after sustaining great damage, the monster fell to the ground. Mark, Troy and Pallas surrounded the fallen beast, beating it severely to ensure its demise before the dwarf left to drown his sorrows in a pony keg of ale. Out of pity, some members of the party offered to pitch in to replace the dwarf’s armor but, for the time being, Pallas needed time to grieve.
The adventuring party, minus Shi, who had housekeeping to attend to, and Pallas, who was still in mourning for his beloved armor, returned to Region C a few days later after picking up some new equipment and, this time, the group stuck with the plan to explore the blue zone.
Blink dogs ran free through the blue zone of Region C as the party arrived. Shi’s success in finding the creatures a new home had drastically improved their attitudes and the beasts did not interfere with the party’s exploration. In a tunnel just outside the eastern edge of the strange zone, the group found a series of rooms filled with debris and evidence of a past fire. Under one of the piles of detritus, Traxxus discovered a hidden compartment in the floor of the room containing a roster comprised of the names of about 40 holy warriors who once called the region home. Apparently this order, mostly made up of paladins and priests of Sarenrae and Iomedae, had come from all over the world to stand watch over the prison though no word was given as to their specific mission.
The third of the burned out chambers contained what appeared to be the living area of a huge humanoid creature. From tracks left in the soot of the adjoining room, Mark guessed the room’s resident stood over ten feet tall. Of course, that didn’t stop him from pocketing a mere 10 gold coins worth of semi-precious stones hidden beneath the thing’s bedding amidst a pile of shiny colored glass and beads. Before the creature could return to its lair, the group moved on to explore a small storeroom to the north. The storeroom was filled with dusty, abused pieces of weapons, but nothing worthy of note and, as the party left the chamber, Traxxus and Mark heard the heavy thud of something huge come down the hall from around the corner.
A massive, green giant with a third arm dangling from the center of its chest half-crawled and half-walked through the passage, which seemed too small to contain its bulk. As the group retreated into the storeroom, the thing detected their presence and shouted in the tongue of giants. Roch, who had studied the creature’s language, responded from the relative safety of the storeroom.
“Um, we were just exploring this area,” stammered the dwarf. “We don’t mean any harm.”
“Ahuum,” grunted the creature in response. “You is intruder. How I not know you here to rob?”
“Ahooh no!” bellowed the giant. “You not hang pamphlets here! Nurganar am atheist. Not need be saved. You leave Nurganar, but you pay first toll. Ahuum, one hundred golds each for trouble Nurganar!”
Rags was incensed. He wasn’t about to be extorted by this ignorant monster and told Roch to inform the creature they would not pay. Then, the priest chanted and unleashed a deluge of holy rain to burn the evil creature. Only, the creature wasn’t evil. Nurganar, an athach (normally covetous and cruel monsters,) had spent so much time alone his natural inclination toward malfeasance had been tempered by a simple desire for isolation. The mutant giant wiped the rain from his shaggy, tangled hair and grunted.
“Ahuum, you pay, you go not hurt, you not pay, you get mark of Nurganar,” said the athach as he gestured at one of his massive morning stars. There was no way around him. A few days earlier, the goblin wizard Farggallann had given the party 600 gold coins in exchange for choice bits of the heavily tenderized rust monster corpse. With Pallas and Shi gone, that was just enough to pay the group’s way past the monster. For Traxxas and Cul’tharic, it was an easy decision and both paid their share rather than be flattened or engage in unnecessary violence. Roch and Troy followed once they saw Nurganar was true to his word, but Rags and Mark tried to short-change the athach and the ranger even attempted to pay with the very gems he’d stolen from the creature. Luckily, Nurganar only believed the gems were remarkably similar to the ones under his bed and let Mark through after the ranger gave him the 100 gold coins and the gems. At last, Rags paid the full price of the toll and the party quickly departed before the athach could discover Mark’s deception.
To the south of Nurganar’s home, the party found a huge stone door with a remarkable wood grain appearance. Roch quickly surmised the door had been transmuted to stone through magic, but there was no apparent reason why. A stone bar rested across the door sealing off the room beyond and Troy attempted to lift it at Rags’ request. The fighter quickly wore herself out trying to lift the 600lb. stone bar but, after some rest and a little magical aid, the woman got the bar off and the heavy door open only to discover why the chamber had been sealed.
A huge, black mass of slime oozed toward the party, drawn by the movement of the heavy stone door. Long ago, someone had trapped the ooze within this large chamber where it slowly devoured every ounce of organic and metallic material leaving only the walls, ceiling and floor intact. Now, the thing had a chance to escape and cause great harm to the creatures of the dungeon…unless it could be stopped.
Mark moved into the chamber and stabbed the black ooze with his elven blade only to see the weapon melt to sludge as the creature divided in two. One of the creatures then retaliated by grabbing and engulfing the ranger, its acidic touch quickly obliterating much of Mark’s gear. Rags, Roch, Troy and Traxxus fell back attacking with sling bullets and spells as Cul’tharic, whose javelins would do more harm than good made ready to heave the stone door closed.
“We cannot let this thing escape,” hissed the lizard man. “It is a god of hunger and it will never be full. I’m sorry, but we must seal the room.”
“We can beat it,” assured Rags as Mark struggled to pull himself free of the mass. “Give us a chance, and we can take this thing.”
Cul’tharic was not entirely convinced, but couldn’t bring himself to condemn Mark to the hell of being digested by the slimy, black thing.
The second ooze slid through the open door as Mark continued to struggle with the first. The ranger’s equipment was now nearly completely destroyed and the ooze’s acid was slowly eating away at his flesh. Then, Roch got too close to the second approaching slime and was quickly enveloped as Rags, Troy and Traxxus continued to fire away with spells and bullets. Cul’tharic backed nervously out of the room toward the lighter stone door leading out of the antechamber but held off on sealing it when the first ooze was destroyed by Rag’s conjured spiritual weapon. A few tense moments later, the second ooze broke apart releasing Roch. Both the dwarf and the half-elf were terribly burned by the acid of the black pudding and their equipment was completely destroyed, but their lives were saved.
How d'ya Expect to beat your pudding if ya don't eat your meat
( with not so humble appologies to pink floyd)
Nothing more terrifying to PCs then threatening their STUFF.
Sometimes all it takes is a pilfered flask of oil and a tindertwig to terrify the PCs.
You can kill the characters horribly and repeatedly - but the Gawds help you if you destroy their STUFF. Player revolts I'm tellin' ya, player revolts!
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Wow, Lord Antagonis. You really missed your calling. You should have become a hack comedian instead of a hack politician. Anyway, here's the next session wherein we learn that Pallas really does have a sensitive and caring hea..bwa ha ha!, I couldn't even make it through that sentence. That doesn't happen, but there are some hill giants. Enjoy!
DAYS 107-111 THE MARK OF THE RIGHTEOUS
featuring: The World's Largest Adventuring Party
Traxxus - Halfling Rogue
Pallas - Dwarf Fighter
"Rags" - Nezumi (cursed human) Cleric of Sarenrae
Roch - Dwarf Universalist Wizard/Cleric of Nethys
Mark - 1/2 Elf Ranger
Troy - Human Fighter
Janus - Aasimar Fighter/Barbarian/Swashbuckler
Patterson - Human Wizard/Warmage
Cul'tharic - NPC Lizardfolk Fighter/Scaled Horror
Another three days passed while the craftspeople of Four Waters quickly banged out some new equipment for the adventurers. Despite whipping the pudding, Mark and Roch’s equipment was completely destroyed during the battle and the pair had to dip into the party’s rainy day account to replace their gear. Both, however, were handling the total loss of their equipment better than Pallas who had merely lost a suit of armor to a hungry rust monster only days ago.
The adventurers found Pallas sitting in a large washbasin at Famous Macready’s pub. The half-orc figured it would be easier to clean up the dwarf’s mess if Pallas didn’t have to travel far to relieve himself or rush in search of a place to throw up in between rounds of drinking and crying and Famous was thankful when the dwarf’s companions arrived to drag him out of his tub of piss and vomit, tears and beer.
The group, minus Roch who was still waiting on the construction of his new armor, reassembled and headed back into Region C, this time in the direction of the eastern tunnel at the intersection south of the blue zone. There, the adventurers found a path of destruction unlike any they’d seen previously in the dungeon.
Whole sections of wall had been blown to pieces leaving huge craters and scorch marks across the floor, ceiling and walls. At the end of the tunnel, they entered what appeared to have once been a large smithy. An immense forge lying amid a pile of rubble near a 40-foot wide breach in the east wall seemed to have been the cause of the calamity. Pallas noted the forge appeared to have been designed so that all of its heat would be channeled toward the east wall and Shi noticed what appeared to be a sheaf of papers trapped beneath a pile of fallen masonry and rocks near the center of the room. Unfortunately, no one was able to roll the debris off of the parchment so the party moved on through the great breach.
A vast chamber easily 200-feet wide with a 100-foot ceiling sprawled before the party and massive chain links and shackles anchored to four points across the great hall were the room’s only decoration aside from a mysterious archway near a bare wall to the north. Each link was thicker than harbor chain and the shackles were wide enough for a dwarf to stand inside, and the adventurers could only marvel at the size of the beast once held within the chamber. As they turned their attention to the northern archway, Shi suddenly noticed a ball of light passing through the wall into the chamber and heading straight for the party.
“Greetings!” shouted the ball of light. “Welcome to the prison of Falortuligo! I’m your host, Coleman!”
Coleman, the party quickly learned was the lantern archon custodian of Region C. The archon was apparently one of only two survivors of the escape of the demon Falortuligo many years ago. The demon, Coleman informed the group, had once been chained and frozen within a massive block of ice and then sealed into the room, which had no exits aside from the magical archway to the north and that way could only be used by celestial beings. Even worse for the demon was his company. A powerful angel named Amarantiel volunteered to sacrifice himself by holding the demon in place while the prison was built around them. There within the icy prison, the two remained for thousands of years until the coming of the wizard Arum.
Arum was a servant of good and came to the dungeon to study its secrets and use them to create wards and weapons against the evils that plagued the world. Sensing the presence of the wizard’s noble soul, Falortuligo reached out with his mind and began a friendship with Arum, slowly convincing the wizard he was the angel Amarantiel trapped within the prison of ice. The devious demon even aided in Arum’s research by providing him with insight into the ways of demons and how to defeat them in combat and eventually convinced the wizard to build his great forge so that he might create powerful artifacts against the forces of evil. Of course, the heat required to craft these items went straight through the walls of the smithy and slowly began to melt the ice holding the demon. The world was in great peril but there was hope.
The Order of Amarantiel, as they came to be known, were a group of 40 priests, paladins and other holy warriors who had shared a dream of dark portent. None of them knew exactly why they were drawn to the dungeon, but they knew they must go if their world was to remain safe and, sadly, each knew he would not return from the journey. By the time the Order arrived to the dungeon, it was nearly too late. Cracks had formed throughout the ice of Falortuligo’s prison and the demon had broken free of his chains. Worse yet, after thousands of years of mind games, the silver-tongued monster had even tricked the weary brain of the frozen angel Amarantiel into believing the demon had escaped long ago and that he was a trapped angel who had been tricked into taking his place. When at last the walls of Arum’s forge split open, Falortuligo (in the form of an angel) and Amarantiel stood side by side and fought against the Order as the demon attempted to make his escape.
Though horror-struck by what he had done, Arum managed to maintain enough composure to devise a plan to confuse Amarantiel with numerous illusions and thus trick the angel into using his ability of truesight. The plan worked and the angel quickly realized he had been deceived when he saw the true form of Falortuligo before him. Asking for the forgiveness of the holy order of warriors, Amarantiel turned on his ancient enemy and pleaded for the order’s assistance in defeating the beast. Only Arum and Coleman survived the battle and, in grief, the wizard vanished never to be seen again. Since then, the lantern archon claimed he’d kept to his duties and spent his spare time attempting to redeem the hostile creatures who’d come to take up residence in his region. He’d had the most luck with Nurganar but a family of hill giants in the southeast had given him some trouble.
The hill giants, the lantern archon related, were fiercely protective of their corner of the dungeon and extremely suspicious of strangers. However, Coleman hoped they could be convinced to abandon their paranoia and live in peace with the other denizens of the dungeon. Aside from notifying the adventurers of the giants, Coleman informed them of a special key they would need to access the region north of the Goblin Empire. The key would open the massive doors they’d found locked along the northern edge of Region B, but only a person bearing The Mark of the Righteous could recover it. The Mark was a holy sigil Coleman could inscribe as a tattoo around the right eye of any good-hearted being and, as it happened, only Rags and Cul’tharic met the lantern archon’s criteria.
Having taken their leave of Coleman, the party pushed on to the east in search of the mysterious key on the lookout for hill giants.
The tunnels to the east of the former gnoll encampment were eerily quiet. The party did see a few goblins and hobgoblins exploring the remains of the gnoll camp, but left them to their business and pressed on. Then, a sound like a muffled groan was heard from behind an iron door at the end of a short hallway. Pallas opened the door to the chamber and found it to be supernaturally dark. The light of the party’s torches seemed to be swallowed by the darkness, but everyone could now hear the sound of plaintive howling from within the chamber. The party piled into the small chamber to investigate the sound when Pallas suddenly alerted them to the presence of a howler. The dwarf’s eyes could just make out that the fiendish beast was chained securely to the wall and unable to move. Annoyed by its constant screams, Troy moved to strike the creature but Rags and Shi stopped her.
“Stay your hand,” commanded Rags. “This creature is in no position to harm anyone.”
“Then I’ll put it out of its misery,” remarked the fighter. “I’m sick of its whining.”
“It isn’t suffering nearly as much as you’d think,” Shi informed Troy. “It has no real need to eat so leaving it here isn’t going to hurt it. Besides, this entire dungeon was a prison designed to hold evil creatures and, for once, it seems like it’s doing its job.”
The howler, which was bound in place, simply continued to screech and scream as the party sealed it back into its cell and explored a stone door further down the hall.
Traxxus worked his picks into the stone door’s locking mechanism until he heard a click and stood aside as Pallas pushed the door. Suddenly, a cloud of acid erupted from the walls of the hallway forcing everyone to flee or face the burning mist. Nearly two minutes later, the fog evaporated and the halfling returned to the door to search for a way to disarm the trap. The acid fog returned twice more before Traxxus managed to momentarily disable the trap but, despite having defeated the door’s lock, the halfling found it would not budge. Having spent nearly 20 minutes on the heavy door, the party decided to return later and continued on toward an open door in the south through which they could hear what sounded like large bats flying away from the noise of their steps. Eager to kill something, Pallas rushed ahead of the party in search of the fleeing creatures.
The adventurers entered a large chamber to find four vargouilles fleeing ahead of them. One of the creatures managed to shriek in anger at the party before all four were shot out of the air and killed leaving the party to explore the chamber and it’s many sealed doors.
Traxxus picked the lock of a door in the south of the chamber and, after opening the room for a quick peek inside, many of the adventurers moved onto the next door. From what the party could tell, the chamber contained only a few empty bed frames and a thick layer of dust but the ranger Mark, wanting to take a closer look, entered the room alone to search it for valuables. He would have all of 12 seconds to regret this decision before falling to floor dead from the bite of a feral ghoul perched above the door mantle.
The creature within the old barracks chamber heard the sound of the adventurers at the door and long years of isolation, madness and skulking had made the ghoul more wild and dangerous than others of its kind. It used its strong claws to scale the wall of the chamber and took up its favorite ambush position above the door. As Mark walked in, his keen senses missed the presence of the undead thing and the ghoul tore and bit at the ranger from his perch paralyzing Mark with terror and its unholy touch. A moment later, the ghoul’s teeth ripped open the throat of the ranger whose lifeless body fell to the floor just as his companions rushed to his aid.
Pallas, unable to strike at the thing from outside the room, dove through the doorway landing on his back so that he might assault it from the floor but wielding his massive pike from a prone position proved difficult and only one of his attacks grazed the creature’s arm. Enraged, the ghoul leaped onto the prone dwarf tearing, biting and raking with its claws and teeth. The dwarf suddenly felt his strength leave his body. He was at the mercy of the ghoul.
Troy, who was closest to the door at the time, stepped toward the ghoul and slashed at it while Rags, Traxxus and Cul’tharic used a second door to enter the room and flank the creature. The holy priest of Sarenrae blasted it with divine energy while Traxxus fired a bullet from his sling and the lizardman warrior attacked with his resin trident just as the ghoul readied to sink his teeth into the dwarf’s jugular. Luckily for Pallas, Cul’tharic’s attack grievously injured the ghoul, piercing its chest and neck and ruining its attempt to kill the dwarf. The undead beast made one final, desperate assault at the lizardman before Shi destroyed it with a ray of freezing ice. Cul’tharic helped Pallas to his feet and carried him to one of the bedframes to recover while his companions saw to Mark. There was nothing to be done for the ranger so Shi performed his duties as a priest of Pharasma and ensured the man received the proper rites before his soul headed off to The Boneyard. Through a door to the north, the party discovered another corpse.
The door in the north wall of the chamber was sealed with thick wax and very difficult to open but, at last, the party managed to crack the seal and enter. The room seemed to have been the one-time living quarters of a skeleton, which rested in a wide bed near the north wall. A desk, stool and chest were the only other decorations in the room and the Rags quickly determined the skeleton belonged to a gnoll. The creature had been dead a long time and Shi deduced the gnoll pack must have thought highly of this warrior to leave his corpse in this state. Pallas, digging through the old, wood chest, removed a rusty hand axe from the container and slipped it into his belt but there was little else of value within the room so the party resealed the door and continued their exploration.
In a chamber back to the south, the group found a pile of gold strewn haphazardly around a simple altar. Atop the altar was an ordinary looking longsword and Pallas told everyone to stand back while he grabbed it after Rags confirmed the blade possessed a magical aura. As soon as the dwarf touched the sword’s handle, ten bolts of force fired from the altar striking the dwarf wounding him, but not so much that he was in any real danger. Pleased with himself, Pallas tucked the sword into his belt next to the hand axe from the gnoll’s burial chamber and the party continued on after gathering up the gold coins.
Through a tunnel to the north and west of the large chamber the group discovered another stone door and Traxxus quickly searched it for signs of a trap. Finding nothing, the halfling inserted his picks into the door’s lock and got to work when a sudden hiss erupted from the walls of the room. A billowing yellow-green cloud of noxious vapors quickly rolled across the floor of the chamber causing everyone to choke and making it difficult to see. The adventurers, growing faint from the poisonous fumes, moved as fast they could to escape the expanding cloud and, after making it a safe distance away, realized one of their number was missing.
The cloud of death took nearly 20 minutes to dissipate but, when they were finally able to return to the trapped door, the adventurers found the body of Troy lying dead in the hall, her body a sickly pale yellow. The quest for the celestial key had claimed another victim in less than an hour and Traxxus would have nothing to do with the trapped stone door at the end of the hall.
Moving past the trapped door, the party eventually discovered a long hall with doors leading in all directions. Through one of the doors, Shi and Cul’tharic found a narrow passageway that appeared to lead to a dead end. However, as the lizardman neared the east wall, the Mark of the Righteous upon his face began to glow. A moment later, the sound of stone grinding on stone alerted the pair to a concealed door opening in the wall and the pair called their companions before going through.
The passage on the other side of the concealed door was with brightly lit with walls as white as ivory and it ended at a small room where a solid gold weapon rack was mounted firmly to the wall. An open doorway to the north displayed a sign reading “Leave All Weapons Here” in the Celestial tongue. Having a bad feeling about what was soon to come, Shi announced he would stay behind while the rest of the party went ahead.
Traxxus, Rags, and Cul’tharic deposited all of their weapons upon the rack, but Pallas was having trouble letting go of his new longsword. He literally couldn’t put it down. The sword would slip easily into his belt or across his back, but it seemed repulsed by the golden rack. Even stranger was the fact that all of the weapons placed upon the rack were firmly attached and could not be removed. With no other choice, the dwarf decided to enter the chamber with the sword and follow his weaponless comrades.
Going through the ivory chambers was immediately difficult for the group. The floor of the first chamber was adorned with the image of a winged angel holding a scale, and the adventurers became nauseated and ill as they entered. Pressing on, the group stumbled into a chamber filled with soft beds covered in masterfully crafted silk sheets. Cul’tharic and Rags recovered immediately upon entering the chamber and the cleric realized the room could serve to quickly alleviate the wounds of good creatures. Past the bedchamber, the party found a large room where someone had vandalized the perfect white walls of the path with letters written in the common tongue. The writing on the wall appeared to be an accounting of the battle with Falortuligo, signed by the wizard Arum himself. The words of the record were heavy with sadness and regret but gave no indication of the wizard’s final fate. Shortly after leaving this room, the four adventurers reached the last chamber, which was decorated with a statue depicting an angel holding a lyre. Here, Traxxus and Pallas were overcome with terror caused by some supernatural defense of the chamber and the pair fled back the way they came. Abandoned by their comrades, Rags and Cul’tharic discovered a solid silver weapon rack containing exact duplicates of the weapons the party had left in the previous chamber. Another sign here requested all weapons be left upon the rack. Unwilling to continue without their companions, the pair removed and replaced each weapon before returning to the group. As expected, the weapons were back upon the gold weapon rack when they reached their companions.
Shi waited patiently during all this time and eventually began to search the chamber where he stood. In the east wall of the ivory-walled room, the priest found a concealed panel but nothing he tried would open the wall. Nor could Pallas or Traxxus open the wall ten minutes later when they came bolting into the chamber coughing and covered in vomit. It was not until Rags placed his paw upon the wall that the panel slid down into the floor revealing a hidden passage leading to what appeared to be an old prison chamber.
The party stood within a large chamber separated into cubicles. Manacles hung from the walls of each cubicle and a groan could be heard from a corner of the cellblock. Near a door leading out of the chamber, the party discovered a pair of men hanging from two sets of manacles. One of the men was hanging from one foot with soiled rags firmly binding his hands and mouth. The other man, whose skin seemed to shimmer for some reason, greeted the party and kindly asked them to free him and his companion. Apparently, the pair had come here from the commune with two other adventurers and been waylaid by a hill giant. Their companions had died in the struggle and the man wasn’t sure if or when the giant meant to return to finish the job it had started before robbing them of their equipment and leaving them trussed up in the cellblock. As both men bore Coleman’s holy mark, the party felt they could be trusted and set them free.
Janus, the shimmery guy, turned out to be an aasimar, one of the rare few humans who could trace their lineage to some past celestial tryst. This, of course, made him a prime target for Antagonis’ minions and the warrior was imprisoned based solely upon the assumption his angelic blood would eventually compel him to rise up against the emperor. His companion Patterson, a warmage formerly in the employ of the empire, was court-martialed and sentenced to the prison for refusing to tell anyone his first name. When the giant attacked, it seemed to have an intense hatred of Patterson and took great joy in hanging the spellcaster from one leg and gagging him with a scrap of cloth it had previously used to wipe some sweat from its, uh, nether regions. Finally free from their imprisonment, the pair joined the adventuring party hoping to recover their lost equipment.
Not far from the cellblock, the adventurers discovered a small room littered with what appeared to be the bones of giants. A lack of teeth marks upon the bones seemed to rule out cannibalism and Shi guessed the room might be a sort of ossuary where the bones of a giant clan’s dead might be stored in order to be venerated. A quick search revealed the belongings of Patterson and Janus stashed below the bones in a corner of the room near a pile of large skulls. Not wishing to spend any more time in this room than necessary, the group left and continued south toward the sound of a tremendous crash.
A bruised giant in a pair of hide overalls stood at the center of a wide room filled with broken masonry and boulders. One of the giant’s eyes was swollen and he hurled a gnome-sized chunk of debris at the west wall of the chamber only to see the boulder bounce back harmlessly and clatter across the floor. Earlier, while exploring a dead end near the gnoll burial chamber, the adventurers had heard what sounded like a heavy thud from the other side of the wall. Now, they realized where the sound was coming from and Pallas was eager to pick a fight.
The dwarf ordered everyone to stay outside while he spoke to the giant and stepped into the room but Rags, Traxxus and Cul’tharic followed him inside despite his protestations. The giant was too busy attacking the solidly built west wall to even notice as the halfling and lizardman hid behind a pile of boulders and Rags positioned himself near the door while Pallas approached the creature. The dwarf was within about 30 feet of the giant when it noticed him and hauled back on a large piece of stone while shouting in some Giantish garble.
“Hey you!” shouted Pallas. “You’ve got a key and we want it.”
The giant continued to threaten and shout, stomping his foot and spitting. The dwarf’s words were useless against the ignorance of the creature. Patterson and Janus, who both spoke Giant could understand the words, “Yur on Ma’s prop’ty! Y’all’s gotta leave raight now!” repeated with increasing rage. Pallas backed away from the giant complaining about it’s inability to comprehend the common tongue and insulting the thing’s intelligence but it didn’t matter since the giant couldn’t understand a thing he said.
“You git!” shouted the giant as he flung the boulder at a wall near the door. “You ain’t sposta be here!”
Offering to translate, Janus stepped into the room and told the giant the adventurers were searching for a key. The giant only continued to threaten the party and took a step forward as he lifted his club from the ground to fiercely shake it. At last, the party gave up on attempting to negotiate with the giant and backed out of the room intending to continue along a southbound tunnel. However, as they moved forward, Pallas spotted the same giant running across the tunnel from a passage in the west. It seemed the creature had used an exit at the far end of his chamber to get ahead of the party. As it ran, the giant shouted “They’s a’comin, Ma! They’s a’comin!”
The adventurers followed the giant into a wide chamber decorated by a large stone altar set with bones. A pair of human-sized skulls sat at each end of the altar, light pouring through their eye sockets from a pair of small yellow candles. In front of the altar stood a hulking woman with small bones twisted into her long, disheveled hair…and wispy beard. A scorched skull hung from a gold chain around her neck and a large heavy mace swung at her hip. Another male giant sat near the woman smashing the remains of a wooden crate with a huge club as he giggled, but he stood as the adventurers entered the room.
“What’s all this ruckus? Settle down and tell Mama who you done brought, Vernir,” the woman told the giant who had just rushed into the room yelling.
“We’re looking for a key,” interrupted Janus. “The celestial told us it was near this area.”
“Maight be ah reckon where this key is,” replied the giantess. “Why should ah tell y’all anythin?”
“We can help you. A tribe of goblins is planning to move into this region and they have supplies,” answered Janus.
“Goblins is good eatin,” smiled the giantess. “But that ain’t good nuff. Y’all wanna help, you git that scaly critter up yonder an bring back what he stole fum us.”
Janus took a moment to inform his companions of the sudden mention of a “scaly critter” and turned back to the giant matron. “What is this scaly critter and what did he steal from you?”
“He a dark scaly kin’ with horns like a bull an’ a whippin’ tail. He done spit ‘pon Mourgir, cause him to burn like the fires a damnation,” replied the giantess. “He done stole the family forchun, got it all piled high like a hill a gold an’ silver. Y’all git it back fer us, I could fix to tell ‘pon this key.”
The party conferred, safe in the knowledge the giants could not understand their speech, and it was agreed the woman and her family could not be trusted. Janus informed the giant matron the party would consider her offer and agreed they would not return to the giant's lair unless they had slain the scaly critter and recovered the “stolen” fortune.
I hate Dragons...
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Misfortune and peril! When we last left our heroes, they were on their way to explore what they believe to be a dragon's lair. However, before this session officially began, hazard befell the party when two of its members retired from the group (maybe they suddenly realized they were hunting a dragon?) Anyway, you'll have to read below if you want to know who left the group. Not an incredibly long journal entry this time around, but the photos took a little engineering so it took a little longer to post.
DAYS 112-114 THE SECOND TO LAST TRANSMUTER
featuring: The World's Largest Adventuring Party
"Rags" - Nezumi (cursed human) Cleric of Sarenrae
Roch - Dwarf Universalist Wizard/Cleric of Nethys
Janus - Aasimar Fighter/Barbarian/Swashbuckler
Patterson - Human Wizard/Warmage
Chumlee - Human Transmuter
Cul'tharic - NPC Lizardfolk Fighter/Scaled Horror
A small earth elemental in the shape of a four-fingered hand beckoned the adventurers from an intersection of tunnels up ahead. Cautiously, the group approached as the elemental turned and rapped at a stone door to the north from which sheepishly emerged an obese man draped in flowing robes.
Chumlee the First (known to some as Chumlee the Worst) was a transmuter of no small skill who disappeared into the dungeon some time after the disappearance of Arum. Convinced he was the epitome of human and wizardly perfection, the mad mage hired a small mercenary group under the pretense of needing some bodyguards for his explorations. Unbeknownst to the mercenaries, Chumlee had devised a spell, which would enable him to transform the unwitting adventurers into subservient clones of himself. In this way, the wizard hoped to immortalize his image and skill. However, the spell was imperfect. The newly created clones still possessed a modicum of free will and fleeting memories of their past lives. Frightened, angry and confused, they turned on Chumlee, killing him with the very magic he had imparted to them. Unable to remember a way out of the dungeon and with no homes to return to, the Chumlees spent the next few months securing their home. Unfortunately, a plague of some sort of demonic fever struck the wizards’ enclave and reduced the Chumlee population to two, Chumlee the Third and Chumlee the Seventh.
The two remaining Chumlees moved into a new section of the dungeon with Chumlee the First’s old elemental familiar and took turns hunting for supplies until Chumlee the Seventh disappeared, seemingly never to return. So it was that Chumlee the Third now stood at the door of his chamber welcoming a group of strange visitors.
The adventurers were pleased to meet the rotund and slightly bewildered wizard as they’re numbers had been reduced the night before (Traxxus retired and Pallas quit the group after telling Rags he needed time alone to figure out why his violent, dishonest and often selfish behavior was frowned on by the Celestial Garrison.) With Chumlee waddling behind them, the party moved on in search of the missing key…or the dangerous, acid-spewing monster of which the giants had warned.
The party’s explorations took them through several trapped or benign chambers with no sign of the key though the occasional acid burn or claw mark hinted at the presence of some horrible beast. Eventually, Roch found his way back to the group with a little assistance from the lantern archon, Coleman, and the party came to an intact library. The “scaly critter” seemed to have little interest in the assorted tomes and alchemical apparatus upon the shelves because the large chamber was nearly devoid of any signs of passage. Janus got to work looking for additional exits out of the room while Roch, Rags, Shi, Chumlee and Patterson searched the shelves for useful components and valuables. It was Chumlee who suddenly shouted for help when his meaty hand became affixed to a thick book atop one of the shelves.
The shelves of the bookshelf wrapped around the wizard crushing the life out of him as the party looked on in horror. The entire shelf, trinkets and all, loomed over Chumlee and seemed to giggle and chortle with glee.
“It’s a mimic!” shouted Roch as he fired a burst of magic missiles into the creature.
Patterson responded by launching an orb of acid at the creature, which only laughed as the bullet burst with no effect against its amorphous hide. Shi and Cul’Tharic attacked from range with spells and javelins while Rags enchanted a handful of stones for throwing at the beast. Janus, who had purchased the mysterious silver sword from Pallas unsheathed the weapon and prepared to charge the mimic, which continued to constrict the flailing wizard. The warrior had learned from Chumlee that the silver sword was a powerful weapon of good and now he lunged at the monster with the holy blade.
Janus’ blade twisted in his hand as if resisting the warrior’s will to strike but the weapon found its target. However, instead of dealing copious amounts of righteous damage, the sword struck a glancing blow barely wounding the beast. Worse yet, the sword was now stuck to the adhesive-coated creature. Attack after attack, Janus lost one weapon after another to the monster while his allies continued to attack from afar. Within moments, Chumlee was dead, his doughy limbs thoroughly pulped by the jaws of the mimic. Shi and Janus fell unconscious from attacks by the creature’s tentacles and Rags only avoided the same fate with a prayer for freedom from the monster’s grasp. Finally, Roch and Patterson managed to bring the creature low with a barrage of missiles and lightning and the party retrieved their comrades and fled to recover. After the encounter with the mimic and a reversed gravity trap they’d encountered earlier, the party was in no condition to continue their search.
The party retreated to the infirmary of the ivory-walled path where soft beds and silk sheets awaited their aching bodies. Janus, who decided to fashion a toga from one of the sheets after using his shirt to retrieve the strange silver sword from the mimic’s corpse, learned the penalty for theft as the party left the chamber the next day when a bolt of lightning shot down from the ceiling blasting the warrior to the floor. He might have died without his companions there to heal him, and the aasimar quickly removed the silk sheet from his shoulders and tucked it neatly back onto one of the beds before the party returned to its exploration.
Near the old library, the adventurers came to a vast chamber littered with coins, gems and other valuable objects. The room was quiet and there were no signs of life, but the party didn’t want to take any chances and sent Janus in alone to search the perimeter of the chamber. The aasimar warrior quietly made his away along the wall of the room taking care not to disturb the hoard when the floor of the chamber suddenly fell out from under his feet. Silver candlesticks, jeweled crowns and a shrieking adventurer all crashed to the bottom of a 100-foot pit. Janus was once again knocked unconscious and Rags quickly climbed into the pit to heal and retrieve the warrior. Without stopping to take any of the treasure, the party left the chamber to find the creature responsible for collecting the hoard.
The adventurers next came to long 10-foot wide passage where a large, iron strongbox rested in the center of the hall as if it had been dropped by fleeing porters. Janus approached the box but stopped when he noticed what appeared to be a reflection of light from a transparent wall between the party and the box. Shi, examining the surface of the wall, was stunned by an electric jolt as his hand made contact with what was revealed to be a huge cube of acidic ambulatory gelatin. The gelatinous cube oozed over the cleric swallowing him into its form as it surged toward the now fleeing adventurers who stopped only momentarily to fling weapons or spells into the pursuing mass. Shi, completely enveloped by the ooze, could do nothing but wait to learn if he would be eaten by the creature’s acid or drown before his companions could rescue him.
The cleric of Pharasma did not have to wait long for release from his collagenous prison. For as huge and resilient as the gelatinous cube was, it was too slow to catch any of the other adventurers and finally burst showering the walls of the passage with its acidic fluid and dropping Shi and the iron strongbox to the floor. As Roch and Patterson tended to the heavily wounded priest, Janus examined the cube’s treasure by trying to flip the lid of the box open with his silver sword. At once, the sword became trapped as the strongbox suddenly extended a pair of pseudopods, which struck the aasimar. Another mimic!
The shapechanger continued to pummel and grasp at Janus and anyone else nearby, but the creature had nowhere near the strength or size of the mimic they’d fought the day before. Using most of what little magic they had remaining, the party defeated the creature in moments and discovered a pair of closed doors beyond where they had discovered the gelatinous cube. However, having already expended most of their resources and firepower against the cube, the party decided against pressing their luck and retreated toward the safety of the infirmary.
Chumlee was a strange one, but... refreshing... We did everything we could for him. I for one shall mourn his passing.
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How much player turnover is there?
Very little and, as far as I know, nobody has left the game out of frustration over the difficulty of either the adventure or my skills as a DM. Of the five players we've lost, two moved to Utah, one has family, college and a job to juggle, another is a busy author who still tries to show up once in awhile and the other, in addition to his job and personal life, left because he just got tired of dungeon crawling.
I haven't made the dungeon any harder than it is written and I'm always open to criticism or advice from the players. Some of them post here so they can comment if I've horribly misinterpreted their thoughts on this but, I think most would agree the high death toll is largely due to the dice, the occasional plan gone awry and the few times the party has gone into territory they weren't entirely prepared for.
The dungeon is laid out so each region is recommended for a party of 4-6 PCs of levels X through Z, and I let the players know this going into it. If they wander into a new region, I'll drop a clue, a blatant giveaway or a roadblock in their path alerting them they may have walked into a region not suited to their XP level.
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Terrible news from the dungeon this week! Worse than a TPK even. The screen on my digital camera cracked so I almost couldn't take any photos for the journal. I know. What would this story be without my hack photo skills, awful puns and often obscure pop culture references? Luckily, I have access to a swell professional camera so I was able to save the day for lovers of bad comedy everwhere. Yay me!
So for a D&D game (I know we're using Pathfinder rules here, but work with me,) up to this point, the party has seen plenty of dungeon and no dragon. Well, that all changes today as the adventurers encounter their first ever, living, breathing (acid breathing in fact) black dragon...
DAYS 115-116 THE DRAGON NARDARIK
featuring: The World's Largest Adventuring Party
"Rags" - Nezumi (cursed human) Cleric of Sarenrae
Roch - Dwarf Universalist Wizard/Cleric of Nethys
Janus - Aasimar Fighter/Barbarian/Swashbuckler
Patterson - Human Wizard/Warmage
Chumlee - Human Transmuter
Cul'tharic - NPC Lizardfolk Fighter/Scaled Horror
Shi - Human Cleric of Pharasma
Shi had just regained muscular control when Janus announced the presence of a large, black-scaled and winged reptile with what appeared to be acid dripping from its jaws sitting quietly at the center of the intersection outside the door. The aasimar warrior quickly closed the door and turned to his companions.
“I’m pretty sure it saw me,” Janus gasped. “And, I think it was smiling.”
Panic struck the party as they fell to arguing over the best course of action. Rags, Shi and Roch passed potions to Janus and Cul’tharic and began to cast what few defensive spells they had remaining when there came a sudden tapping at the door. Knowing that grinning, evil death was likely waiting beyond the threshold, the adventurers struggled to decide what cliché comedic response they should shout through the heavy iron door before Janus finally cracked the portal and simply asked, “What do you want,” thereby ending the threat of terrible, easy jokes and even worse Family Guy impressions.
“You’ve killed my playmates,” growled the dragon sounding bored and a little bit hurt. “The mimics and I were in the middle of a game of hide and seek, and you’ve ruined it so now I’m going to have to finish the game with you and your friends.”
“What happens if we win?” asked Janus.
“If you win,” chortled the dragon, “you’ll live and we can have ourselves a little talk. When you lose, and you will lose, I guess I might need to find some new playmates. Why don’t you take a few minutes to decide who among you is going to hide first?”
Janus closed the door and once again turned to his comrades.
“What do we do?” asked the warrior. “It wants us to play a game with it, and I don’t think we’ll like the penalty for losing.”
“I think we should fight it,” answered Rags. “What chance does any one of us have to hide from that thing?”
Patterson and Roch seemed to agree with the priest of Sarenrae, but Shi was still weighing the options when Cul’tharic spoke.
“Let it be me,” hissed the lizardman in the tongue of reptilians. “I will play the dragon’s game, and you can escape while it hunts me.” The lizardman had spent many years honing his hunting skills in the swamps of his homeland and, with Traxxus gone, Cul’tharic knew he was the logical choice. In the past, his tribe had been saved many times through the sacrifice of a few brave warriors and, like it or not, these adventurers were presently the closest thing to a tribe he had.
“No,” intoned Rags. “You have hatchlings and a mate to return to when we escape this place. We all go together. Janus, get ready to open the door.”
The adventurers prepared themselves for battle. Prayers were chanted, words of arcane power were recited and potions were swallowed as weapons were drawn and a marching order established. The hallway was large enough for only two warriors to fight side by side so Janus and Cul’tharic were placed at the lead while Rags and the rest of the spellcasters took up positions in the rear. Ready or not, Janus threw open the door. However, the dragon wasn’t there.
The hallway beyond the door was quiet and empty. The black-scaled monster had apparently gone to wait for the game to begin or else waited in ambush fully expecting the adventurers would choose to fight. Realizing two of the passages before the party would lead to dead ends, the adventurers chose to take the path that offered the only escape from the dragon’s territory. Naturally, this is where the dragon waited.
A geyser of acid suddenly struck Janus, Patterson, Rags and Roch as the monster appeared blocking the exit from the intersection of tunnels. Bolstered by the protective magic of Shi, Janus charged forward forced to wield the cursed silver blade, which leaped into his hand at the onset of battle. The warrior’s attacks did little damage to the beast, and the aasimar was struck down a moment later by a flurry of teeth and claws.
“This is the worst game of hide and seek ever,” pouted the dragon. “Are you all sure you know the rules?”
“We aren’t here to play games, monster” snarled Rags as Patterson cast a spell at Cul’tharic who now stood face to face with the beast.
The lizardman suddenly doubled in size and delivered a vicious blow to the dragon’s shoulder with his trident. Meanwhile, Rags called down a holy storm to singe the beast’s scales while Roch and Shi let loose with beams of searing light and missiles of force, half of which dissipated harmlessly against the dragon’s scales.
Another gout of acid burst from the dragon’s mouth washing over Cul’tharic, Shi, Rags and Patterson, but the creature’s claws, teeth and wings seemed nearly useless against the lizardman warrior whose own thick scales had been hardened by a potion crafted by the lizardfolk druid, Slissth. The young, overconfident dragon suddenly realized he’d made a mistake in toying with these brave adventurers and its cunning brain hatched a new strategy.
“You lot are better playmates than I’d led myself to believe,” conceded the dragon. “No doubt the giants sent you here to destroy me so I will yield if you would give me the opportunity to explain my side of this feud.”
A part of Rags’ rattish brain thirsted for the creature’s blood, but the priest knew he could not deny a wounded creature’s offer of peace without the possibility of consequences. Still, the lure of greed and a dragon’s hoard were too much for Rags to overcome.
“We’ll let you live if you give up your entire hoard,” demanded the rat.
The dragon frowned, acid dripping from its down-turned maw.
“It’s always about the treasure with you people,” groaned the dragon. “Let’s not get into that, shall we? My blood would never allow it,”
“We could kill you now if you prefer,” replied the priest not entirely sure himself if he was bluffing.
“Let’s hear the creature out,” came the voice of Shi, surprisingly.
Roch and Patterson agreed causing Rags to realize he was kind of being a douche.
“My name is Nardarik,” offered the dragon. “I am the last of my brood, and that witch, Arnuk, and her inbred sons would see me dead if they knew it.”
Nardarik explained that the giants, led by the giantess Arnuk, had followed his mother into the dungeon hoping to murder her for her hoard. Most of the Arnuk’s clan was wiped out but the giantess and her remaining sons managed to kill Nardarik’s two younger siblings and mortally wound his mother before fleeing, unaware of their deed. The dragon believed fear of his mother was the only thing keeping the giants at bay and Arnuk would no doubt attack the adventurers as soon as they returned with news of the dragon’s demise. All Nardarik wanted, he claimed, was to avenge his family before moving on to find a larger home before he outgrew his current lair.
The adventurers, perhaps a little moved by the dragon’s tale of heartache and loss, agreed to help Nardarik take vengeance on the giants and hatched a plot to destroy the brutes.
It was about this time that Chumlee the Seventh, the only surviving clone of Chumlee the First, happened to return to find the remains of his identical twin. The earth elemental at Chumlee the Third’s side explained that the wizard had died fighting alongside a party of adventurers and offered to lead the transmuter to them. Chumlee took a moment to remember his fallen companion and then, taking up the dead wizard’s belongings, made off to find the adventurers.
The adventurers were surprised to find what appeared to be a resurrected Chumlee entering their camp with the small elemental. Rags gave thanks to his goddess but was promptly silenced as the wizard told him to save it and explained he wasn’t the same Chumlee they’d seen die the day before. And, just like that, the party accepted the new Chumlee into their group and settled down to rest before their battle with the hill giants the next day.
***
Rags and Janus told Arnuk of their victory over the dragon Nardarik as the giantess prepared her family’s lunch, a stew prepared from what appeared to be the remains of a horribly mutilated dwarf. Thoughts of Pallas suddenly flashed through the minds of most of the party, but none could identify the corpse in its current state.
“You say the critter’s dead, but where’s the proof?” inquired the giantess. “How do I know you even seen it?”
“We can prove it,” answered Rags. “We can bring you the beast’s head if you like.”
At this point, Cul’tharic volunteered to “return to the creature’s lair to retrieve its head,” and left the room. As the giants waited for the lizardman to return, Arnuk offered to serve the revolting stew of dwarf to the party while they waited and, for some reason, Janus agreed to sample the giant’s broth.
Arnuk came around the table and held a large ladle out to the aasimar who took it and scooped some of the putrid mess from the steaming pot. Then, as Janus drank from the ladle, the giantess quickly turned the pot and slammed it over the warrior’s head breaking his nose and coating him in the foul, boiling soup.
“Get ‘em boys!” shouted Arnuk. “We’ll kill that lizard feller when he comes back and then the treasure’s ours!”
Chumlee, who was quick to notice Arnuk’s surprise attack, immediately cast a spell of invisibility while the other adventurers rose to defend themselves. Janus, dripping in scalding gore, slashed at the nearest of the giant’s sons, Vernir, while Rags, Shi, Roch and Patterson attacked with their magic. Patterson’s first attack against the other son, Mourgir, missed and the wizard was almost flattened as the brute’s club crashed into him. Invisibly, Chumlee sought refuge in a corner of the room and attempted to cast an illusion of fatal fear at Arnuk who shrugged off the spell and quickly chanted a prayer to her ancestors.
“Make your momma proud, son!” cheered the giantess as she pointed a crooked finger at her son Vernir who suddenly grew to a height of twenty feet. The simple-minded monster laughed heartily and swung his massive club at Janus who nearly crumbled against the blow. Arnuk then cornered Shi and smashed the priest to the ground with a wicked morning star as Vernir continued to pound Janus and Rags and Roch and the invisible Chumlee unleashed devastating bolts of lightning and force from the corners of the room. Patterson, who had fallen back from the powerful, wild swings of Mourgir breathed a sigh of relief as Cul’tharic returned to draw the giant’s attention.
A stream of acid suddenly sprayed into the room burning the scarred, behemoth Vernir, and Nardarik charged into the room catching Arnuk’s head in his vice-like jaws. Under a constant barrage of spells from Chumlee, Roch and Patterson and the deadly attacks of Janus and Cul’tharic, Mourgir and Vernir finally fell. Arnuk, in a futile final attempt at rage-filled defiance and with her brains slowly leaking from her face, cast a spell of silence upon a nearby boulder and heaved it at Roch’s head.
“My beautiful boys! You murdered my boys! Damn your eyes!” silently screamed the giant from within the soundless sphere before flinging the heavy stone, but the dwarf’s giant-fighting instincts took over and the spellcaster dodged the eerily quiet missile. Within seconds, the giant matron was surrounded and beaten, stabbed and hacked to death by the adventurers as Nardarik grinned with spiteful glee.
“Our business is concluded,” growled the dragon. “For your part, you may take whatever the giant’s possessed as a reward. I will take their bodies and return to my lair where I trust I will be left in peace.”
“An army of goblins will likely follow us into this region,” warned Rags. “You might do well to work with their king.”
“And you might do well to leave a dragon to handle its own affairs from now on,” countered Nardarik. “The key you all seek lies to the south of the giants’ lair. Take it and go.”
I like totally owned those giants and they never saw it comin.
My path, LockWalt, Hurk, GeoFerr, Jayder, Rayder, Grimmdar, Roch.
Chum'lee the reason they did not see it coming is because you were hiding in plain sight. They were blinded by that lightning bolt and oh ya, you were invisible. Next time could you turn our new rouge invisible?
Roch
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It's been a busy time of year for all of us involved in the campaign, and we're taking a brief hiatus so players can take care of their OOC obligations. I, for one, have been up to the tip of my horn in work for the last couple of weeks so it took longer than usual to get our last session written up. I also forgot to bring a camera home from the office so no pictures this time. I'll try to post some when I write up the epilogue for Region C. Did I just spoil that?
The World's Largest Adventuring Party completed another region this session and moved onto their fifth, but we'll get to that later. For now, enjoy the party's final jaunt into Region C with...
DAY 117 THE HUNDRED AND TWENTY ONE KEYS
featuring: The World's Largest Adventuring Party
"Rags" - Nezumi (cursed human) Cleric of Sarenrae
Roch - Dwarf Universalist Wizard/Cleric of Nethys
Janus - Aasimar Fighter/Barbarian/Swashbuckler
Patterson - Human Wizard/Warmage
Chumlee - Human Transmuter
Cul'tharic - NPC Lizardfolk Fighter/Scaled Horror
Shi - Human Cleric of Pharasma
The scent of the still warm dwarf stew mixed with the smell of burned giant flesh as the adventurers watched the black dragon Nardarik slink off to his lair. With Arnuk and her sons out of the way and Nardarik gone, the party was free to loot the giants’ lair locating a small pile of stashed coins and gems as well as the giantess’ own enchanted cloak and morning star. After dividing the small hoard into their sacks, the party rested in preparation for their trip into the southern tunnels where, according to Nardarik, the object of their quest awaited them.
The next day, the party came to a narrow hall where three locked doors barred their progress. With Traxxus gone, the party turned to their new wizard, Chum’lee to open the doors with his mystical might. The portly wizard trundled up to the door, loudly commanded the first of the doors to open and harrumphed as the portal refused to grant him access.
“Harrumph,” said the wizard. “Perhaps I was not loud enough?”
Chum’lee took three deep breaths and once again loudly intoned the words of power to unlock the door. The door held.
“So that’s the way it’s going to be, eh?” snarled the wizard. “Well, there’s more than one spell for opening a stuck portal.”
And with that, the party turned to Patterson who once again used his magic to enlarge the lizard man Cul’tharic who, wielding Arnuk’s now huge morning star, proceeded to batter all three doors to kibble.
The first two doors led into a single room where a silver key rested atop a small altar. Rags approached the key but, as he neared the altar, the key lost its luster and became pitted and rusty. The rat priest had a sudden feeling this was not the key he was looking for and informed his companions. Meanwhile, further down the hall, Cul’tharic was bashing down the third door to find a room where twenty keys of various style and shape hung from wires connected to the ceiling. Beyond the room of twenty keys waited another room where twenty more keys hung from the ceiling and beyond that room, another. A secret panel in the room of the silver key was discovered to lead into the same series of small rooms from the opposite end and, in total, 120 keys were found dangling from thin wires in each of six rooms.
The adventurers were faced with a real puzzle. They had come to this region in search of a key that would open the griffin-mouthed door in Region B and give them access to Region F, but now they were confronted with 121 keys of various shapes, sizes and construction. Each of the keys radiated strong magic and there was a strong feeling amongst Rags, Janus and Roch that none of these keys were the one they were searching for. With no clues to work from, Rags reached up and plucked a key from its wire. The thing was freezing and caused the priest to yelp as ice crystals formed upon his hand. Rags, instinctively dropped the key to the floor and watched it shatter into a hundred hundred tiny icy shards. Undeterred, the cleric grabbed down key after key and, soon, Janus, Patterson and Chum’lee joined him in his search.
One key would burst into smoke and ash while another made everyone around its holder vanish from sight. Janus plucked a ruby key from the air and was suddenly filled with dread requiring Cul’tharic and Roch to restrain him lest he flee from the chamber. Chum’lee, who used his magic to detect several keys bearing the same aura was cursed several times as the keys he selected caused him to grow duck’s feet and a rainbow-hued afro. Worse yet, the wizard found he could no longer speak without an intermittent stutter and his legs would no longer convey his massive form in any other way than a short hop. It would be an hour later, while sitting down for lunch, that the hopping, stuttering, duck-footed and rainbow-fro’d mage would learn that no matter what he ate, it all tasted like his least favorite meal of all time: undercooked rat steeped in murky puddle water.
Rags quickly had curses of his own to deal with as well when one of the keys caused him to sneeze so hard all the hair from his body popped off in a cloud of flying fur. The pale-skinned and wrinkly rat suddenly felt ten pounds lighter as his fur fell from the folds of his robes onto the floor. Even his whiskers fell from his nose. Then, upon grasping yet another key, the rat suddenly heard a voice within his head.
“Well done!” said the voice. “You’re such an awesome guy for selecting this key. Only a real hero would have known to pick me!”
“Did anyone else hear that?” Rags asked his companions who wondered at the cleric’s inquiry.
“Only you deserve to hear my voice, master,” came the voice. “You’re the best and, if you don’t mind me saying so, you look fantastic! The whole naked mole-rat thing is really working for you!”
As kind as the voice was, Rags couldn’t seem to get the thing to shut up and, now that the key was in his possession, he couldn’t seem to relinquish it. It just seemed too nice a thing to give up. Afterall, what hero wouldn’t want a personal cheerleader?
The adventurers would pull down a little over a dozen keys before real tragedy would strike. Rags and Chum’lee and Janus could survive their clownish appearances, stutters and fear, but Patterson, unfortunately, would not survive the poison coating the brass key he pulled down. The wizard had already pulled two other keys with little danger and saw that the worst of his comrades’ afflictions could be healed when his body suddenly seized and shook as the thin layer of dragon bile coating the third key worked it’s way into his pores and quickly eroded his flesh. The wizard was dead before his body had even ended its convulsions.
After the death of Patterson, the party’s cavalier attitude toward the keys was drastically diminished. Only Rags, perhaps relying on his goddess to protect him, continued to pull down any of the objects and, even then, he did not press his luck for long. Chum’lee, disgusted by the sight of Patterson’s demise, returned to the first chamber to examine the silver key upon the altar but found it was gone! Somehow, the thing had vanished while the party was exploring the other rooms and the wizard thought to return all the keys back to their original positions. Three or four of the keys had been destroyed but the wizard did what he could to remember from where each key had come. Alas, but the key would not return. Chum’lee returned to adjust the positions of the keys and was suddenly alerted to a previously undiscovered hidden door by his elemental companion.
A stone door, completely indistinguishable from the adjoining walls slid open and quickly closed as the wizard entered the series of key-filled rooms. It was luck that the earth elemetal happened to be waiting for Chum’lee to return near the location of the hidden door at the moment it briefly revealed itself. Without alerting anyone else to his discovery, Chum’lee sent his elemental to enter the first of the key-filled rooms while he waited near the secret panel. His companions would need some time to loot Patterson’s corpse so he should be able to get into the secret room before they noticed and, as the panel opened, the wizard quickly hopped inside.
The panel behind Chum’lee slid closed as quickly as it opened and the wizard was now locked into a small room where three small shelves were carved into the stone across from him. Above the shelves were the words, “CHOOSE FROM THE HEART” written in the tongue of angels and each shelf held a different object. The first shelf held a gold rose, the second a sack overflowing with coins and the third a shimmering sword.
“I have no need of the sword,” thought Chum’lee to himself. “And the money is largely useless in a dungeon where I’ve no place to spend it.”
“I ch-ch-choose the golden ruh-ruh-rose!” announced the wizard as he reached for the flower and removed it from its resting place. As he did, the sack of coins and the sword vanished and a voice like whistling glass filled the room.
“Explain yourself,” came the voice. “Why do you choose this object?”
“The s-s-sword and the m-money are useless to me,” replied the wizard. “The rose at l-l-least has beauty I might enjoy to l-look upon.”
“Then you have chosen poorly,” returned the voice. At that, a bolt of lightning arced across the room striking the rose and shocking the wizard off his webbed feet. The entrance to the room then opened allowing Chum’lee to exit burned and heavily wounded from the blast. A second attempt to enter the chamber revealed the objects would not return for the wizard so he sent his elemental into the chamber with instructions to choose a different object should they reappear.
“If it ap-p-pears, I want you to ch-choose the sword,” Chum’lee told his familiar. “This place is a p-p-prison built by celestials so the sword must be a symb-b-bol of their authority and power. It must be the k-k-k-key.”
Once again, Chumlee waited until none of his companions were near and opened the secret door. His familiar entered the chamber and, within seconds, the wizard felt an empathic pang of fear and pain from his familiar indicating the creature was terribly injured and near death. The sword, it would seem, was not the answer.
Chum’lee finally relented and informed his companions of his discovery. Shi and Janus who were nearest to the door watched as Chum’lee demonstrated how the panel worked and Janus volunteered to enter the chamber despite the wizard’s refusal to tell him the details of the puzzle on the other side. Shi and Chum’lee waited, the wizard expecting the warrior to return a smoking, frizzle-haired mess, when the panel slid open and Janus emerged holding a large silver key.
Within the room, the aasimar warrior was presented with the same three objects Chum’lee had seen, the golden rose, the sack of coins and the shimmering sword. Janus took a moment to consider his choice and reached for the sword.
“Why did you choose this object?” asked the glassy voice.
“I’m a warrior,” replied Janus. “I can use this weapon to defend the lives of my friends and the lives of the oppressed.”
“Congratulations,” came the voice. “By choosing from your heart to use this object for the benefit of others, you have chosen well.” And at that, a bolt of blue lighting struck the shimmering sword transforming it into the silver key.
At last, the party was fairly certain they possessed the key to enter Region F and they returned to Four Waters and The Goblin Empire to prepare for their next journey.
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So the party has completed one more region of the dungeon and set their sights on Region F. However, before we continue their story, it's time for another rundown of lessons learned and lives ruined by the actions of our favorite band of imprisoned upstarts.
REGION C EPILOGUE
The goblins of The Stoneshaper Empire quickly settled into the former lair of their defeated gnoll enemies in the days following the party’s adventures within Region C and, while the adventurers had played only a small role in the battle against the gnolls, Wilbert Brechurt, the man called Threepenny, made sure to let everyone know of their great victory over the gnoll jailers and the horrible rust monster (the tale of the dwarf’s disintegrating armor was especially popular among the goblins.)
The atheist athach Nurganar whose avarice and cruelty had been tempered somewhat by the cheerful demeanor of the lantern archon Coleman, became a problem for the blink dogs, which had taken up residence in his section of the dungeon when he began to hunt the creatures for their meat. In the past, the athach had been content to feast on any gnolls that wandered too close to his lair but, with the hyena-men gone, there was little else living in the area to fill the creature’s belly. At least until the goblins arrived…
Rumors of a dragon to the east of the goblin territory spread quickly after the party’s return from the region and was a cause of great concern to both the Goblin King Argliss and the governing council of Four Waters. Tales of a secret door leading to the creature’s lair that could only be opened by the righteous did little to assuage the public’s fears but the presence of the nearby Celestial Garrison helped to keep the worry from developing into a panic.
The extra-planar members of the Celestial Garrison ultimately decided to limit their contact with their mortal neighbors, allowing the Redeemers (formerly the conscripted warriors known as The Redeemed) to serve as their proxies and mediators. The giant Arnuk and her sons did not eat the dwarf Pallas as some had suspected. In fact, the fighter had made his way safely back to the Celestial Garrison where the ghost priest Iridinhael agreed to help the blood hungry dwarf find some grace. Given the dwarf’s naturally long lifespan and his own virtual immortality, Iridinhael figured the pair should have enough time to transform Pallas from a greedy, self-serving knob who feigned respect for authority for personal gain into a slightly less greedy, more-or-less compassionate knob who did the right thing because it was the right thing to do and not merely out of a desire for profit or survival.
Finally, after roughly 17 days, the adventuring party managed to recover the silver key, which would give them access to Region F. According to the Celestial Garrison, Region F was designed as a massive labyrinth filled with traps and magical portals called “warp gates.” The warp gates were meant to confuse demons trapped inside the region by randomly transporting the creatures to various points throughout the maze. The keys to safely operate the gates had been lost during the dungeon-wide breakout and few creatures were ever seen exiting the area since the last earthquake so the Garrison determined the region’s defenses were still intact and quite capable of holding off any invading enemies.
For this section of the dungeon, I’m going to cover a couple of new player benefits.
For completing Region C, the players have gained access to a new pair of benefits. The first of these was provided in the text of the adventure itself, and a few of the players have already been using it for a few sessions.
The Mark of the Righteous - The Mark of the Righteous is a temporary sigil, which can be placed around the right eye of any good aligned character by the lantern archon Coleman. In addition to alerting the character to a few specific hidden passages and serving as the key to those portals, the mark grants a +2 bonus to all saving throws. A marked creature, which performs an evil act loses all benefits of the sigil but, otherwise, the mark only loses its power after it fades away in roughly a month’s time.
Does this benefit give good characters an unfair advantage over neutral and evil characters or encourage metagaming? Maybe, but I already pointed out that this whole dungeon favors good characters so I’m not changing it.
Speaking of Coleman, in the book, his name is Zrino and he’s one of only a few lantern archons in the dungeon. One of the only things I’ve changed about the adventure is the inclusion of a single immortal lantern archon for each section of the dungeon. These custodian archons are basically an in-game tool for the players to ask me questions about the dungeon and the creatures they might encounter. Astute readers may have noticed each of the archon’s names begins with the same letter as their region but I’ve also given each one a name that references light in some way.
The other benefit I’m adding to the game is the addition of a new player character race:
From here on, one player will have the option to make their new character a hobgoblin member of the Stoneshaper Goblin tribe. With the gnolls out of the picture, Argliss’ loyal hobgoblins have few enemies for which to prepare. The Redeemers of the Celestial Garrison have attracted a small number of the warriors, but occasionally one may opt to join the adventuring party in hopes of finding new tests of their martial might.
Region C might be the least cohesive and monster-light section of the dungeon the party has explored. The region’s narrative relies heavily on Region B because the gnoll tribe’s history and the key are tied directly into the goblin empire and the griffon-head door from that section. A DM could just re-purpose the key and remove any mention of the goblins from the gnoll tribe’s story if they wanted to run this section alone, but then they’re still left with three quarters of a dungeon that have nothing to do with either the key or the goblins. The giants and the dragon have their own separate story going on and there are a lot of monsters like the athach and the black pudding that are just sort of there to fill up space. And speaking of filling up space…
Aside from the gnolls and a few other creatures, every other monster in this section is large or huge. However, most of the tunnels connecting the rooms are only five feet wide meaning these big monsters are pretty much confined to quarters unless they want to risk severe disadvantages while out hunting for food or going about their daily lives. A GM could simply make all the tunnels wider but, if you make everything bigger, you need more space on your gaming mat or whatever you’re using for your miniature battles. My solution was to give certain monsters like the giants and the athach the Tunnel Runner ability of the APG cave druid. Given the amount of time these creatures have spent in the dungeon, I felt it was perfectly logical that they’d develop the ability to move through the tunnels at their normal rate at the cost of one of their feats or with a slight adjustment to their XP value.
Overall, I think Region C could serve as a good “Keep on the Borderlands” style series of mini adventures. For someone running WLD as one adventure, it’s a good place for players to stop to grind for XP before they move onto more involved regions of the dungeon. Obviously, a few more things for DMs to keep in mind with this region are the large rust monster, two mimics and the three or four oozes creeping around the dungeon. These things can wreck equipment or just steal it from your players so expect some frustration (there’s also a cockatrice, but those things are hardly worth mentioning since their petrification attack got nerfed with Pathfinder.)
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Okay, so I got a little behind on the journal. I'm a busy magical beast and I contracted some sort of demonic ailment my unicorn powers couldn't cure. Anyway, I'm better now and I've got a really long entry for the journal along with a new photo.
The party takes their first steps into Region F and encounters a new tribe in this week's adventure...
DAYS 118-122 THE BROKEN AXE
featuring: The World's Largest Adventuring Party
"Rags" - Nezumi (cursed human) Cleric of Sarenrae
Roch - Dwarf Mystic Theurge
Janus - Aasimar Fighter/Barbarian/Swashbuckler
Reg - Human Rogue
Chum'lee - Human Transmuter
Cul'tharic - NPC Lizardfolk Fighter/Scaled Horror
Shi - Human Cleric of Pharasma
The adventurers had returned with their prize, the silver key, and informed both the goblins and the residents of the prisoner commune of the dragon lurking to the east. The now-hairless rat priest, Rags, hoped the two communities and the monster might come to an understanding and learn to live in peace, but others believed the cleric was clearly deluded. Chum’lee, the party’s newest member, was the most vocal of Rags’ critics and seemed to make it his mission to stutter out the naivety of the priest’s beliefs at every turn, a habit that threatened to eventually set the two at odds. For now, the pair, along with their companions had information to gather and business to attend to with their allies among the goblins, the Celestial Garrison and the Four Waters commune.
The goblin wizard Fargallan offered the party his typical lukewarm reception when they approached his new home within the goblin empire. The mage hadn’t forgotten their treatment of his pet spider or trespass within his laboratory but, being a natural businessgoblin, saw no profit in allowing their actions to completely spoil their relationship. Since moving to the empire, the adventurers had provided him with several difficult to procure components and spellbooks collected from deceased party members. Now, the adventurers came to Fargallan to inform him of the dragon Nardarik and to negotiate a deal whereby they might procure enchanted items from the wizard. Fargallan, was still forbidden by the goblin king to make public use of his magic, but there was nothing stopping him from using his skills in private and so the goblin mage considered the adventurers’ offers and told them he would devote a portion of his incredibly busy schedule to meeting their needs. Back at Four Waters, the party took some time to rest and meet with a potential new recruit.
The rogue Reg had been in the dungeon for only a week when the members of his scavenging team were killed by a group of shadows that had gotten into the commune. Since then, the man had spent most of him time hiding from his responsibilities and filling a chair at Famous Macready’s pub. Nearly out of credits with the community store and sick of being scared, the rogue jumped at the opportunity to join one of the independent adventuring groups he’d heard so much about so a halfling rogue and frequent customer of the prostitute Molly Stuart introduced him to Rags and his companions after Talita Draghinazzo’s team turned him down. With a new trapspring..er..uh..finder to fill the party’s void, the adventurers headed north to the Celestial Garrison.
Sanjid, the hound archon cleric of the garrison, consulted with the ghost priest Iridinhael about the curses bestowed upon Chum’lee and Rags and came to the same conclusion. Only divine action could remove the key-inflicted curses both suffered and neither of them had the power to call upon such favors. Stuck with their afflictions, the group had no choice but to move on to Region F.
A huge iron door stood before the party, the graven image of a griffin’s head revealing a keyhole within the creature’s open beak. The last time the party was here, they quickly learned to leave the door alone after the griffin emitted a head-splitting shriek that nearly killed everyone close to the door. Through the lantern archon, Coleman, they’d learned how to access to the region beyond and Janus cautiously inserted and twisted the key within the griffin’s mouth.
The silence of the dungeon was all the party needed to know they’d selected the correct key and, relieved, they entered into a large, uncomfortably cold chamber.
Three doors awaited the party within the large chamber. One in the south wall of the room only led into what appeared to be a dust-filled but otherwise empty room. The two doors in the north, each unlocked but bearing a small keyhole, appeared to lead into the labyrinth of Region F. With nowhere else to turn, the party entered the first of the two doors. Janus led and, as he entered the portal, Reg suddenly halted and called for his companions to stop. Janus was gone and did not respond when called. The image of a hallway beyond the door rippled like a disturbed pond and went black. The party had found its first warp gate.
The celestials had warned the party of the warp gates of Region F. The gates were built to confuse prisoners and bent local space to transport creatures to random points throughout the region. Special keys were required to pass safely through the portals but all were lost during the earthquake that broke the dungeon. There was no telling where Janus had gone, but the party refused to turn back. One by one they stepped through the portal unsure of what to expect on the other side.
***
The lizardfolk warrior Cul’tharic’s ears rang as he stepped from the portal into a completely dark room. He was deafened and quickly searched for a source of light when his scaly hand caught upon something short and hairy, which wriggled at his touch. The lizardman quickly reached for his trident but was relieved to see the dwarf Roch suddenly appear as the mystic magically lit a brooch upon his cloak. Otherwise, the pair was alone aside from the corpse of an elf lying at their feet. Roch, it seemed, was also deafened by the portal and motioned to Cul’tharic to search the corpse. There were no wounds on the body and the elf didn’t appear to have starved to death. Aside from the portal, there was no apparent exit from the room and neither of the adventurers could find any hidden doors. Their only choice seemed to be to brave the portal once more and hope to find their friends.
***
Reg appeared in a small dark room dazed and unable to act until he recovered. Luckily, it didn’t seem any dangerous creatures waited for him on the other side of the portal and the rogue safely came to his senses. Unable to see, the man searched the walls of the room for an exit until he found what appeared to be a ring hanging from a door. Reg, pulled the door open and immediately reconsidered his actions.
A quartet of large, armored men with the heads of bulls rushed the door with axes as they caught sight of the rogue. Terrified and unwilling to test the portal another time, Reg threw down his sword as one of the minotaurs threatened him and pointed to the floor. The creatures immediately knocked Reg to the floor and stripped him of his gear before calling for more of their kind to transport the rogue to a small cell in a dank chamber of the dungeon. Unable to speak their language and too heavily outnumbered to put up any sort of resistance, Reg was locked into the cell to await what he could only assume was either a lifetime of slavery or scant hours until the minotaurs’ next meal.
***
Somehow, Rags, Chum’lee and Shi wound up appearing, dazed but otherwise fine, next to each other in a well-lit intersection of hallways before a door similar to the portal that had sent them. A group of minotaurs guarding the intersection quickly drew their weapons and waited for orders from their captain, an old minotaur warrior with a dead eye no doubt wounded in some great battle. The warrior held his longspear at striking distance from the trio and growled.
“I am Brumni called The Blind. You are trespassing within the territory of the Broken Axe! Explain yourselves!”
Chum’lee, recognizing the minotaur spoke Giant, quickly explained how they’d arrived and why they had come to the region as Cul’tharic suddenly appeared from the portal behind the wizard.
“Your arrival is not a complete surprise to us,” snorted the minotaur. “You will conduct yourselves peaceably and I will escort you to our chieftain.”
***
Janus fell into a coma so there’s not much point in writing about him.
***
Reg was searching his cell for something he might use to pick the lock and escape when he suddenly heard a small voice calling from the cell next to his.
“Freeeesh fish!” came the voice of a halfling who popped up from under some blankets in the corner of the cell. “That’s what they say, right? This is my first time in jail. So what are you in for? I think they think I’m a burglar, but I’m not sure why. I’ve never burgled anything. Oh yeah, I’m Riswan. Nice to meet you.”
Reg stared incredulously at the heavily scarred, yet talkative, halfling before explaining his situation.
“How long have you been here?” asked the rogue. “Do any of them speak our language?”
“I think I’ve been here a couple months, but I could be wrong. I’ve kind of lost track of the time. I used to keep track of time by counting my meals, but then they stopped feeding me,” replied Riswan. “There’s one who’s come to interrogate me a few times who understands me. A female I think. She’s nice, nothing at all like the other one who comes by to torture me. Some kind of priestess I think. She used to beat me with a chain and put hooks through my toes, but lately she’s been squeezing me into a rabbit cage and eating in front of me.”
Reg eventually learned that Riswan was being held under suspicion of working with a man the minotaurs called Darvil the Thief. Up to now, the halfling had refused to claim knowledge of the man because, as he put it, to do so would be a lie and his parents raised him better than that. Unable to escape, his one hope was that this Darvil the Thief fellow would be captured and kind enough to reveal the truth to the minotaurs.
***
Brumni the Blind led Rags, Chum’lee, Shi and Cul’tharic into the throne room of Markuli, chieftain of the Broken Axe Tribe warning them to be on their best behavior.
“Mind your manners,” growled the minotaur. “The Chief won’t suffer fools.”
Markuli sat upon his throne behind four massive minotaur warriors in golden breastplates, each wielding a large axe. The chieftain looked to be as old as Brumni with deep scars across his neck, chest and shoulders and a missing arm but none of this seemed to diminish the minotaur’s presence.
“I had word from our priestess we might expect company,” spoke the old chief. “But she couldn’t say if I should let you speak your piece or have you strangled with your own tongues so I’m going to let you decide.”
Chum’lee, being the only adventurer present who could understand Markuli’s words, translated for his companions and replied to the chief telling the minotaur of their quest to escape the dungeon and of the communities of prisoners and goblins to the south. Markuli considered the wizard’s words and seemed to take particular interest in the news of the dragon Nardarik.
“A dragon? And the rat-thing there wants to be its friend?” chuckled Markuli. “I’ll have my advisor show your friends around while you tell me more about this dragon.”
And with that, a young female minotaur in studded leather armor decorated with the symbol of an axe broken into three pieces stepped forward to greet the party.
“I am Vornmik, advisor to Chief Markuli and bard of the Broken Axe Tribe,” spoke the minotaur in remarkably clear Common. “Please follow me. Your friend will be safe.”
***
Roch, after a close escape from an eight-headed cryohydra, had managed to get himself captured by a group of minotaurs who were cleaning a recently attacked guard post. The minotaurs carried the dwarf toward what appeared to be another warp gate and produced a small crystal key, fitting it into the portal’s keyhole. Suddenly, the void of the portal shifted to show what appeared to be a well-lit hall with minotaur guards waiting on the other side. The minotaurs, with Roch in tow, stepped safely through the portal and was about to deposit the dwarf in the prison alongside Reg when they came across Vornmik and the spellcaster’s companions who quickly informed the bard that Roch was an ally. Before long, the group was also reunited with Reg and introduced to the hapless halfling Riswan who remained in captivity despite Rags’ attempts to convince the minotaurs of his innocence. While Vornmik was willing to entertain the idea that the halfling was telling the truth, the minotaur priestess Ramvik, a devout follower of Zon Kuthon, contended that Riswan could possibly be too strong-willed for the priest’s magic to reliably work.
“Thanks for trying,” spoke the halfling. “But, if you want to help, you’ll need to find Darvil, bring him back here and make him confess.”
After introducing the adventurers to several of the tribe’s most influential minotaurs, Vornmik led the group to the room that would serve as their temporary quarters and informed them of the tribe’s history. Meanwhile, Chum’lee and the minotaur chief Markuli conspired to kill a dragon.
Through Markuli and Vornmik, Chum’lee and his companions learned that the Broken Axe Tribe was once part of another tribe known as the Golden Axe. The Golden Axe came to this region of the dungeon a little over a decade ago and dominated or destroyed the creatures living in the labyrinth. They were set to press into the surrounding regions of the dungeon when Markuli’s brother Grauki led a revolt in an attempt to gain control of the tribe. Grauki disagreed with the elder Markuli’s decision to handle the expansion of the tribe’s borders through diplomacy citing that their father had won the labyrinth with blood. At last, the brothers fought a final duel to determine the rule of the tribe, which resulted in the maiming of Markuli and the destruction of the tribe’s symbol, a powerful enchanted greataxe. Despite his terrible wounds, Markuli defeated Grauki who was exiled along with his surviving warriors.
Grauki and those loyal to him moved to the eastern tunnels of the region and formed a new tribe, the Red Horn, so named because of their ritual of painting their horns with the blood of their enemies. Despite the revolt, an uneasy peace had been made between the two brothers and their tribes but Markuli believed Grauki was only waiting for an opening to strike.
To the minotaurs of both tribes, few things were as precious as gold and, hearing of the dragon’s hoard to the south, Markuli saw an opportunity to increase the wealth of his people. However, he couldn’t afford to send warriors to fight the dragon lest his borders be weakened. Furthermore, a pride of manticores, old enemies of the Golden Axe, still ruled the southeastern tunnels and caused trouble for both tribes. Part of the peace agreement called for both tribes to share the responsibility of protecting against the monsters and it was certain Grauki would notice if fewer Broken Axe warriors were standing watch or working in the rotation. For Markuli to gain the breathing room he needed to hunt Nardarik, the manticores would have to be wiped out.
Chum’lee returned to his companions to tell them of Markuli’s offer of wealth in exchange for the extermination of the manticore pride but neglected to mention the minotaur chief’s ultimate goal of killing Nardarik and claiming the dragon’s hoard. Vornmik, for her part, added that killing the manticores would go a long way toward earning the tribe’s respect and increase the chance that the Broken Axe Tribe might trade with Four Waters. The only thing stopping the adventurers from completing the task was the Red Horn tribe whose territory they would have to cross in order to reach the manticore lair.
Vornmik informed the party the Red Horn wouldn’t trust a group of strangers to wander through their territory and told them they would need to negotiate safe passage through the east tunnels. Three days later, the Red Horn Tribe agreed to meet with Vornmik and Markuli sent the bard, along with Rags as a party representative and a small offering of gold, to bargain with the Red Horn captain Hrumi.
Hrumi stood and snorted in derision as the thin, hairless rat-thing stood before him. Vornmik had advised Rags to avoid any displays of weakness and the priest did his best to appear intimidating.
“This is the great warrior who will slay the manticores?” teased Hrumi. “Are his companions fleas? If he intends to kill them with plague, this will take forever.”
“It’s the manticores who will flee…” awkwardly countered the cleric. “…before the, uh, might of our-“
“Mind your tongue, Hrumi,” interrupted Vornmik. “You know what they say about cornered rats. This one and his friends slew the barghests of the west and laid their corpses on our doorstep. I assure you, there is no medicine for the kind of death he and his companions will bring to the manticores.”
“We’ll see,” snorted Hrumi.
Moo Juice ty
I really need to learn more languages waiting for some people to translate what I hope they are saying vs what they are saying is about to drive me nutty
If you think that was bad, you should have heard what I actualy said when I translated for you with the giants.
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So, I'm back in New Orleans for Deepwater Horizon Part 2. That's part of why the journal has taken so long to get posted. The other reason is because this session's entry has turned out to be really freaking long. I'm up to page 8, and I probably still have another four or five pages to go (sessions that are heavy on exposition and small on combat tend to have this effect.) Anyway, in the interest of entertaining my several fans, I've decided to post the first eight pages now and get the rest up later. Enjoy!
DAYS 123-125 RED HORNS AND MANTICORE TALES Pt1
featuring: The World's Largest Adventuring Party
"Rags" - Nezumi (cursed human) Cleric of Sarenrae
Roch - Dwarf Mystic Theurge
Janus - Aasimar Fighter/Barbarian/Swashbuckler
Reg - Human Rogue
Chum'lee - Human Transmuter
Cul'tharic - NPC Lizardfolk Fighter/Scaled Horror
Shi - Human Cleric of Pharasma
Patreus - Elf Alchemist
The adventurers traveled from Red Horn territory through a dark series of passageways. The Red Horn guards at the southern outpost had warned them against exploring any tunnels leading into the west of the region and, for now, they complied with the minotaurs' orders.
The tunnels to the south were quiet but stank of rotting meat and cracked and splintered bones littered the floor. Small splashes of blood, both dried and fresh, left a gory trail toward what must be the manticore lair, and the party moved with caution toward the entrance to a small, cold room, which appeared to have been used recently as a campsite. A small, extinguished campfire rested in the center of the chamber and an oppressive feeling of despair hung about the room. Backing out of the room, Reg was suddenly impaled by several long, sharp spikes flung through a nearby narrow hall. In the shadows of the adventurers' torches, the rogue could just make out the terrible grin of a yellow-eyed beast with the face of a sadist and the body of a bat-winged lion. The manticore’s tail, a bristling dandelion of death, whipped forward releasing a second salvo of spiny skewers.
The rogue was forced to retreat to the rear of the group as the lizardman, Cul'tharic, pressed forward to confront the beast. Rags, Roch and Chum'lee, meanwhile, cast spells from relative safety behind the warrior. The terrifying manticore, twisted and scarred from years trapped in the dungeon, clawed and bit at Cul'tharic whose resin shield and thick scales held strong against the creature's claws and teeth as the lizardman drove his trident into the beast's hide. Within moments, the manticore lay dead, felled by the combined might and magic of Cul'tharic and his companions. Reg, wounded but able, took up his position at the head of the group and led them to a long room where a 20-foot tall parapet-lined wall stood at the center of the chamber below a 40-foot ceiling.
The chamber yawned dauntingly before the party, the smell of manticores pervading their nostrils. The creatures had marked their territory with the gnawed bones of their victims and, curious about the fortification at the center of the hall, Reg, scaled the wall to investigate the parapet. Pressing his back up against a nearby wall, the rogue easily scaled the structure and began to pull himself over the barrier when he noticed a pair of leering, evil faces staring directly into his soul. One of the monsters lunged at the rogue, swiping with its mighty paws, terrible breath escaping from between multiple rows of serrated teeth that barely missed Reg's head. The rogue, struck by the manticore's claws, slipped and fell to the floor below as his companions moved into the room to combat the beasts.
Secure at the top of the wall, the manticores unleashed volley after volley of spikes at the adventurers. As the beasts shrieked their scream-like roars, Cul’tharic drew their fire while Roc and Chum’lee launched missiles of arcane energy and spheres of exploding flame from the narrow entrance of the chamber. Reg, who was terribly wounded from the claws of the manticores and his fall from the parapet, scrambled back into the safety of the hallway to heal himself while Rags conjured a storm of holy rain to burn the monsters’ flesh. As the first of the manticores fell under the barrage of spells, the remaining beast took flight and fled through a wide doorway in the north wall of the chamber.
Cul’tharic and Roch quickly followed the fleeing manticore hoping to silence the creature before it could alert more of its kind to the party’s presence. The dwarf mystic launched three missiles of force into the beast, which collapsed thrashing its tail, but it was too late. A pair of bloodthirsty manticore’s suddenly emerged from the tunnels to the north while two more of the creatures appeared from a tunnel behind the party. The adventurers were surrounded.
Pinned between two pair of the horrible monsters the group split up to focus on both fronts of the battle. Cul’tharic blocked off the north tunnel facing down one pair of the beasts while Chum’lee provided him with magical support and Rags, Shi and Roch turned their attention to the pair attacking from the south. Reg, who hadn’t fully recovered from his fall, fled into a side tunnel to hide.
Rags and Roch blasted the two monsters to the south with spells while Shi, who was closest to the beasts, called upon his goddess to channel destructive energy into his morning star. The weapon smashed into one of the creatures wounding it, but the priest of death was quickly flanked and overwhelmed by the beasts, one of which grasped the cleric’s unconscious body in its claws and flew to the top of the parapet. Meanwhile, Cul’tharic, thanks to Chum’lee’s magic, was able to hold the tunnel to the north. The monsters attacks seemed to pass through the lizard warrior as Cul’tharic drove the tines of his trident deep into the monsters’ flesh. The larger of the two beasts, a ferocious monster with bits of rotted flesh dripping from its jaws and patches of thick, matted fur across its back, howled in anger as it bypassed the wizard’s illusion to deliver a bone-breaking blow to Cul’tharic who hissed in pain but stood his ground. Knowing the reptilian warrior wouldn’t be able to take many more attacks like that, Chum’lee began to frantically fire beams of searing heat at the beasts from over Cul’tharic’s shoulder.
Rags and Roch managed to defeat one of the creatures to the south and move toward the high wall where the second beast laughed maniacally, showering the pair with spikes from its tail. Reg, finally gathering the courage to act, crept out from hiding and flung a dagger up at the beast. The blade bounced harmlessly off the parapet and fell to the ground as the monster continued to ignore the rogue’s presence. In the north tunnel, Cul’tharic managed to bring down the manticore pride leader with an attack that caught the monster’s throat and saw the creature choking in rage on its own blood. The lizard then turned its attacks to the second beast, which fell burning to a blast of flame from the portly, duck-footed wizard. Seeing the wizard and lizardman emerging from the north tunnel, the last of the manticores made a desperate bargain for its life. Grasping Shi’s body in its claws, the monster took flight and hovered high above the floor of the chamber.
“Hrreeel!” screeched the manticore. “Let me leave! I will not drop your friend! Step away!”
“Drop him, and we’ll let you leave,” blurted Roch seemingly without giving much thought to what he was saying.
“Ur? Uhm, that sounds reasonable,” replied the manticore, which was slightly confused by the dwarf’s apparent lack of concern for his companion. However, before the creature could act, Rags attacked the airborne monster causing the creature to freak out and drop Shi. Reg, whose hiding place was near the manticore, quickly dove under the falling cleric just in time for Roch to knock the beast out of the air with barrage of missiles. Winded and bruised from the cleric’s impact, the rogue still managed to fling the unconscious Shi out of the way of the falling monster but suddenly found himself beneath 1,000lbs of bristly, stinking meat and fur.
“Mmphr phfrr,” groaned the broken rogue from under the dead manticore. “Eff iii eem ff ee!”
Despite their morbid surroundings, the party elected to camp in the manticore lair and wait to see if any more of the beasts arrived. In the meantime, Cul’tharic got to work skinning the monsters and Reg set off to scout the tunnels near the manticore lair, tunnels the minotaurs had warned the party against exploring.
***
Janus’ eyes opened to a small, dimly lit room that smelled somewhat like a barn. The light in the room emanated from a magically glowing torch, but it was unlikely the elf meditating in front of the torch was responsible for the smell.
“Where am I?” asked the aasimar. “How long have I been out?”
“In a dungeon, near a minotaur camp, and about three days if I had to guess,” replied the elf. “You came through the warp gate and collapsed on the spot. Your vital signs were good so I did what I could to keep you comfortable and feed you. You're welcome and you owe me three days of rations.”
The elf, Janus learned, was an alchemist named Patreus who’d become separated from his traveling companion, a halfling named Riswan, while exploring the dungeon. Trapped between a group of surly looking minotaurs and the warp gate, which deposited him in the small chamber, the elf decided to wait for an opportunity to slip past the brutish, bull-headed warriors. With Janus’ help, he figured he might have a shot at fighting his way out of the minotaur lair and the two devised an escape plan.
The door out of the small room led to a narrow hallway ending at what appeared to be a concealed door. Beyond that, a trio of minotaurs armed with longspears and flails stood guard within a second small chamber with three exits. Janus and Patreus decided they would start their attack by surprising the minotaurs with a bomb from the alchemist’s satchel and then try to make their way toward an open portcullis in the south wall of the room. Creeping up to the concealed door, the pair was just about to launch their attack when they reconsidered their plan and decided to try diplomacy first. Janus opened the door, sword in hand, and greeted the minotaurs.
“Throw down your weapons!” shouted the lead minotaur, a hulking brute armed with a massive pick. “You are trespassing in Red Horn territory and you will come peacefully or die where you stand!”
“Where do you intend to take us?” asked Janus. “I won’t give up my weapons.”
“You will disarm and we will take you to await judgement by our chieftain or you will die! This is your final warning!” shouted the minotaur.
“Well, then I guess you’re gonna have to try to kill us because we aren’t going anywhere with you,” answered the aasimar as Patreus flung a bubbling vial of acid over his shoulder.
The vial missed its intended target splashing a small amount of acid onto the hooves of the minotaurs who responded with rage. Janus was quickly skewered with longspears and forced to retreat toward the warp gate. Patreus quickly swallowed a frothy vial of liquid, which transformed his body into mist as the minotaurs pressed into the tunnel.
“Assassins! You cannot escape us!” shouted the minotaur captain. “We will find you no matter where you go!” More terrified of the minotaurs than of the warp gate, Janus dove through the portal only to find himself re-emerge into the exact same room. Fortunately, the aasimar was able to retain his senses and had just enough time to dive through again as the first minotaur reached the portal. Patreus, believing he was safe from the minotaurs’ attacks suddenly felt a sharp pain as the lead minotaur’s pick tore through his misty form. The weapon was enchanted!
Slowed down by his gaseous form, Patreus knew he could not outrun the minotaurs and the enchanted pick of the minotaur captain would kill him if he didn’t escape. His only chance was the warp gate so the elf floated past the minotaurs guarding the portal and through the yawning void.
***
Reg moved silently through the westward tunnels north of the manticore lair. The minotaurs hadn’t said why they didn’t want the adventurers exploring the area, but their warnings didn’t seem important enough to Rags or Chum’lee to stop the rogue from going. Figuring the party could always claim ignorance of Reg’s actions if he were caught, Chum’lee practically goaded the rogue into exploring the tunnels alone even as Reg was told the group would not come looking for him if he didn’t return. Whether it was confidence or foolishness that spurred him forward, Reg decided to explore the tunnels anyway.
Not far into the tunnels, Reg spotted the flickering light of candle flames coming from a large room to the north. The room appeared to be an artisan’s workshop filled with several finely made statues of minotaurs posing with greataxes. Two of the statues stood on either side of a door to the west, but Reg was too nervous to explore the room any further and turned back to the west.
Heading back to the west and then south, the rogue came to three doors in the east wall, which were heavily damaged and slightly ajar. All three doors appeared to lead into the same wide room and Reg could hear the sound of minotaurs whispering within. Unable to make out the minotaurs’ words, Reg returned north and came to a closed door heading further west. As the rogue cracked the door to peek inside, he could hear the sound of something large and heavy moving through the room, which caused him to shudder and return east.
By now, the three minotaurs from the wide room to the south were heading north and Reg could hear them approaching. Quickly quaffing a potion, Reg scaled the wall of the hallway and attempted to hide above the minotaurs. Unfortunately, the creatures’ enhanced sense of smell alerted the minotaurs to Reg’s presence and he was spotted by a two of the brutes. Reg leaped from the wall and tried to escape toward a row of old prison cells, but one of the minotaurs charged forward bowling him over. Surrounded by the three minotaurs, the rogue dropped his weapons to the ground hoping the creatures would be merciful. Then, as one of the warriors seemed to keep a steady watch toward the statuary to the north, the other two minotaurs held Reg’s mouth closed as they pummeled him into a coma.
And speaking of comas…
***
…Janus emerged from the warp gate into a wide, cold room, which seemed familiar. Exploring the chamber, the aasimar quickly surmised he was back where the party had started their adventure into the region. Janus used the opportunity to run back to the commune for supplies and information and then leapt back into another warp gate promptly falling into a coma for the second time. A day later, he awoke to the sound of stone being dragged across the floor.
Chum’lee’s earth elemental familiar, Gravel or Little Guy or Geodude or whatever he’s called, slid across the room as Janus came to. The creature had appeared in the small, dark room several days ago when the party first entered the region and, separated from its master, decided to wait until the wizard came for it. Aside from the warp gate, there was no way out of the room so the elemental had nowhere else to go. Knowing he would have to leave the chamber and judging Chum’lee would like his familiar returned, Janus attempted to persuade the creature to leave through the portal. Certain his master would come, the elemental refused to budge and left Janus no choice but to pick the thing up and carry it through the portal. Emerging from the warp gate, Janus was disappointed to find the elemental had been sent to another location and even more disappointed to find three large, angry minotaurs waiting for him when he re-emerged into the room where he’d met Patreus.
***
A little over two days had passed before Cul’tharic finished skinning the corpses of the seven manticores. The skins weren’t perfect, but they were good enough to serve as proof of the party’s victory, and the group returned north toward the Red Horn minotaur lair. Reg hadn’t returned from his scouting mission, and few among the group were willing to make enemies of the Red Horns or stir up trouble between the minotaur tribes by going after him.
The adventurers reached the Red Horn guard post to find four of the warriors waiting for them.
“Halt!” growled the minotaur watch captain. “I was ordered to detain you when you arrived. You will go no further into Red Horn territory until Hrumi arrives to claim you.” The minotaurs were serious, but not immediately threatening. About ten minutes later, the Red Horn security chief, Hrumi arrived to meet the party.
“Chief Grauki demands your presence,” grunted the minotaur. “You will follow me.”
The party was then escorted to a large chamber lit by a great fire. A gaunt, demonic creature with black scales and a single horn protruding from the back of its skull stood in the center of the room staring, unblinking at the adventurers with eyes that sparkled like cold rubies. Closer inspection revealed the creature was quite dead and mounted to a dais, its eyes replaced by precious gemstones. Behind the trophy demon, upon a throne of skulls and stretched hides sat a powerful looking minotaur in robes of crimson, a golden crown upon his brow and a sparkling scepter in his hand.
“I am Grauki, Chieftan of the Red Horns and brother of Markuli,” announced the minotaur with a predatory glint in his eye. The chieftain spoke clear and perfect Common. “I see your hunt was successful, and lucky for you. After we caught your companion snooping around in the west tunnels, I decided I would have you killed if you did not return with at least seven hides. Oh yes, my guards also found this man. They thought he may be an assassin but I chose to spare his life. Do you know him? His life may depend on it.”
At this, Reg and Janus were carried into the room by one of Grauki’s warriors and thrown to the ground at the party’s feet. Their bodies were covered in welts and bruises, their eyes swollen shut. Both stank of sweat and excrement and Rags quickly rushed to their aid declaring he knew them both.
“See to your friends,” said Grauki. “And then tell me, how is my dear brother?”
The party spoke for several minutes with Grauki hoping not to reveal too much about Markuli’s tribe when they let it slip that the Broken Axe chieftain may have heard something about a dragon’s hoard when Chum’lee thoughtlessly brought up the topic.
“He hasn’t changed at all,” Grauki responded. “After all this time, he still thinks he can rule this dungeon with deceit, trading gold for servitude. There is no honor in it. You will rest here within my tribal halls and, when you are refreshed, we will speak more. I may have work for you.”
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It didn't take me quite as long to finish Part 2 of the last session's entry so let's get right back to the story. I've got a photo to go with the manticore fight from the last entry, but I won't be able to post it until I return from New Orleans.
DAY 126 RED HORNS AND MANTICORE TALES Pt2
featuring: The World's Largest Adventuring Party
"Rags" - Nezumi (cursed human) Cleric of Sarenrae
Roch - Dwarf Mystic Theurge
Janus - Aasimar Fighter/Barbarian/Swashbuckler
Reg - Human Rogue
Chum'lee - Human Transmuter
Cul'tharic - NPC Lizardfolk Fighter/Scaled Horror
Shi - Human Cleric of Pharasma
Patreus - Elf Alchemist
“So, what do we do?” inquired Rags to his companions. “Even if Grauki doesn’t believe there’s a dragon nearby, he must know Markuli is up to something.” Hrumi had escorted the party to their quarters, a series of open prison cells, and left them to their business. The cells were uncomfortable but quiet and, except for a brief interruption by a minotaur sent to retrieve the party’s manticore hides, the adventurers were given the privacy they needed to plan their next move.
“I say w-w-we accept his job, whatev-ev-ever it is,” answered Chum’lee. “We do a j-job for the Broken Axe, we d-do a job for the Red Horns, then we g-g-get out of here.”
“That sounds fair,” Roch agreed. “Both sides get something and we leave them on even ground.”
“Except I don’t trust Markuli to leave Nardarik alone once he knows the manticores are gone,” piped Rags. “What do you think, Shi?”
“Wasn’t Grauki’s throne awesome?!” Shi exclaimed. “And did you guys see that demon? I wonder if Grauki would let me pose for a portrait next to it? Oh, were we talking about something else? I wasn’t paying attention.”
“I’m inclined to agree with Chum’lee,” Janus chimed. “But we should find out what he’s paying before we agree to anything.”
“I’ll go along with whatever the party decides,” Reg added. “As long as it doesn’t involve me getting flattened by anymore manticores or tenderized and ‘seasoned’ by anymore minotaurs.”
“Here, here,” agreed Janus. It was Hrumi who caught Janus after he reappeared through the warp gate that brought him into Red Horn territory and the aasimar could still feel the beating he’d received.
“Cul’tharic,” called Rags. “What do your ancestors have to say about this?”
The lizardfolk warrior had remained silent during the party’s meeting with Grauki and it was obvious something was bothering him. Now, Cul’tharic stooped close to the ground and dug into his pouch for the odd collection of bones, feathers and stones he wore close to his heart. Cul’tharic studied the mementos for a moment and then spoke.
“My ancestors and I are in agreement,” announced the reptile. “We should not be involved here. There is something here we do not know. Something hidden. I do not trust these minotaurs. We should help the halfling in the Broken Axe jail. He is honest, and I think he is worthy of our aid.”
“That is something I can get behind,” Rags replied. “Let’s hear Grauki’s offer tomorrow and, when we return to Markuli, we’ll see what we can do for Riswan.”
***
The party found Grauki waiting for them upon his throne of skulls the next day. The boisterous laughs and surly snorts of a dozen minotaur warriors echoed throughout the room, but fell silent as the party approached the Red Horn Chief.
“Good day to you,” greeted the Chieftain. “I trust your accommodations were sufficient. Shall we get down to business?”
“We’re ready to hear your offer,” answered Rags.
“Excellent,” smiled Grauki. “Let me first tell you the tragic history of the Golden Axe and how it, and we, came to be sundered. No doubt my brother has already given you his version of the story.”
“The Golden Axe tribe had become incredibly wealthy during its flight through the dungeon. Twelve years ago, we conquered and slew our way here to the labyrinth, pillaging and robbing every settlement, creature and undead horde we encountered. We’d been here two years when Markuli assumed leadership of the tribe. He told me he was through with the bloodshed and the war. He had a plan…to buy the loyalty of the surrounding tribes and monsters with our valor-won gain. He would send envoys to the goblins and the gnolls to offer gems and the protection of our warriors in exchange for their service. Scouts had reported the Celestial Garrison to the west was in the middle of some kind of civil war and the god-wrought machines might be willing to negotiate a deal. With the proper application of wealth and a few military parades, he would have made slaves of them all. There was no honor in it! I had to stop him!”
“As much as it pains me to admit, Markuli’s plan inspired my treachery. My loyal warriors and I used our own wealth to purchase the assistance of powerful allies within the region and we successfully won our territory and provoked my brother into a final battle to determine the leadership of the tribe. It wouldn’t have been enough to simply challenge him for rule. I needed to prove I could lead and my actions had the attention of the entire tribe.”
“Markuli and I clashed for days. Several times I had the upper hand and eventually I maimed my brother. Thinking the battle over, I foolishly gloated and roared in triumph! I still don’t know how he managed to swing the Golden Axe with his remaining arm, let alone get to his feet, but I suddenly found myself hammered by a series of thunderous blows that buckled my knees and sent pain racing through my arms like chariots of lightning as I frantically attempted to defend myself. It was glorious! My brother’s rage could not be contained and I knew I had only one chance to save myself. I did the unthinkable. With my remaining strength, I shattered the Golden Axe, the symbol of our people. The explosion caused by the destruction of our most powerful artifact knocked up both from our senses. Somehow, my brother recovered first but he was no longer enraged. Looking down at the shattered remains of the Golden Axe, he proclaimed an end to our struggle and to our tribe and left me to drag myself back to my people.”
“We’ve slowly forged a peace between our tribes over the past ten years, but there is no re-forging the Golden Axe. The tribe will never again be whole, but Markuli hasn’t given up on his dream. Only his faith in my violence has kept him from sending his envoys to bargain with the tribes of the dungeon, and that is why I let him continue to believe I want his crown.”
“His plan to solicit loyalty from our enemies is not the way of our people. Power taken with wealth will never be as honest as a spear through the heart. It’s important your foe know he is defeated, that he is your slave after you slaughter his family and raze his home. Our father knew that. Markuli has forgotten, but I’m no longer the young, foolish calf I was all those years ago. For now, Markuli’s distrust for me is my greatest weapon against him. As long as he considers me a threat to his power, he doesn’t dare risk reducing his forces and that means he can’t send out his envoys. I can match him bull for bull, and he knows it. Unfortunately, I can’t match him coin for coin and, if I can’t pay my warriors, I stand to lose them. That’s where you come in.”
“During my revolt, I allied myself with a powerful rakshasa sorceress and her consort, a deadly medusa warrior. Their aid was instrumental to my rise to power but it came with a cost, a cost my tribe is still paying, and I think it’s time to close the account. I want you to kill them for me and recover my tribe’s wealth. In exchange for this, I’m willing to offer you half of my own personal treasure and ten percent of the tribe’s. How about it?”
“We have some questions,” answered Rags.
“I’m sure you do, but I asked first,” replied Grauki. “Give me your answer and I will tell you everything I can about your targets.”
The room was silent but for the whispered conference of the adventurers. Cul’tharic remained quiet as he had the day before, but the rest of the party quickly determined their course of action and nodded in agreement.
“We’ll do it,” announced Rags. “We’ll kill these creatures and recover your treasure.”
Grauki grinned an evil grin and then addressed his assembled warriors.
“Thank you all for attending but it looks like I won’t be requiring your services today.”
The minotaurs grunted in compliance and filed out of the room as Grauki readdressed the party.
“Now, I believe you had some questions.”
Slightly unnerved by the implications of Grauki’s words to his warriors, the adventurers regained their composure and asked their questions.
“The rakshasa, Rashmarik, and her lover Saria live at the edges of Red Horn territory,” spoke the minotaur chief. “Your friend there had nearly stumbled into Saria’s lair when my warriors captured him the other day,” he continued as he glanced at Reg. “Lucky for us all, they found him before she did.”
“It’s important Rashmarik and Saria do not know you are working for me. As part of our tribute to the creatures, I must provide warriors to guard their lairs. The warriors who just left this chamber are my elite. They are the only ones I trust with knowledge of this mission, but that is also why I cannot send them with you. Rashmarik and Saria know I would never send my most loyal warriors to defend their homes and this plan will work best if they believe you are simply a band of wandering adventurers and not a team of assassins. Unfortunately for you, this also means any minotaurs you encounter guarding them won’t know you are working for me. I’d prefer you didn’t kill any of my people, but do what needs to be done to complete your objective.”
“Markuli is no doubt expecting you to return with proof of your victory. I had some of my warriors return to the manticore lair while you rested to collect their meat and some trophies from your kill. I’ve decided to have the hides you brought fashioned into cloaks for you so collect the trophies from my warriors, go to Markuli and collect your pay. Then, return to me when you are ready. I trust you will not inform him of my plans.”
Grauki then called for Hrumi who escorted the party out of the chamber and to the edge of Red Horn territory where they collected a grisly collection of manticore organs to present to the Broken Axe Chieftain. Because the Broken Axe minotaurs did not know Janus, it was decided he should wait within Red Horn territory to both keep on eye on the Red Horns and serve as impromptu cavalry if his companions took too long to return. From there, Vornmik, the bard of the Broken Axe Tribe escorted the adventurers to the throne room of Markuli.
“Very good,” Markuli smiled. “I see you come bearing gifts, and I have your reward.” The minotaur waved his arm toward a row of small chests arranged near the foot of his throne. Each box lay open and a small pile of glittering gemstones rested within.
“Th-th-thank you,” Chum’lee translated for Rags. “But the rat m-m-man and our lizard here would like to b-buy the freedom of your halfling p-p-prisoner with their share of the reward.”
“Is that so?” asked the chieftain. “His crime is very serious. Darvil the Thief is an enemy of my people, and I cannot free his accomplice for such a small fee.”
Roch, who also understood the words of the minotaur, added, “I will also give up my share of the reward for the halfling’s freedom.” Before long, most of the party’s reward was offered up to free Riswan with only Chum’lee and Shi retaining their shares. Markuli considered their offer and called for Vornmik to deliver the message to the halfling. Several minutes later, the bard returned without Riswan and whispered a message into the chieftain’s ear.
“I’m sorry, but I’m not going to be able to take your money,” spoke Markuli. “The halfling doesn’t want to leave. He says he won’t budge until he’s proven innocent. He says his mother taught him justice can’t be bought or sold,” he continued with a laugh.
“So, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, tell me, what has my brother hired you to do and how much is he paying you?”
The adventurers were silent only a moment before Chum’lee spoke on behalf of the party.
“It’s t-t-true he’s hired us for a job, but we are sworn to sec-sec-secrecy,” replied Chum’lee. “I can say we int-t-tend no harm to your t-t-tribe.”
“Grauki doesn’t do anything that isn’t intended to hurt my people,” Markuli snorted. Then, producing a handful of rubies from his pocket, the chieftain re-addressed the party. “Are you sure you can’t tell me?”
“I’d l-l-like to tell you, but we don’t g-get paid if we tell,” answered the wizard.
“If it’s money you want, you’ll find my pockets are much deeper than my brother’s,” Markuli spoke as he produced another pair of large rubies from a pouch at his side. “Tell me your price.”
“I’ll tell you,” offered Chum’lee as Roch began to interrupt the conversation but was cut short. “But you must re-re-remove these curses from me first.”
Markuli’s nostrils flared with anger. “Are you mocking me?! You already know we don’t have a cure for you or your rodent friend! Fine! Keep your secrets! I’ll find someone else who knows!” And then, the minotaur became suddenly calm.
“I trust this doesn’t change our previous arrangement.”
Chum’lee’s companions weren’t certain of the meaning behind Markuli’s words, but many had their suspicions.
“N-n-no. We’re still g-g-g-good,” answered the wizard. Then, taking up their reward from the Broken Axe chieftain, the party took their leave and headed back toward the Red Horn tunnels.
You dare besmirch my good nature, it was I who first offered my share of treasure for the halfling. Shi was the only hold out in trying to buy the halflings freedom. Your attempts to dishonor me will not work for a i am a good man with good intentions. Just because i was quick to take my cut of the treasure back when the halfling refused to leave only means i was ready to move on to our next mission.
just an FYI for folks we have been playing the game for 21 months as of end of februaryand we are less than half way thru
damned humans always making so much noise tramping around and they stink too
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Howdy, readers. The old unicorn's been a might busy teleporting here and there and all over and, for awhile there, I didn't think I'd ever get this tale told. Now that it's here, I gotta say, it's a doozy. This session's got a little bit of comedy, a whole lot of tragedy and even a little romance. I won't keep you from getting started any longer than I have to but, before we get to the story, here's the picture from the manticore battle from awhile ago. If you can't guess the story I'm referencing in this one, here's a hint: It's one of my favorites for pretty obvious reasons.
DAY 127-128 S+R 4EVR
featuring: The World's Largest Adventuring Party
"Rags" - Nezumi (cursed human) Cleric of Sarenrae
Roch - Dwarf Mystic Theurge
Janus - Aasimar Fighter/Barbarian/Swashbuckler
Reg - Human Rogue
Chum'lee - Human Transmuter
Cul'tharic - NPC Lizardfolk Fighter/Scaled Horror
Shi - Human Cleric of Pharasma
Patreus - Elf Alchemist
Patreus cautiously followed the sound of what seemed to be a loud, slow bellows toward a thick, iron door. Warmth emanated from its frame in direct contrast to the bitter chill of the adjoining tunnels and the elf pressed tightly against the wall as he gently opened the door.
Vwoosh! A ball of fire erupted at the center of the scorched chamber, flashing quickly before vanishing. Astonished, the alchemist waited. Vwoosh! The fireball appeared again about twenty seconds later filling the room and the hall with another blast of heat though no fire exited the room. Aside from the intermittent blast of flame, the room was empty and a dead end. After escaping a trio of minotaur guards through a warp gate with the aasimar Janus, the elf had wound up trapped in an uncomfortably cold area of the dungeon with no apparent exit beside the warp gate itself. Deciding the risk was better than the cold, Patreus leapt through the portal into the den of a monster. Technically.
Gravel’s stony fingers poked at the paralyzed elf who’d emerged from the warp gate moments before. Chum’lee’s earth elemental familiar had been waiting in the small, dark chamber for days in hopes its master would appear through the strange portal. Not recognizing Patreus, the creature went back to its waiting in the corner of the room while the elf regained the feeling in his limbs. Seeing the elemental was no threat, the alchemist searched the room for an exit and came to a narrow tunnel leading out of the room. Torchlight flickered through the cracks of the door at the end of the tunnel and Patreus slowly pulled the door open to find a quartet of minotaurs in golden breastplates standing watch within the chamber. Spotting the elf through the door, one of the minotaurs shouted a warning to his companions and the alchemist was quickly apprehended and disarmed. Suspecting Patreus was not alone, the minotaurs searched the warp gate chamber and discovered Gravel, capturing the elemental and carrying it off to be studied by their sadistic priestess Ramvik.
***
Rags and his companions were returning to Red Horn territory when Reg noticed a strange sound coming from the Broken Axe clan’s shrine to Zon Kuthon. Leading the party toward the sound, Reg discovered the priestess Ramvik tapping at the stony exterior of Gravel with an assortment of small picks and hammers. The creature was suspended from a series of chains above a low fire, and it appeared Ramvik was exploring its hide for sensitive points and weak spots.
“Little b-b-buddy!” exclaimed Chum’lee upon recognizing the small, rocky appendage.
Ramvik was incensed and demanded to know the reason for this interruption of her unholy work. After explaining the creature belonged to Chum’lee, the priestess relented and set the elemental free before calling her acolytes to retrieve a new victim. Minutes later, the minotaurs dragged in the elf, Patreus, who deduced he may be able to convince the adventurers to help him get free of the monsters.
While incarcerated, Patreus was reunited with his adventuring companion, Riswan, the noble and talkative halfling prisoner of the minotaurs. Riswan told Patreus of the adventurers who had tried to buy his freedom and, remembering Janus’ story of his own band of companions, the alchemist figured this must be the same group. The elf pleaded for assistance and the party offered part of Markuli’s reward to the priestess in exchange for Patreus’ life. Ramvik accepted the money as an offering to her temple, but refused to part with any of the elf’s equipment until an additional fee was met. In exchange for the bulk of his gear, Patreus agreed to brew the minotaurs a few potions and, a day later, the party was on its way back to Red Horn territory.
***
Grauki, chieftain of the Red Horns, welcomed the party back into his lair with a gift of the manticore hides his warriors had taken from the party during their last visit. Each hide had been crafted into a warm and luxurious cloak.
“These cloaks are a symbol of your strength and victory over the manticores,” smiled the minotaur. “Try them on. You’ve earned them.”
Rags, Shi, Roch, Janus and Reg donned the cloaks while Chum’lee and Cul’tharic watched with suspicion and Patreus felt left out. The wizard and the lizard were right to be cautious.
“Death to the rakshasa!” shouted Rags, Reg, Shi and Janus in unison. “Death to the medusa!”
“What have you d-d-done to them?!” growled Chum’lee.
“Just a little insurance,” replied Grauki. “Those cloaks were enchanted with a geas to keep you from betraying me. Your friends won’t come to any harm so long as they complete their task. Once Rashmarik and Saria are dead, the geas will wear off, you can collect your pay and you’ll be left with some fine cloaks to boot. Now, you might want to get going before your friends leave you behind.”
Roch had managed to shake off the compulsion of the enchanted cloaks, but Rags, Janus, Shi and Reg were already on their way to battle Grauki’s enemies. Patreus and the others quickly, though grudgingly, followed.
***
The party decided to hunt Rashmarik first as it was decided the rakshasa was the more dangerous of the two threats. Chum’lee, Roch, Rags and Shi pieced together enough knowledge of the evil outsider to come up with a battle plan and the group quickly made its way toward the sorceress’ lair. Passing a group of sparring minotaurs along the way, the party heard a call for their attention and were approached by a large female minotaur.
“I am Gartuk, half-sister to Markuli and Grauki,” spoke the minotaur warrior-maiden. “I know of your plans to kill the rakshasa and her lover. I might be able to help you, but I need to know if you are loyal to the Red Horns. I know what Grauki did to the manticore hides and I think Rashmarik could end the spell with her magic. Will you side with the sorceress if she offers to end the spell?”
“Death to the rakshasa!” snarled Rags.
“I think what m-my friend is trying to say is we’ll get the j-j-job done,” replied Chum’lee.
“I guess that will have to do,” said Gartuk. “I have a weapon that was found to the west, near the place where the angels dwell.”
Gartuk produced a slim, golden crossbow bolt.
“Before our clan broke apart, Ramvik told me it could hurt demons and maybe even destroy them. I’ve never tried to use it because it is too small for my hands, but I see the elf has a crossbow. Take it if you think it will free my people from Rashmarik’s greed.”
The party examined the bolt and determined it was a powerful, holy weapon and, knowing only blessed weapons could harm the rakshasa, they gladly accepted Gartuk’s gift.
***
The tunnel leading to Rashmarik’s lair was filled with the echoes of a high-pitched wail and Reg was told to scout the way ahead to determine the source. Near the end of the tunnel and around a corner, the rogue spotted four minotaurs pacing through a well-lit room. The screams seemed to emanate from a slightly open door in the south wall of the room. Reg snuck back to his companions, made his report and it was decided the party would ambush the minotaurs and quickly get Patreus in position to fire the holy bolt as soon as Rashmarik appeared.
Chum’lee launched a fireball into the room expecting to hear the sound of screaming bull-men but the minotaurs were prepared. They’d spotted Reg and set up an ambush of their own hiding at the far corners of the room so the fireball only singed one of the warriors. Seconds later, the brutes were charging up the hall toward the party. Janus took a beating from the flails and horns of the monsters, but Cul’tharic and Reg backed the aasimar up helping him hold the choke point while Rags and Roch saw to Janus’ wounds. Soon, the minotaurs were defeated and the screaming from the south door fell silent as the rakshasa sorceress Rashmarik came out to investigate.
The rakshasa’s feline eyes burned with glee as her backward-twisting claws manipulated the magical energy from within her evil form. The adventurers had let their guard down as soon as the last of the minotaurs fell and didn’t notice the sorceress as she flung her own ball of flame rocketing up the corridor to explode among them.
“So glad you could come!” laughed Rashmarik. “I was just about to run out of toys!”
The party reacted quickly and Patreus moved into position to fire the golden bolt. However, Reg was faster than the elf and blocked the alchemist’s aim as he foolishly charged into the room. Cul’tharic and Janus went in after the rogue as the evil sorceress prepared another spell.
“Get out of the way, you idiot!” shouted Janus who’d taken a position across from Cul’tharic at the entrance to the chamber. If Patreus missed this shot, Janus and the lizardman were prepared to flank the rakshasa with weapons Rags had blessed with Sarenrae’s holy energy. Rashmarik grinned as she prepared to unleash a spell of awesome power onto the rogue but Reg ducked to the side at the last moment and Patreus took his shot.
The golden bolt sped through the air leaving a trail of sparks as it seemed to home in on the rakshasa like an angry wasp, and Rashmarik reeled backward as the bolt found its mark and exploded into a shower of light. Suddenly, glowing cracks appeared across the body of the rakshasa as her body imploded into the wound left by the enchanted bolt, her final screams and curses drowned by a sphere of silence created by Rags. Though her loot went with her when Rashmarik was destroyed, the party was happy with their work and proceeded to search her lair. Through the door in the south wall, the party found a small room decorated with implements of torture and a small, bloody gnome curled up into a corner.
“Just kill me!” screamed the gnome who appeared to have been severely worked over.
“We’re not going to hurt you,” said Rags as he cured the gnome’s wounds. “We must kill the medusa. Do you know where she is?”
“I haven’t heard her voice in at least a day,” answered the gnome. “She may be in her lair.”
“Who are you?” asked Rags. “And what do you know about the rakshasa and this medusa?”
“I am Torbor, a wizard of The Griffin’s Claw Adventuring Company,” replied the gnome. “I’m the last of my peers. The rakshasa and her medusa ally slowly killed my companions or turned them to stone after they captured us several months ago. I only know that they have allies among the minotaurs. I think they took my spellbook to the minotaur leader, but I don’t know why.”
Suddenly, a scream was heard from the chamber where the party had slain Rashmarik.
“Aaiieghkk!” choked Reg as a cluster of ebon cords wound their way through his legs and up his torso toward his head. “Ge’emowmamowf!”
The rogue had set off a magical trap while investigating a door in the outer chamber and now he and Chum’lee were surrounded and entangled in a wide circle of flailing, groping tentacles.
“If we g-get out of this, I’m g-g-going to...hak…kill…guh…you!’ stammered Chum’lee as the tentacles began to constrict around his throat.
Janus and the others quickly sought for ways to free the pair. Ropes tossed into the swarm of tentacles were quickly grappled by the unthinking appendages.
“Oh dear!” exclaimed Torbor as he and Rags exited the torture chamber to the sight of Cul’tharic, Janus, Roch and Shi struggling to free Chum’lee and Reg from the mass of tendrils. The gnome made a few spastic gestures then intoned a deep hum as he pointed into the swarm, but nothing happened.
“I’m so sorry!” cried Torbor. “I’m not strong enough to break the enchantment!”
Rags, Janus and Shi began to become irritated. Reg’s mistake was costing them valuable medusa-hunting time, but the rogue was the only member of the party who knew where to find Saria’s lair. Using their ropes one more time, the group managed to lasso the wizard and rogue and, working together, got the pair free before the tentacles could squeeze the life out of them. Moments later, the swarm receded back into the floor but it seemed Reg hadn’t had enough.
“I want to check that door again. I think I can disarm the trap.”
“We’ve wasted enough time here!” snarled Shi. “We have to kill Saria. If you set off that trap again, we’re leaving you.”
Chum’lee, Cul’tharic, Patreus and Roch knew the party would benefit from some rest, but their ensorcelled companions wouldn’t be convinced to stay. Despite their success in grappling and binding Rags, Janus and Reg, poor, little Torbor couldn’t keep hold of Shi and the priest hurried away toward the south hoping to locate and destroy his quarry.
Roch, Cul’tharic and Torbor chased the cleric who had gained quite a lead while Rags, Janus and Reg were being tied up and, to their dismay, found that Shi had already entered the Red Horn’s southern guard post near the medusa’s lair. Fearing the cleric may have tipped off the minotaurs to their impending attack on Saria, Roch and Torbor ran back to inform the others while Cul’tharic waited to see if Shi would return.
***
Cul’tharic returned from the tunnels to report that Shi had not emerged from the gate to the minotaur guard post. During the wait for the lizardman, Chum’lee and Roch had loaned Torbor their spellbooks so he might be better prepared for the fight ahead. For saving his life, the gnome had vowed to aid the party and wanted to do everything he could to assist their mission and seek vengeance against the medusa for his fallen companions. After only half an hour, the bound members of the party were released and the adventurers hurried off to find Shi and kill Saria.
***
Shi was nowhere to be found at the minotaur guard post. The minotaurs claimed he’d been eaten by manticores, but the party saw through their lies prompting a fight that left the brutes dead.
“You’d think minotaurs would be better at b__l-sh____ng,” is what nobody said but should have because it was the perfect opportunity and would have been pretty funny. Missing their chance to loot some comedic gold, the party proceeded to Saria’s lair.
***
“What do your ancestors have to say, Cul’tharic?” asked Rags when the party neared the eerily silent tunnels leading to the statuary. The lizardfolk performed the short ceremony of reading the bones of his tribesmen and shook his head.
“Grampy Bone says we are in terrible danger,” rasped Cul’tharic. “It is likely we will all die here.”
“Does your grandfather ever pull your tail?” asked Rags. Cul’tharic grinned.
“No…but sometimes he is wrong.”
The party split into two groups near the entrance to Saria’s statuary. Reg remembered his first time exploring the tunnels near the medusa’s home and shivered. At first, he believed the statues to be the work of some skilled minotaur artist, but now he knew the horrible truth and the thought of joining the petrified creatures that made up the monster’s gallery filled him with terror.
Chum’lee, Patreus, and Rags readied themselves with blindfolds and spells of invisibility. The rotund wizard had memorized a spell granting him the tremorsense of an ooze and was able to lead his invisible companions forward into the gallery while Reg, Torbor, Janus and Roch moved up a side tunnel to a secondary entrance while Cul’tharic and Gravel remained at the intersection to provide backup and keep an eye out for anything that might approach from behind the party.
As the wizard, cleric and alchemist entered the darkened gallery, rows of candles suddenly burst to light. The petrified remains of axe-wielding minotaurs and silently shrieking harpies stood transfixed throughout the room and the adventurers suddenly heard a hissing, seductive voice from the northwest corner of the room.
“I know you’re here ssssomewhere, my darlingssss,” came the voice of Saria. “Why don’t you show yoursssself? We can have lotssss of fun.”
“We just had some f-f-fun with your girl-f-f-friend,” replied Chum’lee. “She sends her r-reg-regards.”
“Your fear betrays you,” answered Saria mistaking the wizard’s speech impediment for terror. “Rashmarik cannot be killed by mortal arms. I was going to grant you the immortal glory of joining my gallery, but I’ll see you writhe on the tips of my arrows for your lies.”
“S-s-ssuit yourself, l-l-lady, but I’m pretty sure that crossb-b-bow bolt we shot her with wasn’t m-m-made by any mortal.” By now, Chum’lee had determined where Saria was standing and directed Rags and Patreus where to attack.
“You bastards! I’ll kill you!” screamed the medusa as Rags quickly conjured a holy storm to burn the evil creature. The priest almost regretted his action when his invisibility wore off and he suddenly felt the sting of three, large arrows driving into his flesh. Following Chum’lee’s direction, Patreus heaved a vial of explosive fire toward Saria. The vial missed but some of the liquid splashed onto the medusa causing her to curse in anger. Chum’lee followed with a pair of scorching rays but those, too, failed to connect with their target. Saria countered once again with another deadly volley of arrows that sent Rags squealing back toward the entrance of the statuary while Reg, Roch and Janus stumbled, blindfolded or otherwise impaired, slowly across the chamber toward the fight.
Rags felt along the wall of the chamber until he came to the archway and turned the corner. Stopping to remove his blindfold, the ratman priest glanced back to spot his allies, but his eyes fell on the form of the hideous, serpent-haired woman he’d been compelled to hunt. Though his mind told him to fight on and kill the vile beast, his body would not obey. Rags’ squee of doom was suddenly cut short as his flesh hardened to lifeless stone.
Cul’tharic had rushed up the tunnel as soon as he heard the fighting break out. Now, he stood before the petrified remains of Rags, his friend and companion since the party had freed him from the inevitables of the Celestial Garrison. Looking out across the room, the reptilian warrior saw most of his compatriots stumbling and tripping across the floor toward Saria. Only Patreus was visibly close to the medusa and the alchemist was having a difficult time as Saria launched her poisoned arrows into his body. With no concern for himself, the lizardman charged forward driving the tines of his trident deep into the medusa’s belly.
“On my ancestor’s bones, you will bleed for what you’ve done!” hissed Cul’tharic.
Saria leapt back and fired a volley of arrows at the lizardman who stared defiant, bloody murder into her eyes as Janus, Reg and Roch continued to close in on their prey. Chum’lee put some distance between himself and the melee as Torbor cautiously entered from the east door and began to cast a spell.
Fwadoom! Chum’lee, Janus, Patreus and Reg were suddenly caught at the center of a massive explosion of hell-spawned flame.
“Get away from her, you sons of b_____s!” came the voice of a tall, powerfully built woman with backwards-turned claws and the head of a panther standing right in the spot where Torbor was only moments ago. “I guess somebody forgot rakshasa’s are shapeshifters. The Rashmarik you slew was an illusion, you fools!”
Charred somewhat by the flames, Chum’lee coughed, “How? How did you kn-know we were coming?”
“Perhaps I’ll tell you just before you die,” laughed Rashmarik.
As Torbor, Rashmarik had spent the last several moments casting defensive spells and now she stood within a faintly shimmering globe of magical energy. Saria, using her enemies’ blindness to her advantage, withdrew from Cul’tharic and fled toward her lover.
“Kill the rakshasa! Kill the medusa!” cried Janus as he and Cul’tharic rushed toward the monsters with Reg close behind. With Rags out of the fight and Shi still missing, Roch fell on the defensive, enlarging Cul’tharic and healing any of his allies who would stay still. Frustrated at missing his attacks and letting the medusa escape past him, Reg lowered his blindfold just enough to target Saria out of the corner of his eye.
“I’ve got you n-,” were the only words the rogue managed to say before his tongue froze in place within his stony head.
Saria fell back behind Rashmarik to drink a potion of healing while her lover held off Janus with a wicked kukri and her deadly claws and teeth. The aasimar warrior, heaviliy wounded by the earlier blast of flame, fell to the floor along with the tips of two of his fingers, which he lost to the rakshasa’s blade. Things had suddenly gotten very tense and Chum’lee fell back into the entryway of the gallery. Thinking Rashmarik may have concealed the holy, golden bolt within an illusion when her double was slain, Chum’lee ordered Gravel to make haste for the rakshasa’s lair. It was a long shot but, hopefully, the elemental would be able to find the bolt and return before it was too late. Meanwhile, Patreus, Cul’tharic and Roch were dealing with a whole new problem.
Rashmarik’s globe of energy protected her and anyone within the sphere from the low-level magics of Roch and most of Chum’lee’s arsenal, but it didn’t stop her from casting more powerful spells. A field of black tentacles suddenly sprang from the floor of the room, grappling Roch and Cul’tharic and cutting off the wounded Patreus. Saria had made it safely through the east door and was moving quickly down the tunnel to flank Chum’lee. Cul’tharic shouted a warning to the wizard and then realized something about the battle.
“Rashmarik does not fear the medusa’s eyes!” hissed the lizardman. “She fights without hesitation!”
Chum’lee’s brain raced for a meaning to Cul’tharic’s words and, remembering rakshasa’s have no inherent protection from petrification, yelled back to the lizardman.
“What is she wearing!?”
In addition to her weapon and a rod tucked into a sheath on her belt, Cul’tharic noticed an amulet formed from a mummified eye hanging around Rashmarik’s neck.
“It’s the amulet!” shouted the wizard. “It must protect her from Saria’s gaze!”
Suddenly, Saria was there drilling arrows into Chum’lee as Cul’tharic threw his trident and shield to the floor and lunged for Rashmarik dragging the sorceress into the squirming mass of ebony tendrils. Patreus rushed for the grapplers trying to get his hands on the rakshasa’s bauble while Chum’lee continued to move away from the mad, rapidly firing medusa archer.
Rashmarik suddenly surged to her feet despite Cul’tharic’s great size and strength. The lizardman knew it was thanks only to Roch’s and Rags’ magic that he could barely contain the sorceress and they were quickly running out of time to stop the monster. Falling with all of his weight into the constricting tentacles, Cul’tharic managed to once again pin Rashmarik long enough for Patreus to make a final grab for the necklace at her throat.
“I got it!” yelled Patreus as he quickly dropped the amulet around his neck.
Saria, who now stood above the bloody, unconscious form of Chum’lee turned toward the alchemist and fired three arrows into his back. Stumbling for a moment, Patreus heaved another explosive at the medusa. No longer blinded, the elf’s attack hit and covered Saria in flames. Enraged, the medusa fired another volley at Patreus nearly killing him on the spot. The elf, bloody and in great pain, threw a small, thin pouch at the medusa, which exploded with thick, adhesive goo upon striking its target.
“Now, Cul’tharic. We’ve got to end this now.”
Cul’tharic had continued to wrestle with the savagely powerful rakshasa while Patreus glued Saria to the floor and both he and Roch were nearly dead from the strangling grasp of the tentacles. Patreus was right. There wouldn’t be another chance. Reaching down into the swarm of tendrils wrapping the rakshasa’s shoulders and face, Cul’tharic pulled with all his remaining strength and hissed into the sorceress’ ear as he peeled her eyelids with his claws.
“There is your true love. Look at how beautiful she is.”
The reptilian warrior twisted Rashmarik’s face toward where Saria stood affixed to the floor and burning. The rakshasa spit curses upon the lizardman and his allies while trying to look away but then, hearing the screams of her beloved, shifted her gaze to the dying medusa and cried out one final time in terrible sadness before her vile, blackened heart became still as stone. Dragging himself free of the tentacles, Cul’tharic stumbled toward Saria and mercifully ended her life.
and this is da band of mighty heros
HOOOOOOOOOoooooooooo Boy iz I gots my works cut out for me
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Ugh. Hello readers. My job as a magical journalist and media beast has made keeping up with these journals exceedingly difficult over the last three months. This session is pretty short in comparison to the last few, but it still took me two weeks to finish due to my schedule. Anyway, it's late and I'm tired so here's some adventure for ya. Enjoy.
DAYS 129-131 THE TRAITOR REVEALED
featuring: The World's Largest Adventuring Party
Roch - Dwarf Mystic Theurge
Janus - Aasimar Fighter/Barbarian/Swashbuckler/Dervish
Chum'lee - Human Transmuter
Cul'tharic - NPC Lizardfolk Fighter/Scaled Horror
Shi - Human Cleric of Pharasma
Patreus - Elf Alchemist
Durthannicarr - Human Ranger
Grackle - Goblin Savage Skald
The victorious survivors of the battle with Rashmarik and Saria took a moment to bind their wounds and collect the weapons of the fallen medusa before searching the chamber for any sign of their missing companion, Shi. In a long chamber to the north, Janus discovered what appeared to be a nest of twisted branches, scraps of cloth and small gemstones and coins hanging from bits of string. Near what was determined to be the bed of Saria, the party found a pile of equipment bearing a resemblance to the gear carried by the cleric prompting them to search the small prison cells near the medusa’s lair. There, upon the floor of one of the cells near the skeleton of a long dead minotaur, was Shi, unconscious but alive and non-petrified. It had been Saria’s intent to let the priest stumble around in the dark of the cell until he located the tindertwigs she’d left near his prostrate form. Then, out of the darkness, she would greet him as the fatal flicker of light revealed her horrible beauty to his eyes. Luckily for Shi, his companions had arrived to foil the monster’s evil plot and the priest was saved from the fate that befell Rags and Reg. Restoring Shi to consciousness, the party quickly departed to catch up with Chum’lee’s familiar, Gravel, who had sent its master an empathic pang of fear.
A Red Horn minotaur outside the lair of Rashmarik caught sight of the party as they rounded the corner in response to the earth elemental and quickly shouted to his companions. The elemental had been sent by Chum’lee to search for the golden crossbow bolt the party had received from Gartuk, but the four minotaurs arrived before Gravel could escape with the weapon. Now, the four beastmen were throwing themselves at the party seemingly intent on their destruction but never giving a reason for their sudden enmity toward the group. Though weakened from their fight with the rakshasa and her mate, the adventurers were still able to use their size to their advantage in the narrow passage and they quickly defeated the minotaurs. With the creatures defeated, the party moved into the rakshasa’s lair to search for Gravel and the enchanted bolt and to make a new attempt to enter the monster’s former living quarters.
Entering Rashmarik’s living quarters proved to be quite easy and safe once the party discovered the tentacle trap had not reset and the door was still unlocked from Reg’s previous attempt to access the chamber. Inside, the party found a pair of adjoining rooms. A large four-poster bed curtained with silks dominated the larger of the two rooms and, there, the party discovered the skeleton of a feline-headed humanoid. An impression upon the bed near the skeleton betrayed the morbid sleeping habits of Rashmarik and hinted at even darker practices. The party took a small silver ring from the corpse, but otherwise left the dead thing in peace. The true prize of Rashmarik’s defeat waited in the smaller bedchamber to the south. A sturdy, locked chest greeted the eyes of the adventurers as they entered the room, but it’s impressive lock foiled all their attempts to reveal its contents. It was decided the party would rest within the chamber until they were strong enough to confront Grauki and get to the bottom of their apparent betrayal. Chum’lee conjured up a small shelter large enough to wall off the entrances to the rakshasa’s chamber and the party settled in for the next two days.
***
Grackle Rudenoise was still young when Argliss discovered the statue of Norendithas the Stoneshaper. The goblin, like many of his kin, saw the coming of The Stoneshaper and the rise of Argliss as a sign of prosperity to come and Grackle quickly made a name for himself as a storyteller and historian of the revolt against the Stone Spirit Goblins. It wasn’t long before Argliss took notice of Grackle’s abilities and shortly after the adventurers arrived, the emperor sent a message to the skald.
It was the hobgoblin, Hammerfist, himself who arrived to inform Grackle of his new assignment to carry the tales of the Stoneshaper Tribe to all corners of the dungeon. Grackle spent the next few weeks preparing for his journey and then headed off to Four Waters to find a proper adventuring companion…who promptly disappeared and was discovered shortly after petrified by the magic of the warp gates as the dazed goblin was carried past the warrior in the arms of a minotaur guard.
Grackle was thrown into a cell to await his doom, or so he thought. Shortly after his incarceration, however, another minotaur entered the jail and carried the goblin to the throne room of Markuli, Chieftain of the Broken Axe. The goblin’s gear was returned to him and he was asked to tell the minotaur chief a story about the goblin tribe to the south. Grackle complied and sang two songs about his people before being asked to stop. A kind, female minotaur claiming to be the chief’s primary advisor and diplomat informed Grackle that Markuli would like for him to lead a small contingent of his warriors to meet with Argliss to discuss trade relations. The gleam of jewels caught the goblin’s eyes and he quickly agreed to serve as the minotaurs’ guide. The next day, Grackle led Vornmik and eight minotaur guards into the Goblin Empire.
***
Durthannicarr was a ranger hunting monsters near the borders of Lord Antagonis’ kingdom when he heard rumors of the immense dungeon hidden within the nearby mountains. Excitedly rushing off to find the dungeon, he was soon met by a group of soldiers who promised to show him the way into the dungeon and, after beating and robbing the ranger of most of his belongings, they threw him in to join the rest of the prisoners. Not one to let this get to him, “Carr” quickly went to work with the commune’s hunters and earned enough equipment for a monster hunt. Outfitted with his new gear, the ranger promptly ran off alone and wound up passing through a warp gate into a silent hallway lined with what appeared to be prison cells.
One by one, Carr peered into each of the cells. Many were empty, but a few contained the remains of humanoid creatures too strange to identify. Some had the skulls of dogs while others were horned or winged. The ranger didn’t like what he was seeing, but didn’t want to risk the danger of returning through the warp gate and so he pressed on. Before long, Carr heard the sound of wings beating around a corner and a strange, hoarse cackle. Peeking around the corner, the ranger spotted a pair of horrid, winged women. Bones and scraps of flesh seemed to be twisted into their filthy hair and they spoke to one another in smoke-scorched, rasping voices. “Finally,” thought the ranger. “A chance to kill some real monsters.” Durthannicarr knew the creatures must be harpies and nocked an arrow into his bow as he stepped around the corner.
The first of the creatures fell quickly to Carr’s volley, but the second was only slightly wounded and returned Carr’s gaze with a grin on her lips before opening her grime-encrusted mouth and belting out a series of notes in a sultry tone. Durthannicarr stood dumbfounded. He suddenly couldn’t remember where he was or why he had been trying to kill the beautiful angel before him. He knew only that he must follow her wherever she led.
***
Two days had passed since the adventurers set up camp in Rashmarik’s former lair. A knock on the wall of the enchanted shelter had alerted the party to creatures in the hallway beyond a day before but they chose to ignore it. Later the same day, Janus managed to squeeze his ghost-like form through the lock of the rakshasa’s treasure chest thanks to a potion provided by Patreus but then opted not to scout the tunnels into the Red Horn lair alone despite the protection of his temporary incorporeality. While all this stalling did allow the party to discover they could smash the chest open without risk to its contents, it also resulted in the adventurers missing out on the chance to pick a side in the battle the minotaurs were fighting only a short distance away.
The wall of the magical shelter came down to reveal a contingent of Red Horn barbarians waiting on the other side. Hrumi pushed his way to the front of the group as the adventurers began to make their way out of the tunnel.
“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t kill you right now!” shouted Chum’lee.
“I’ll give you thirty good reasons,” Hrumi replied as he motioned at his warriors. The minotaur couldn’t actually count as high as 30, but he was confident he had enough backup to support his challenge. “Chief Grauki sent us to either find you or kill the rakshasa if you had failed in your mission. We weren’t sent here to fight you, but we’ll defend ourselves if you and your friend are looking for trouble.”
“Somebody told Rashmarik we were coming and now two of our companions are dead! I want to know who it was!” demanded the wizard.
“Your questions will be answered if you follow us,” answered the minotaur.
Cautiously, the party followed Hrumi back to the Red Horn lair where they found Grauki waiting for them among a group of armed warriors and several shackled minotaurs while other minotaurs removed the bodies of the slain from the tunnels. Among the captives was the chief’s own half-sister, Gartuk.
“Here’s your traitor,” spoke Grauki. “Gartuk launched her attack shortly after you left with that useless crossbow bolt.”
True enough, the golden bolt was a fake, its magical aura a fraud created by the rakshasa to trick the party. Gartuk was present when the party was hired to kill the sorceress and her medusa lover and secretly informed the monsters of the plot. Gartuk herself explained how the three had been planning to overthrow Grauki for months, but the adventurers’ arrival had spurred them to move up their plans.
“For all his talk of the purity of battle, Grauki is no different from Markuli!” roared Gartuk. “He’s leading us to ruin and betraying our ancestors! I wanted to take control of the tribe and trick Markuli into reforming the Golden Axe. Then I’d seduce him and convince him to make me his queen by claiming Rashmarik and Saria had organized the revolt and killed Grauki. The rakshasa and the medusa would then fake their deaths during a mock retaliatory strike using my loyal soldiers so they could direct the future of the tribe from the comfort of the shadows.”
“My own husband would need to die during the revolt, but it was worth it for the future of the tribe. Now my husband is dead, my allies are scattered or destroyed and our tribe is doomed.”
“Yes, yes, and you would have gotten away with it, too, were it not for these meddling adventurers and their lizardman. We get it,” replied Grauki.
“What the hell, your chief-ness? You told us we could trust everyone who was in on the plan to kill Rashmarik and Saria!” exclaimed Chum’lee.
“You and your friends have heard the history of my people, you’ve spent the last several days within our borders and witnessing our culture, and somehow you’re surprised I’d be betrayed by a member of my own family?” countered the minotaur.
“So what happens to her now?” asked Janus.
“I leave that up to you and your companions,” replied Grauki. “Normally I’d just kill her for treason and be done with it, but I’ve decided to give her to you to make up for your losses.”
Janus thought of some things he’d like to do with the sturdy, buxom minotaur woman, but then thought better of it.
The adventurers debated various ways to kill Gartuk, but then turned to Cul’tharic who hadn’t understood Grauki’s words.
“Enough have died as a result of her betrayal,” hissed the lizardman. “If she is concerned for her tribe, she should work to make up for her actions.”
“Our new leader would like Gartuk to be put to work,” Chum’lee informed Grauki to the surprise of the party.
“What?” Chum’lee asked his companions. “With Rags gone, we’ve lost our moral anchor and the lizard seems to be the only one of us with the wisdom to do what’s right.”
“I’d rather just kill her, but I’ll see that Gartuk is put to good use,” replied Grauki.
With Rashmarik and Saria dead and Gartuk dealt with, the adventurers collected their reward from Grauki and bid farewell to the Red Horn tribe. Though many of them wanted to be done with the minotaurs and the warp gates of the region, there was still the matter of the imprisoned halfling, Riswan. Uncomfortable with the idea of leaving the halfling behind, the party turned back toward the territory of the Broken Axe.
Y'know, i never really thought about it but harpys can be sexy too...
thats a good burn dere yur majesty damn you are a quick wited fella I pity those poor drooling fools who fall beneath your razor wit
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And I pity anyone who has to suffer Lord Antagonis' company. Also, his odor...and his ugly face.
The party began a massive battle during the last session that wasn't over by the time we called it a night so lovers of cliffhangers should really enjoy this week's installment. Creepy weirdos with pervy fetishes might also find something to like, but I'm not here to judge...
DAYS 132-133 A MURDER OF HARPIES
featuring: The World's Largest Adventuring Party
Roch - Dwarf Mystic Theurge
Janus - Aasimar Fighter/Barbarian/Swashbuckler/Dervish
Chum'lee - Human Transmuter
Cul'tharic - NPC Lizardfolk Fighter/Scaled Horror
Shi - Human Cleric of Pharasma
Traxxus - Halfling Rogue
Durthuunicar - Human Ranger
Grackle - Goblin Savage Skald
Grackle stood before the throne of Argliss with the minotaur Vornmik towering above him feeling every bit a tiny fish in a very big pond. The goblin emperor had agreed to meet with the minotaur bard to discuss her chieftain’s offer of military aid in exchange for goods and services and the emperor’s hobgoblin guards listened nervously as they maintained their vigil. Earlier in the day, the minotaur warriors accompanying Vornmik had performed a drill exhibition to the delight of the goblin crowd and, while the hobgoblins had answered in kind, the idea that they might soon be replaced weighed heavily on their minds.
“Your warriors put on a nice show,” smiled the goblin king. “I’m sure they’re very formidable.”
“And your hobgoblin fighters certainly live up to their reputation,” replied the minotaur. “Our peoples would have very little to fear if you accept my chieftain’s offer.”
“What do you think, Rudenoise?” Argliss suddenly turned his attention to the goblin skald. “You’ve been among Markuli’s people. Were you treated well? Should we count the minotaurs among the friends of the Stoneshaper Empire?”
Grackle gulped a mighty gulp and replied, “Uhm, yes? I mean, they treated me fair and they’ve got lots of gold and gems and other shiny things. Oh, and they’re real strong.”
Argliss gave a little laugh at Grackle’s answer before turning back to the minotaur.
“A ringing endorsement if I ever heard one,” grinned the king. “Tell your chieftain your people are welcome to trade with the Stoneshaper Empire, but we respectfully decline his offer of warriors. Furthermore, I’m making Grackle here our ambassador to your tribe. In the future, you can send any requests from your chieftain through him.”
Argliss’ hobgoblin guards sighed with relief and so too did the halfling rogue, Traxxus, who’d managed to sneak invisibly into the meeting after meeting Grackle and his monstrous companions near the Celestial Garrison. For one, he hadn’t been spotted but, just as important, it didn’t sound like Argliss was going to invite a bunch of heavily armed minotaurs to make themselves comfortable in the tunnels the goblins shared with the prisoners of the commune.
Traxxus quickly slipped from the throne room to meet with Grackle and Vornmik once again. The minotaurs had one more stop. The only safe route from the Broken Axe territory went right through the commune’s tunnels and that meant Vornmik would have to convince the prisoners to allow them the use of the roads.
Many of the commune’s residents turned out to witness the meeting between the minotaurs and the Council of Four Waters. Minotaurs, of course, were monsters and legendary for their hunger for human flesh so there was plenty of reason to be concerned and many loudly voiced their opinions. Among the dissenters were Thomas Rose, a military officer and engineer who had fought minotaurs in the past, and the lantern archon Ariel who was strongly against allowing any more evil creatures to roam the halls of the commune. However, Vormik skillfully made her case, even offering a toll the minotaurs would pay, and it was decided the minotaurs would be allowed to use the tunnels in small groups and only for official business. Satisfied with the results of the meeting, Grackle, Vornmik and the rest of the minotaurs retuned to the Broken Axe territory with Traxxus as a guest. Along the way, the halfling had a stop to make at the Celestial Garrison.
During his time off from adventuring, Traxxus had slipped somewhat in his duties as a Garrison member and, with the coming of the minotaurs, the celestials offered the rogue a chance to make up for his dalliances.
“As you know, the Garrison has stepped away from interaction with the people of your commune and the goblins,” chimed the lantern archon Ember. “Our agents among The Redeemers will continue to lend their assistance and advice when necessary, but the advent of peaceful communities forming within the confines of the dungeon is not something we were prepared for and it has been decided we will take our traditional stance of non-interference toward mortals where it regards your peoples. The minotaurs, however, concern us. Region F has contained them for ten years and we were content knowing their evil was confined. You are to gather information about the minotaurs and keep us informed of anything that might prove too great an evil for the commune or the goblins to handle. We’ve come to accept the presence of your people within our halls and we’ll let you make your own mistakes, but know that the Garrison will be swift to act and great in our capacity for violence toward any creature that threatens our mission or the good of the world beyond these walls.”
With orders in hand, Traxxus returned to Grackle and Vornmik and, together, they headed for Region F.
***
Chum’lee, Cul’tharic and Janus rested within the halls of the Broken Axe tribe. Shi and Roch had retured to the commune to secure the chests of gold and jewels awarded to the party by Grauki and the alchemist, Patreus had, mysteriously, left with a curt farewell and no promise of ever returning. Given his supposed connection to the imprisoned halfling, Riswan, his sudden departure struck Janus as somewhat strange since the party had decided freeing the halfling would be their next goal.
To that end, the three did what they could to gather information about Darvil the Thief, Riswan’s supposed accomplice, and they eventually learned that the harpies south of the Red Horn tribe were known for abducting creatures, which were seldom seen again. The trio decided to question Vornmik about the harpies before venturing into their lair and, the next day, were introduced to the goblin skald, Grackle, when the minotaur returned.
“I just w-w-want it to be known that I d-d-don’t feel comfortable going into this without our priests,” whined Chum’lee.
“That’s why I’ve decided to join you,” piped Grackle. “Vornmik doesn’t need me around for awhile so I’ve got some time to kill and, after all I’ve heard, I know you guys are bound to get into some trouble worth singing about. Don’t worry, pig-nose. The Stoneshaper will protect us.”
Traxxus, meanwhile, had some snooping to do and told the party he’d catch up with them later.
Janus, Cul’tharic, Grackle and Chum’lee moved quietly down a bone-littered tunnel when they spotted a filthy, winged hag perched within a high alcove at the end of the hall. The creature had nocked an arrow into her shortbow but hadn’t drawn back the string.
“What brings you to the lair of Mortgul’s Murder, my lovelies?” rasped the harpy in a voice that could sand brick. According to Vornmik, the harpies of the region were just as vile as others of their kind but, since they’d reached a neutral agreement with the minotaurs, they might be willing to talk to the adventurers before attacking.
“I’ve got this,” smiled Janus to his companions. “Fair one, we’ve come in search of a missing dwarf. Perhaps your shimmering eyes have fallen upon him here of late?”
“Laying it on a little thick, don’t you think?” whispered Grackle.
“Huh? What are you talking about?” replied the aasimar with the creepy monster fetish.
“F-f-freak,” remarked Chum’lee under his breath before addressing the harpy. “So, have you seen the dwarf or not?”
“I’ve seen no dwarves this way in a long time, but the mistress might know more,” replied the harpy. “ I see your escorts have arrived. Be careful with these boys, my sisters. The shiny one there and I have a date later tonight.”
A pair of harpies armed with bows had quietly flown in behind the party as they spoke with the hag in the alcove but they held their fire and only directed the party through a tunnel to the west as Grackle began to nervously pump his concertina in an effort to ward off the magic of their voices.
The party was taken through a series of twisting, high-ceilinged passages eventually leading to what appeared to be a rift torn through the wall of the dungeon into a large candle-lit chamber. A blood-stained altar and hanging chain curtains along the walls marked the room as a temple to Zon-Kuthon, the god of darkness, pain and suffering.
A pair of harpies followed the party into the room while the adventurers caught sight of three others clustered near the entrance to the rift. These harpies only seemed curious to hear what was being said in the temple, but their presence didn’t comfort the adventurers. Within the temple, another trio of harpies appeared to be in the midst of preparing the chamber for some ritual. An especially horrid specimen among them hovered toward the party demanding Grackle cease his playing, claiming his music was an affront to their god.
“I am Avertgul, sister of Mortgul and Cardinal of Sorrow here in the temple of The Midnight Lord,” screeched the harpy. “I demand to know why are you here.”
“We’re l-l-looking for someone,” replied Chum’lee. “A d-dwarf.”
“Many have come to us seeking loved ones, friends…enemies. Few have left,” Avertgul hissed through broken, rot-blackened teeth. “I do not remember any dwarves visiting us but, if he is here, you will find him among the bones of the dead or within the blood upon our walls. Dwarves are of no use to us and we do not suffer their company for long.”
“We’d like to l-l-look for him all the same,” said the wizard. “He stole from the Broken Axe tribe and they want him captured.”
“I see. Well, in that case, I wouldn’t tell you where this dwarf is even if I did know,” cackled Avertgul. “If it causes them grief, I hope Markuli and his herd of cud-chewing fools never find their thief.”
“Screw it,” thought Chum’lee who suddenly uttered a syllable of arcane power as he reached into his spell component pouch.
“He’s casting!” shrieked one of Avertgul’s acolytes who had kept a close eye on the adventurers. “We’re under attack!”
Strands of thick, sticky webbing suddenly filled the rift leading into the temple as the acolytes loaded their crossbows.
“Keep them busy, my sisters!” shrieked Avertgul as she winged for the temple’s exit in the south wall. “These fools will regret their mistake! Mortgul will see to that!”
Two of the harpies at the rift entrance quickly flew for reinforcements while the third began to sing seductively from beyond the webs. Janus felt his heart skip at the sound of the siren call of the harpy and pushed carefully through the entangling strands to stand idly at her taloned feet before Grackle could resume his performance. Trapped within the temple with Janus a slave to the song of the hags, the party could now only fight and hope to survive the inbound murder of harpies.
“I was bored,” was the wizard’s only response.
Cul’tharic, who hadn’t understood a word of the exchange that led to this fight, could only do his best to keep the harpies in the temple from reaching his companions. The lizardman stabbed at a pair of the creatures flanking the party as Chum’lee fired bolts of flame from his fingers while his elemental familiar struck at a low-flying acolyte and Grackle assisted by giving the reptile a burst of speed.
Grackle’s spell helped Cul’tharic to quickly dispatch the harpies he was fighting and, after checking to make sure his companions could handle the acolytes, the lizard rushed off to save Janus who had been lured far away from the battle. Unfortunately, a gang of harpies cut the lizardman off from the assimar and blocked up the end of the rift, shrieking and clawing as they swung their spike-adorned clubs.
Traxxus had finished spying on the minotaurs and stealthily made his way toward the lair of the harpies after getting directions from Vornmik. Wisely choosing not to try and fight every harpy he came across, the halfling managed to slip into a large chamber containing the nests of a dozen or more of the monsters. He could hear the sounds of shrieking and battle not far away, but stopped when he spotted Janus cornered by one of the hags against a wall.
The aasimar seemed to be enjoying the attention of the harpy who sang to him as she cut away at his clothing and the straps holding up his armor and Traxxus managed to resist the harpy’s song and sneak toward the pair for a closer look. Janus didn’t seem to be in any immediate danger but the halfling couldn’t bear to leave a comrade in arms to the ministrations of such a triple-bagger. Quietly, Traxxus crept up behind the harpy as she ran a hooked claw down the assimar’s chest. She seemed to be pressing the haft of her morningstar into Janus’ throat with her other hand and, when Traxxus’s blade met the harpy’s back, the startled, furious creature quickly jerked the spikes of her weapon across the aasimar’s neck tearing loose chunks of flesh.
“That is so hot,” is probably what Janus would have said if he still had functioning vocal chords but, since he didn’t, he just died after making a few gurgling sounds. Traxxus suddenly felt very bad and a little grossed out, but not so grossed out that he couldn’t finish off the harpy who had just turned his friend into a PEZ dispenser.
Back in the temple, Grackle, Chum’lee and Cul’tharic were dealing with a whole new set of problems.
Avertgul had returned with help. A new pair of harpy warriors replaced the acolytes as Chum’lee managed to burn them out of the air and the harpy priestess had conjured up a spiked chain of pure force to lash at the wizard’s familiar, Gravel. Meanwhile, Cul’tharic continued to suffer under the talons and blows of the six harpies now clustered in the north tunnel. Within moments, Gravel was unconscious and Chum’lee was shot from the shadows with a pair of poisoned arrows.
“Mourn, wizard!” came a shriek from the darkened ceiling of the temple. “Zon-Kuthon has sent me a vision and your suffering on this world is about to come to an end!”
A ghastly harpy descended from the ceiling, her body a road map of stitches and scars, filth falling from her beating wings.
“I am Mortgul, Cardinal of Loss!” cackled the harpy. “It’s okay to scream.”
The harpy warriors quickly charged the wizard and tore into his flesh with their morningstars. The wizard countered with a powerful spell of invisibility in order to hide from the barrage of attacks and moved quickly to a new position. Grackle had become invisible earlier in the battle and sang nervously to fend off the song of the harpies, but his tired lungs were no match for the song of Mortgul. While Chum’lee’s mind was too sharp to be ensnared by the harpy’s song, the goblin suddenly went silent and walked invisibly toward the harpy queen. Having evaded the harpy warriors, Chum’lee conjured a sphere of acid that struck Mortgul causing her to change tactics. The harpy fighters quickly placed themselves between their queen and the origin point of the acid ball while Mortgul stopped singing and landed near the corpses of the two slain acolytes as Grackle shook off the effects of the harpy’s charm. With a few dark words, the harpy queen placed her blackened talons upon the bodies of the dead harpies. Suddenly, both harpies sat up, their eyes milky and staring. The power of Mortgul’s prayer had reanimated them as zombies.
“Find him!” screamed Mortgul. “I want his head on a f_____g plate!”
While the zombies and harpy fighters played a deadly game of Marco Polo with Chum’lee, Grackle moved into position, hoping to get the drop on the harpy queen. Animating his enchanted rope, the goblin attempted to entangle Mortgul by throwing the rope onto her. However, the harpy’s senses were too sharp and she evaded the now-visible goblin’s attack with ease.
By now, Traxxus had emerged from the nest chamber of the harpies and come to Cul’tharic’s aid. The pair of adventurers flanked the harpies and slowly cut away at their numbers, but they could hear the sounds of more harpies approaching from the north.
By feeling about the air, the harpies and zombies had managed to strike Chum’lee a few times, but the wizard was still loose and detonated a fireball among the monsters hoping to even the odds. Hearing Chum’lee’s warning, Grackle retreated to the safety of a far corner and flames erupted across the chamber. However, when the flames died down, the zombies and harpies still beat their wings against the air. Mortgul seemed to dance away from the flames entirely, and called out to Chum’lee.
“Fine, wizard. Try to hide from this.”
Mortgul’s living followers fled away from her as ripples of darkness suddenly burst out from the harpy queen. The room was flooded with negative energy and Chum’lee winced from the pain. Mortgul’s zombies, unaffected by the dark energy, continued to search for the wizard who dropped to his knees hoping to crawl to safety. However, he couldn’t crawl fast enough or far enough to escape the second burst of energy that came only moments later. Still invisible, Chum’lee fell limp upon the floor.
Viewing the goblin as a minor threat, Mortgul had let Grackle escape after his botched attempt at entangling her. Now, the once-more invisible goblin attempted to turn the tide of battle again.
“Get up, little guy! You’re boss needs you!” squeaked the goblin as he placed a healing hand upon Gravel, the earth elemental. Then, as loudly as his shrill, goblin voice could sing, Grackle pumped his concertina and called to Cul’tharic.
“Call upon your savage kin,
Feel the cold blood deep within,
Strike a blow for wondrous grace,
and kill the filthy, winged race!”
Over the shrieking of harpy voices and beating of harpy wings, Cul’tharic heard the goblin’s song and his cold blood boiled. The lizardman’s trident plunged deep into the hearts of the harpies with renewed vigor and, for a moment, the day looked like it was about to be saved.
And then Grackle lost the beat and his right eye to a thunderstone and the viper-like grace of Mortgul’s rapier.
Son of a one legged ass
my voice my beautiful voice
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When we last left The World's Largest Adventuring Party, they were deep within a harpy lair fighting for their lives. Janus was dead, Chum'lee was invisible and dying and Grackle was deaf and half-blind. With a pair of harpy clerics, a couple of zombies and a savage gaggle of harpies closing in, it wasn't looking too hot for the adventurers.
This marks the last session for a few of our players, at least for now. You might guess people are bailing due to the rising body count of dead PCs, but the truth is we've just got too many players. With the addition of a new player making ours a party of eight + one GM, sessions are slowing down, there's little room at the table and combat is becoming a quagmire. The next time I post a session, our numbers will have diminished, but I think the game will run smoother and the remaining players will hopefully have more fun. Time to find out how things went for the party in the lair of the harpies.
Thanks for reading.
DAYS 133-134 A MURDER OF HARPIES PART 2
featuring: The World's Largest Adventuring Party
Roch - Dwarf Mystic Theurge
Felix - Half-Orc Barbarian/Cleric of Consumption
Sloth - Half-Orc Fighter
Cul'tharic - NPC Lizardfolk Fighter/Scaled Horror
Shi - Human Cleric of Pharasma
Traxxus - Halfling Rogue
Durthuunicar - Human Ranger
Grackle - Goblin Savage Skald
Jonathon - Human Dragon Disciple
Grackle clutched at his eye howling in pain. Mortgul’s rapier left a trail of blood and ripped flesh down the goblin’s face and cut across his eye like a razor across an eggshell. The pain was excruciating and the skald’s performance was ruined. Cul’tharic and Traxxus struggled against the wall of beating wings, claws and morningstars toward Grackle, but it was too late for hope of victory. Then, the still body of Chum’lee appeared upon the floor, blackened and corrupted by the foul energy of the harpy priestess. The wizard had died attempting to invisibly crawl from the battle and the spell was finally broken.
“Tell them we want to offer terms!” hissed the lizardman to the goblin. “We only came here for information! This fight is the wizard’s doing and he’s dead! We’ll all join him soon if this keeps up!”
Unable to hear his words, but close enough to read the lizard’s lips, the goblin screeched out to Mortgul and her sister.
“The wizard did it! It was his fault! We only wanted to talk!”
Avertgul took a defensive stance and steadied her gaze at the goblin as she spit, “What did you just say?!”
“The wizard did it!” shrieked the goblin.
“Crap,” Avertgul muttered in a defeated tone as she looked up at her sister. “They know the ‘safe word.’”
Mortgul ordered her zombies and the other harpies to hold their attacks and turned to the goblin.
“Fine,” she snarled. “You’ve bought yourselves a few minutes. What do you offer in exchange for your lives?”
The surviving party members had narrowly escaped death at the claws of the harpies, but were forced to hand over a hefty tribute to the monsters and relinquish any claim on their dead companions’ equipment and bodies though Grackle asked the harpies to allow Cul’tharic to remove a tooth from each of the corpses. The harpies claimed they wouldn’t need the dead adventurers’ teeth for what they had planned and allowed it, making the goblin feel a little creeped out.
On their quick march out of the harpy lair, the group spotted what appeared to be a male human bound within one of the harpy nests. The man appeared to be alive and Cul’tharic hissed to his companions as the party’s harpy escorts pushed them on.
“We can’t leave him. It wouldn’t be right.”
“We’re in no condition to fight right now,” whispered Traxxus.
“I agree,” said Grackle. “We should come back for him with reinforcements. I want my treasure back from these filthy hags anyway.”
And so, Durthuunicar was left to the tender graces of the harpies. The ranger had been a “guest” of the creatures ever since he encountered a pair of them in the tunnels east of their lair. During his stay, he’d been stripped of his belongings and passed from nest to nest to satisfy the cruel lust of the monsters and, when he wasn’t charmed by their voices, he was bound and gagged and occasionally drugged to prevent him from escaping. But Durthuunicar had learned something of his captors. Listening to their cackling and hissing, the ranger learned the harpies seemed to be rushing to lay as many fertile eggs as possible. Over the last several years, Mortgul and Avertgul had apparently turned their lair into some sort of monstrous brothel and offered their services to the minotaurs and any other humanoid creatures to wander near their lair. Any male creature to turn down the offer was usually captured and forced to breed with the harpies before being eaten or thrown back into the dungeon broken of mind and body. What the eggs were for was unclear, but it seemed they were nearing the completion of some great undertaking.
***
Another day passed while Durthuunicar languished in the harpy lair. Then, the ranger awoke to the sound of singing. This wasn’t the charming song of the harpies, however. It was the song the harpy sentries used to alert their sisters of potential customers. Several harpies took up positions throughout the lair using their voices to lead the customers to the main nest and Durthuunicar could only pray the newcomers would have the compassion to set him free. Then, the ranger heard a whisper.
“We’re here to get you out while our companions distract the harpies,” whispered the invisibleTraxxus.
The halfling, Grackle and Cul’tharic had snuck into the nest invisibly while their companions haggled with the harpy guard at the entrance to the lair. The pair of half-orcs, Felix and Sloth, the party had recruited moved toward the sound of the harpy singers at a leisurely pace, but Shi and Roch, along with a dragon-blooded warrior-mage named Jonathon, played hard-to-get with the harpy guard.
“Please, join your friends,” cooed the hag. “We won’t bite...much.”
“Uh, that’s okay,” replied Shi as he choked back the urge to vomit. “We’re good. We’ll just wait right here.”
Greedy to indulge their needs, the harpies began a new song that tugged at the minds of their adventurers. It seemed to drain at their will. Instinctively, Grackle began to sing to counter the effects of the harpy voices and, just like that, the adventurers’ plans were foiled. Cul’tharic and Traxxus hadn’t yet managed to free Durthuunicar before the harpies caught the sound of Grackle’s voice and, recognizing the scratchy falsetto of the goblin skald, the harpies quickly armed themselves.
Traxxus and Cul’tharic quickly cut down the harpy guarding Durthunnicar as Grackle continued his song. Felix, Jonathon, Shi and Roch tried to regroup with the party and Sloth, who was frustrated and disappointed that he wasn’t going to get any, lashed out at the nearest harpy who returned the favor by jabbing a wickedly curved long-knife into the joints of his armor.
Cul’tharic used his claws to slash Durthuunicar free of his bonds and pointed to the nearby dying harpy’s weapons while hissing. Though the ranger couldn’t understand the lizardman’s words, he knew the creature was telling him to pick up a weapon and fight if he wanted to get out of this alive. Traxxus drew a small bugle from his sack and began to blow a long, low tone as a thick mist issued from the bell of the horn. The mist spread out before the halfling concealing him from the incoming arrows of the harpy archers now hovering at the end of the chamber as Felix moved across the hall to the dying harpy. Placing a hand on the creature, the half-orc chanted a short prayer and absorbed the life force of the monster.
“Eat or be eaten,” grinned the half-orc.
Roch, Shi and Jonathon finally reached Cul’tharic and the others as Sloth charged into the room shouting up at the harpies. The harpy he’d attacked earlier had escaped into a northward tunnel singing a rally cry to any harpies in earshot. Now, the half-orc fighter stood impotent against the hail of arrows loosed by the hovering hags.
“Grahh!” shouted Sloth. “These harpies are not fair! They need to come down right now or Sloth is going home!”
Roch launched an explosive ball of fire into one group of harpies, charring their wings, which beat heavily against the flames. The harpies, spotting the spellcaster, quickly turned their aim on the dwarf and returned fire with a volley of arrows that turned Roch into a sieve. Seeing the heavy wounds Roch was taking, Shi moved forward to heal the dwarf. The dwarf’s spells were the adventurers’ best weapons against the flying creatures so it wouldn’t be wise to let him fall so soon. Meanwhile, Cul’tharic, Jonathon and Durthuunicar did what they could with their arrows and javelins and Grackle hurled a couple of tanglefoot bags up at the creatures who nimbly managed to keep the glue from hindering their flight. Traxxus continued to blow his horn providing more cover to his companions as he made his way toward a narrow tunnel in the south. Cul’tharic had noticed no harpies were coming from the tunnel and told his companions to make for it if the fighting became too difficult. Felix looked for another harpy to drain of life while Sloth uselessly flung his swords into the air hoping to strike a harpy.
Suddenly, a ball of fire erupted around the adventurers. Avertgul hovered near the ceiling of the nest chamber clutching an amulet glowing with fiery light. The harpy priestess had Chum’lee’s fireball necklace and laughed as she rocked the chamber with another explosion. The zombified remains of the wizard and Janus shambled across the floor below her.
“Sloth no want to fight!” shouted Sloth. “Sloth just want make sloppy pie with harpies! Let Sloth live and brother Felix live and Sloth not fight!”
“Fine, orc-blood. Come away from your companions and we’ll get better acquainted later,” cackled the harpy.
The half-orc chuckled as he thought to himself. “Hur hur. Sloth am smart. Sloth will make sloppy pie and wait until harpies are sleeping and then kill them all. Stupid harpies will never see that coming a hundred miles away ever because Sloth am genius and Sloth’s plan totally not obvious.”
“What are you doing, Sloth!?” shouted Felix. “We’re getting out of here!”
It didn’t matter. Once out of the range of Grackle’s voice, the imbecile was caught in the spell of the harpy song. Cul’tharic, Traxxus and Shi were already within the narrow tunnel to the south, but the lizardman waited for his companions to catch up. Silence suddenly fell around the entrance to the tunnel shutting out the goblin’s voice as a rain of arrows showered Roch and Grackle. Avertgul had sent a harpy enchanted with an aura of silence to hover over the goblin skald. For an instant, Sloth was within the aura of silence and snapped out of his stupor. Noticing this, Avertgul looked down at the half-orc and sang, “You know you must stay, you gave us your word, you’ve never had nothing like a girl who’s half bird.”
Sloth turned toward the mist where Grackle stood under a hail of arrows and called back, “I will kill goblin for pretty lady!” then charged into the cloud.
“Kill them all!” screeched Avertgul. “But kill the moron first! The hatchlings would have all come out retarded anyway.”
Sloth had lied to Avertgul and the hag had known it from the beginning. The half-orc charged into the cloud hoping to push Grackle into the tunnel, but the mist obscured his vision. Running past the goblin, Sloth suddenly found himself the target of a dozen poisoned arrows. Many of the arrows missed due to the fog, but enough hit that the fighter fell to the ground within the cloud. Grackle had also fallen and with the silence of the enchanted harpy lifted, the song of the harpies once again began to creep into the minds of the adventurers. Though able to resist its siren call, the adventurers could still feel the power of the monsters’ voices draining their will. Cul’tharic pushed back into the fog knocking aside the zombie of Janus and calling for help to recover Grackle as Avertgul flew in above him releasing a burst of negative energy into the mist.
Felix, whose meditations had given him the ability to determine a creature’s closeness to death, could see Sloth was dead, finished off by the harpy priestess, but Grackle clung to life by a thread and Jonathon rushed forward to grab the goblin and carry him to safety. Roch, Shi, Durthuunicar and Traxxus had already gone ahead to scout the tunnel, which led them to a sealed door and, with the voices of the harpies echoing close behind them, Cul’tharic, Jonathon and Felix rushed to catch up.
Traxxus had been tinkering with the lock on the large stone door for nearly a minute when the rest of the party arrived. The door was inscribed with a series of strange glyphs, which did not appear to be Celestial in origin and a set of sliding tiles appeared to function as a lock. The mechanism was old and complex and unlike anything the halfling had ever seen but, with the aid of a pair of enchanted goggles he’d purchased from the rogue, Bartleby, Traxxus was able to figure out the combination of the lock and pull the door open for his companions who rushed inside.
The floor of the chamber beyond the door was rough and scratched and long-dried blood stained its tiles. With the door closed behind them, the party could no longer hear the sound of the approaching harpies, but they knew it wouldn’t be long before the creatures were right outside. Two doors, one in the south corner of the east wall and one in the center of the west wall offered their only hope for escape. Traxxus moved to the closer south door first and examined it. Holding his breath, Traxxus slid a tile bearing the image of an eye into its closed position and waited. Nothing. However, as the halfling exhaled, the party could suddenly hear a whirring and clicking noise coming from within the walls. The sound began at the south door and seemed to be moving toward the center of the east and west walls toward the only other two doors leading out of the chamber.
“Everybody out!” shouted Traxxus. “We’re being sealed inside!”
Cul’tharic, Shi, Roch, Felix and Jonathon (who still carried Grackle) ran for the west door with Durthuunicar and Traxxus close behind. The doors in the east were already locked tight and the clicking sound was nearly to the west exit. Cul’tharic threw open the door but could already feel some force working to reseal the chamber. Shi, Roch, and Jonathon dove through the open door as the lizardman and Felx struggled to keep the door from closing, but it was already too late for Traxxus and Durthuunicar. The force behind the trap overpowered Cul’tharic and Felix throwing them out of the room as the door slammed shut. No sound could escape the sealed chamber but, as Felix and Cul’tharic beat against the door to rescue their companions, they could feel a tremor from the door as if a small earthquake had suddenly struck the room. There was nothing to be done. With luck, Traxxus and Durthuunicar had survived, but there was no time to find out. The door to the chamber was still sealed, but the harpies might know another route to reach the adventurers. They had to move, and their only avenue led deeper into the labyrinth.
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So, I think our first session with a streamlined party went pretty well. The party accomplished alot, moved through the dungeon with rare speed and nobody died. Even more important is everyone had a good time so, without further ado, here's the journal.
DAYS 134-135 ARNARAH'S RIDDLE
featuring: The World's Largest Adventuring Party
Roch - Dwarf Mystic Theurge
Felix - Half-Orc Barbarian/Cleric of Consumption
Cul'tharic - NPC Lizardfolk Fighter/Scaled Horror
Shi - Human Cleric of Pharasma
Grackle - Goblin Savage Skald
Jonathon - Human Dragon Disciple
Grackle, Shi, Roch, Jonathan, Felix and Cul’tharic stared down the corridor ahead of them as they listened for the sound of the harpies. Their companions had either been slain by the creatures or were trapped within the trapped room they’d narrowly escaped. The walls, ceiling and floor of the hall was covered in the strange pictograms they’d found in the trapped chamber and the adventurers could see a set of doors leading north, south and to the west. The north door surely led back into harpy territory and Cul’tharic listened for the sound of beating wings or screeching. All was quiet for the moment, but it might be only a matter of time before the creatures found their way to the other side of the door.
“We need to distance ourselves from this place,” said Shi. “We should go south.”
“Why not west?” asked Felix. “It seems like just as good a direction as any at this point.”
Jonathan remained silent on the matter, but a brief argument about which direction to take was suddenly cut short by Cul’tharic.
“Be silent,” hissed the lizardman. “I hear them. They are not far from the door, but it doesn’t sound like they intend to come through. Choose a direction quickly. I will try to hold the door closed if they decide to come through while you explore.”
The south door was chosen first and Shi, Grackle, Felix and Roch passed through to explore the hall beyond. Through the door, more pictograms and a dead end lay to the south, but a tunnel to the west offered another pair of doors to the north and south. The group opened the door to the south and found only a small room decorated in the strange art, but noticed a pattern in the some of the designs. It appeared to be a message, but none had the knowledge to interpret it until Shi prayed to his goddess for illumination. Upon the wall, Shi could now make out the words:
Now, the Lovers’ hearts are broken,
The Pines have fallen down,
“It sounds like terrible, adolescent poetry,” the priest announced.
Other than the words upon the wall, the chamber was empty so the group tried the other door. In the north chamber, they found another couplet Shi was able to translate through his spell of comprehension:
The Spider snuck to the Lion’s den and bit it on the paw.
Its poison halved the Lion’s strength and broke the Griffon’s Claw.
“More of the same nonsense,” said Shi.
“Maybe it’s a code?” queried Grackle. “We should write these down in case we find more.”
The party returned to Cul’tharic who reported there had been no change at the north door. He was certain the harpies were waiting on the other side, but didn’t know why they hadn’t tried to come through.
“The way south is a dead end. We have to go west,” Roch told the lizardman. “I’ll conjure up a puddle of water in the south tunnel so it looks like we ran that way.”
“How is that going to work?” asked Grackle.
“Don’t you see? It’s brilliant,” chimed Shi, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “The harpies will think we all wet ourselves in fear and ran in terror when we heard them coming.”
To the west, the party discovered a long hallway extending to the south. The walls here were covered in artwork but not the strange hieroglyphs from the previous tunnel. Crudely drawn humanoid figures mixed with fantastic beasts in a mural depicting terrible battles and simple life among the tribes.
“Some of this looks like goblincraft,” announced Grackle. “We’re only ever taught one way to draw a goblin, see? The head, teeth and ears give it away. A goblin artist gets that wrong and he’s lucky if he gets to keep his fingers. I’m not sure about the rest of this stuff. Gnoll? Some minotaur art maybe?”
Whoever created the mural seemed to be long gone and the party had little time to figure out why they’d left the images. A door in the northwest corner of the hall was locked from the party’s side so they chose to leave it that way in case it was keeping the harpies at bay. For now, they’d go south and explore the two doors at the other end of the hall. Halfway down the hall, where the tunnel narrowed, they discovered a third couplet in a most painful manner.
ZOooRrT! An arcing bolt of lightning suddenly danced across the floor of the tunnel electrifying the party as they passed. The damage caused by the bolt was severe but nobody was mortally wounded and, once the lightning stopped, a new message appeared glowing briefly upon the walls of the narrow tunnel:
A Griffon came to make its home within a Mouse’s hole.
The Fox he was the Lion’s pet, two elephants he stole.
Shi quickly memorized the couplet before it could fade from sight. None wanted to risk setting off the lightning trap again to reveal the message. At the far end of the tunnel, the party found another small room in the east wall where they decided to rest and recover from their injuries. When they’d rested enough to restore their strength, the party pushed on through a door in the west.
The tunnels to the west eventually led the group to two more couplets and an intersection of tunnels. Felix and Cul’tharic searched two of the tunnels while Jonathan and Roch waited at the intersection and Grackle and Shi searched a pair of doors to the north.
Through the doors to the north, Shi and Grackle found a large room decorated with a single line of the mysterious message and a hall where a pair of large doors were sealed by some mystical symbol.
“You go get the others,” said Grackle. “I’ll wait here and keep an eye on the door.”
As soon as Shi had gone, the goblin’s greedy fingers were already clutching at the pull on the door. Grackle could already smell the sweet, sweet treasure beyond the mystically sealed door. It would only take Shi a couple of minutes to return with the rest of the group, but that was more than enough time for the goblin to loot the best stuff from the chamber. A charge of magical power surged through the symbol inscribed upon the door and, for an instant, Grackle was terrified but his greed overcame the fear caused by the spell and he managed to pull the doors open…only to find a solid wall decorated by more of the strange pictograms.
“Noooo!” sobbed the goblin. “It isn’t fair!” Grackle fell into a kicking and screaming heap as Shi quickly ran to find the rest of the group.
Felix and Cul’tharic found themselves within what looked to be a small block of prison cells. The ten cell doors were solid and closed tight, but a small, barred window near the top of each door allowed the pair to peer into each. Most of the cells were empty but, in the final cell along the east wall, the adventurers spotted what appeared to be a frail, catatonic and emaciated elf sitting against the wall of the cell below a glowing orb of white light. Noticing their presence, the orb suddenly spoke to the pair.
“I am Flash, custodian of this region of the dungeon,” intoned the ball of light. “Who are you and how did you come to be here?”
“We were chased here by harpies,” spoke Felix. “We’re just trying to find a way out of this place.”
“I can’t leave this prisoner alone for too long, but I can lead you to something that might be able to help,” offered Flash.
“What?” asked Felix.
“There’ll be time for questions later,” answered Flash. “It’ll be easier if I just take you. Now, are you coming or what?”
Flash passed through the bars of the door’s window as if they were air and quickly sped off toward the intersection where Jonathan and Roch waited with Shi. Following the lantern archon, the party found Grackle still bawling in the hallway near the symbol-inscribed doors.
“She’s been busy,” hummed Flash as the celestial passed by the hieroglyphs upon the exposed wall. “If this goblin is with you, bring him along.”
Flash led the group to a sealed, but otherwise unremarkable door. However, in the glow of the archon’s light, a swirling pattern of hieroglyphs suddenly appeared. They appeared to be circling upon the door in a shifting arrangement of the couplets the party had found throughout the area but there appeared to be a few gaps in the pattern.
“All of the answers you seek are written on this door,” announced Flash. “When you’ve located and arranged all of the stanzas in the correct order, the door will open. Now, I have to return to the prisoner. Good luck.”
With that, Flash was gone and returning to his charge in the lonely cell. The swirling pattern of images vanished as the archon moved away from the door, but now the party knew they were close to finishing the poem and unlocking the strange door. The group headed south to explore a small room Flash had led them through. The room was only 15x15 feet, but three doors led out of the chamber and a 50-foot column dotted with small holes stood in the center of the chamber. The party quickly moved through the chamber through the south door where they found a large room dominated a massive block of stone.
The 25x25-foot block of stone stood from floor to ceiling and was inscribed upon four sides with more of the cryptic words forming another single line of the poem. As the party moved around the block to decipher the words, Roch noticed something in the north wall of the massive chamber.
“Somebody’s gone through a lot of trouble to conceal a door here,” said the dwarf. “This stone looks like it’s been shaped by magic.”
Sure enough, the party discovered a hidden door leading into a dusty chamber where four columns of stone rose toward the ceiling of the room. Hieroglyphs seemed to peek out from under a layer of thick dust and grime on the columns so Felix and Shi moved in to investigate and clear off some of the dirt.
“Let me help,” offered Grackle from the safety of the doorway.
The goblin conjured up an invisible force to aid in the cleaning of the stone and it quickly went to work removing the caked on dust, but Felix and Shi soon regretted the skald’s assistance.
With the slightest brush of the unseen servant’s hand upon the nearest column, a rumble was heard. Suddenly, all four columns came crashing down around Felix and Shi. The half-orc could only stare in horror, visions of his imminent death playing out in his mind, as two of the columns crashed down onto him. Shi was lucky to only be struck by the blocks of one of the falling columns. When the dust cleared, a groan was heard from below a pile of the fallen stone. Felix had survived, but barely. Unfortunately, it appeared the words on the columns were no longer in any condition to be read. As the party was about to leave the room in defeat, Shi looked up and noticed the tremor of the falling blocks had dislodged a thick layer of grime that had clung to the wall of the chamber. The trap had exposed another stanza of the poem, and the cleric quickly added it to the others before returning to the small room with the holed column.
The door to the east of the column led only to a dead end, but upon examining the perforated tower itself, Felix made another discovery. A strange noise, like water dripping onto a tin roof, seemed to be coming from within the column. Felix, Shi and Roch studied the column to discover the source of the noise when they suddenly realized what was about to happen.
The doors to the small chamber slammed closed as water began to pour from the holes in the 50-foot tall structure. Grackle and Jonathan managed to dive out of the room just in time, but Cul’tharic, Shi, Feilx and Roch were now trapped within the room as thousands of gallons of water quickly filled the chamber.
Cul’tharic knew he could survive longest of his companions once they were completely submerged, but didn’t hesitate to assist when he spotted Felix attempting to batter down one of the doors. Roch and Shi could do little to aid the two warriors, but they did notice a change in the column. As the level of water quickly rose around the column, sections of the stone seemed to glow spelling out a message in the strange language of the pictograms. Shi tried to memorize the symbols as Felix and Cul’tarhic continued to smash at the door. The lizardman had given up on bashing the iron door down and switched to skewering it with his trident. Seeing that the reptilian’s piercing weapon was making headway against the door, Felix quickly grabbed one of Cul’tharic’s javelins from his back and proceeded to drive its point into the door.
Jonathan heard the thumping and scraping of his companions’ weapons against the door from the other side and swung his glaive into it hoping to lend some aid as Grackle fled as far as he could from the trapped room. The goblin had seen water trickling through the small welts and cracks in the door and knew what was about to happen. When his flight stopped at the riddle-sealed door, he knew he could only hold his breath and hope for the best.
Jets of water began to spray into the hall as Jonathan turned to run and the door buckled under the powerful blows of Cul’tharic and Felix. A second later, a geyser of water rushed into hall carrying the trapped adventurers along with it. The column continued to dump water into the hall, but not so much that the party couldn’t swim to its surface for some fresh air. Roch did need a little help from his lizardfolk friend to stay afloat but, eventually, the water stopped and drained from the room through a set of vents, which suddenly appeared under the column.
With the water receding, Shi quickly dug through his bag for the notes he’d made of the poem stanzas. They were ruined. Then he remembered the stanzas were written upon the enchanted door. All he had to do was figure out a way to make them reappear.
The party thought for a moment to when Flash hovered near the door. The swirling pattern of pictograms had appeared then, but the archon had returned to his vigil and may not be in the mood to once again break from its duty. Light emanating from a divine source seemed to be the key to uncovering the words and, once again, Shi was prepared. The cleric didn’t like casting the spell because it was a little too benevolent for his tastes, but he’d found it useful in the past so occasionally prepared the spell for safe measure. With a short prayer, the death priest was suddenly bathed in the shining light of Lunia, some obscure celestial being Shi knew little to nothing about. The halo of light fell upon the door and exposed its swirling pattern. Somehow, the door knew the party had discovered its words and, now, the gaps they’d previously seen were gone. They only needed to speak the stanzas in the correct order to open it.
It took some time, but through a little common sense, guessing and Grackle’s knowledge of songwriting, the party eventually came up with the correct order of the stanzas and Shi stood before the door as he recited the words:
A Griffon came to make its home within a Mouse’s hole.
The Fox he was the Lion’s pet, two elephants he stole.
The Eagle sought to gain revenge and found the Fox’s Crown
But fell into a Spider’s web, its wings were tightly bound.
The Spider snuck to the Lion’s den and bit it on the paw.
Its poison halved the Lion’s strength and broke the Griffon’s Claw.
Now, the Lovers’ hearts are broken,
The Pines have fallen down,
Thunder roars within its cloud,
The Fox lies with its Crown,
An Eagle in a Spider’s web,
A Spider in a nest,
The Lion plots within its den,
The Jackals have the rest,
But if the Innocent is lost and the Jackals raise the call
Life and joy will be undone,
The Jackals take it all.
Though the adventurers still had no idea what the words meant, it didn’t seem to matter. The pattern of words ceased its dance and glowed brightly as the door slowly opened into a large chamber furnished with exotic rugs, tapestries and a wide, inviting bed of silk sheets, fur blankets and soft pillows. Lounging upon the bed was a creature similar to a manticore but, where they were foul and demonic, this creature was fair and angelic. The lion-like creature had the face of a beautiful woman and the wings of an eagle. A smile parted her lips as she spoke to the party of adventurers.
“Well done, my wanderers,” spoke the sphinx. “I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me. No doubt you’ve many questions. I will say only that the answers you seek are written upon that door. Answer the riddle of the door and I will grant you a boon…”
She let the words hang in the air a moment before continuing.
“…Fail to answer any part of the riddle correctly and I will devour one of you for each incorrect response. Are these terms acceptable?”
“Uhm, how much time do we have?” asked Grackle with a hint of nervousness.
“You have until the riddle changes, of course,” replied the sphinx. “But I would not return here until you are sure of your answers. A bargain made is a bargain paid.”
The party took a few moments to question the creature but her answers were cryptic and confusing. The sphinx would give up nothing. Eventually, they left her to her lounging and returned to the lantern archon, Flash.
Flash greeted the party in its curt manner and then asked them about their meeting with the sphinx. The lantern archon could tell them little of the creature past her name and his own experiences dealing with her.
“Aranrah’s been here a long time,” spoke the archon. “She keeps to herself for the most part, but she’s had her share of visitors; other adventurers like you, the harpies. I don’t know how, but I suspect she’s the reason things are as quiet as they are around here.”
The lantern archon went on to explain how he’d first met Arnarah while performing a patrol of the old prison cells. Since the earthquake that broke the prison, the archon had been busy trying to police the minotaurs, harpies and other monsters that had eventually moved into his region of the dungeon. Over time, he’d come to realize the labyrinth was still doing its job of keeping the monsters from harming others by giving them a home where they were content to live out their days preying on one another but Arnarah was different. The sphinx had moved into the dungeon long before the arrivals of any of the other monsters in the area. She seemed happy to spend her time with her books and art and, though she did occasionally eat a visitor to her lair, she never did so out of malice or cruelty. She always offered her meals a chance to walk away and always lived up to her promises if they could answer her riddles. Eventually, Flash made a trip to her lair to check the cells and say hello and that’s when he encountered the elf prisoner.
Arnarah called the prisoner The Eagle and said he was responsible for many horrible crimes. Flash questioned the elf who threatened to murder the archon and the sphinx for imprisoning him and admitted to being a destroyer of many lives. The elf’s stories were full of madness and evil and, eventually, Flash came to the conclusion he was possessed by a demon. Flash told Arnarah he would keep an eye on the prisoner, make sure he was fed and cared for and try to figure out a way to free him from the demon’s control. Within a few years, the prisoner’s raving subsided and now he hardly ever spoke a word. When he did, it was only to whisper the phrase, “I’m not an elf.”
The adventurers asked to examine the prisoner and Flash allowed them into the cell. The elf didn’t stir. He merely sat in the corner of the room in his tattered robes and stared blankly at the wall. Grackle thought for a moment and then leaned in close to the elf and whispered a name into his ear.
“Markuli,” said the goblin.
Nothing.
“Grauki,” Grackle tried.
“I’m not an elf,” cracked the elf’s voice and Grackle thought for a moment he could see a small tear form in his eye.
“I’ve got it!” exclaimed the goblin who was off like a shot toward Arnarah’s lair.
“Got what?” asked Felix as the skald sped away.
The party followed the goblin as he explained.
“I know the answer to the riddle! Oh, she’s a clever one,” piped Grackle as he ran.
Arnarah seemed almost surprised to see the party back so soon.
“You have something to tell me,” smiled the sphinx. “I can hear the words prying at your lips for escape. Please. Set them free.”
“You’re a crafty one. I’ll give you that,” proclaimed the goblin. “But I’ve figured it out. I know the answer to the riddle.”
“Before you start, are your companions so confident of your discovery?” Aranarah waited.
“This is all him,” spoke Felix. “He ran for your lair and we followed, but whatever comes out his mouth next is all on him.” The rest of the party agreed. Even Cul’tharic held back support for the goblin’s theory.
“You may proceed,” Arnarah grinned as she sat up on her bed.
“We’ll start with the Griffon and the mouse,” said the goblin, giddy with excitement. “They’re the dungeon. The griffon-headed doors and the mouse’s hole are the labyrinth itself!”
Grackle waited to see how the sphinx would react to his answer. The coy beast only bade him to continue, her face as stony as ever. The goblin spent the next few minutes explaining his answer; how he believed Arnarah herself to be the spider and that the eagle was secretly one of the minotaur chieftans, most likely Grauki. When he finished, the goblin stood proudly, a grin wide across his lips. He’d done so well beating the sphinx at her own game and now he’d have his reward. To hell with his companions if they couldn’t see the wisdom of his words. He’d have the treasure all to himself. Then, Arnarah spoke and crushed Grackle’s fantasy with words of her own.
“Your companions were wise not to support you, goblin. Else, I’d have to eat some of them twice.”
“I’ll come for you when I am hungry.”
Grackle’s heart sank. He’d been wrong about something, but what? He’d been so certain and now he was going to be the meal of this beast. The goblin swore under his breath he’d be ready when she came. There was no way he’d go down without a fight.
goblins are not a part of the "major food groups" in this dungeon anymore
I will find this dreadfully lovly beast's weakness and I will save my life and maybe gain a new mentor ......or at the least not end up a deposit in some pit left behind by this smarmy creature hoity toity sphinx
we goblins have feelings you know
greed avarice cowardlyness immpatientness .......
if you prick us do we not come back with 10 or twelve friends and swarm you and leave you maggot bait ?
just saying ,,,,, besides , you know there is always more than one hunger to feed
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The adventurers thought the worst was over. They thought they'd delved the lowest depths of harpy depravity and taken the worst the hags could dish out. They were wrong...
DAYS 135-136 THE LAMENTATION OF THE WEEPING WOMAN
featuring: The World's Largest Adventuring Party
Roch - Dwarf Mystic Theurge
Felix - Half-Orc Barbarian/Cleric of Consumption
Cul'tharic - NPC Lizardfolk Fighter/Scaled Horror
Shi - Human Cleric of Pharasma
Grackle - Goblin Savage Skald
Jonathon - Human Dragon Disciple
Grackle flinched in anticipation of Arnarah’s pounce but it never came. The sphinx kept her seat and seemed honest in her promise that the goblin would live until her appetite demanded sating. The party was unsure of just how wrong Grackle had been in his attempt at answering Arnarah’s riddle but knew there was much to discover if they had any intention of gaining the sphinx’s boon and their only chance at solving the puzzle lay in their escape from her lair.
The adventurers were trapped. While Arnarah presented no immediate threat, there was no path of escape except through the harpies’ roost. It was decided the group would rest until fully healed and then make a desperate rush through the hags’ lair.
The party returned to the lightning-trapped tunnel and found the door in the northwest corner. It was locked from the inside when they were last here and, fortunately, it remained so. There was a slim chance the door would lead away from the harpies but none of the adventurers dared to hope for such luck and, as the door quietly swung open, they almost regretted their cynicism. The door opened into a small chamber lined with hieroglyphs from floor to ceiling. The room did not appear to be part of the harpy lair, but a door in the north wall betrayed the safety of the chamber when it led into a bone-littered hall with walls painted in the blood of a hundred victims. On the opposite side of the door, some creature had scrawled the word “SPHINX” in blood and drawn an arrow pointing into the hieroglyph chamber. Adding to the general horror of the passage was a sound of drumming and chanting echoing through the halls.
Felix looked about the piles of discarded bones until he found the remains of a dwarf’s skull.
“We can maybe use this to convince the minotaurs of Darvil’s death,” grinned the half-orc as he shoved the skull into his sack.
Grackle, perhaps enthralled by the sound of the infernal beat of the distant drums, began to creep in the direction of the sound when Cul’tharic stopped him.
“There is a tunnel here to the north,” said the lizardman. “It may lead around the harpies and away from whatever they are doing.”
With a small grunt of displeasure, the goblin followed his companions as they slipped stealthily up the passage.
At the corner of the tunnel, Cul’tharic motioned for his companions to stop. A pair of harpy acolytes perched above a door around the corner but hadn’t noticed the adventurers’ approach over the sound of the drums. Past them, the lizardman could see a tunnel that appeared to connect to the tunnel Grackle had almost traveled. Cul’tharic snuck back to take Grackle and Felix to help him flank the harpies and the three moved around to the east tunnel while Shi and the others prepared an ambush.
The cleric of Pharasma snuck up to the corner of the tunnel and heard what sounded like one of the creatures dropping from its perch and moving toward him. With no time to waste, Shi leapt into the tunnel unleashing a wave of negative energy that crawled over the harpies draining of them of life. The harpy closest to Shi immediately began to sing her siren call and would have ensnared Felix and Cul’tharic were it not for Grackle’s song. Within moments, the party had the two harpy sentries bleeding out upon the floor of the filthy tunnel and, luckily, the sound of the harpies’ ritual had drowned out the noise of their battle. Grackle, Roch, Shi and Jonathon moved to investigate the door the creatures had guarded while Felix and Cul’tharic stood watch in the hall.
The chamber beyond the door was as filthy as the rest of the harpy lair, but a store of goods was strewn haphazardly throughout the room. Some of the equipment the party recognized as once belonging to their dead companions but other gear appeared to have been here much longer and was in too poor a condition to use. Next to a nest of bones and detritus stood a locked cabinet with a book resting open atop it. The tome was old and bound in the skin of some unfortunate beast or man. Shi could clearly make out words written in the language of devils but the book’s owner had left coded messages along the edges of the pages in the common tongue. Upon touching the book, Grackle felt a dark force attempting to invade his mind, but managed to shake it off as he lifted it from the cabinet and held it out for Shi to decipher.
The unholy tome was revealed to be an ancient spell and prayer book of Zon-Kuthon, the dark god of the harpies. According to the notes in the margins of the book, the harpy sisters Mortgul and Avertgul had discovered a ritual, which would give the harpies a powerful weapon against the other creatures in the dungeon. The Lamentation of the Weeping Woman, as the harpy priestesses referred to it, was a song so melancholy and sorrowful any creature hearing it would become so overcome with grief it would end its own life to escape the sadness. According to the notes, the harpies required only two things to complete the ritual: The sacrifice of an intelligent being, innocent of wrongdoing and pure of heart, and 47 children to be drowned by their own mothers. Once these things were accomplished, it was written, the terrible god Zon-Kuthon would bless these women with the voices of banshees so that they might inflict their pain upon the world.
“Arnarah knew this was going to happen,” Grackle fretted as Shi finished reading the entry. “She knew this was going to happen and she tricked us into coming here hoping we’d stop it!”
It quickly became apparent why the harpies were in such a rush to breed and, now, they had begun the ritual that would win them control over the region and possibly the entire dungeon. Shi quickly searched for any notes that might hint at a method of halting the spell. Though a solution evaded him, he did learn the harpies had allies among the Broken Axe minotaurs, allies who were apparently ignorant of the full effect of the ritual’s magic. With no time to lose, the adventurers raced for the harpy temple. Outnumbered or not, there was no way they could allow the harpies to complete their profane spell. Their own lives, and the lives of countless more, depended on it.
The adventurers found the temple chamber guarded by a pair of harpy zombies. No doubt the creatures were reanimated from the harpies they’d fought in the previous days. The sound of the drumming and chanting was barely contained by the closed door to the chamber, and the party moved to quickly dispatch the zombie guards before they could raise an alarm. As the undead horrors fell, the drumming within the temple stopped and the chanting became a low moan that reverberated through the halls. Fearing they may be too late, the adventurers threw open the door to the temple and charged in.
The harpy priestess Avertgul turned to glare at the adventurers as they piled into the temple chamber. A small squirming bundle lay bound in bloodstained silk cords upon the sacrificial altar and a familiar minotaur woman stood at the harpy’s side.
“You’re too late, fools!” screeched Avertgul. “Your meddling ends now! Ramvik! Deal with the intruders while we finish the ritual!”
Ramvik, the minotaur cleric of Zon-Kuthon, chanted a quick prayer to her god and rushed forward as a pair of harpy sentries descended from the ceiling firing arrows down at the adventurers. The massive warrior-priestess filled the tunnel blocking access to the altar as she swung her greataxe into Cul’tharic. The noble lizardman reeled from the pain as an unholy surge of power coursed through the wound. There was little doubt the party could cut Ramvik down if they teamed against her, but they knew killing her would likely only make things worse.
“The harpies have tricked you!” shouted Shi as Roch held the vile tome out for Ramvik to read. “They mean to kill everyone!”
The minotaur snatched the book away from the dwarf as she continued to block up the tunnel, a pair of harpy zombies at her back as the sentries continued to fire their arrows from over her shoulder. Ramvik’s eyes darted across the mouldering pages of the tome as she tried to make sense of the harpy code, and Cul’tharic took a moment to heal the terrible wounds left by the minotaur’s axe as his companions waited for some sign Ramvik understood the danger to her people. Suddenly, the chanting stopped and Avertgul plunged a wicked dagger into the helpless form of the halfling Riswan who lay bound upon the altar.
A wave of sonic energy shook the room with the harpy’s blow and she lined up her dagger to stab again. Whether by halfling luck or fortitude alone, Riswan had survived Avertgul’s strike.
“We’re doomed!” shrieked Grackle even as he became invisible in the hopes of sneaking past the large minotaur woman so that he might heal the halfling’s wounds before death claimed him. Still injured but unwilling to wait any longer, Cul’tharic tumbled through Ramvik and the zombies, managing to scoop the halfling from the altar saving him from another attack.
“You’re only delaying the inevitable! The Innocent’s blood has been spilled upon the altar of Zon-Kuthon!” screamed Avertgul. “Even now, my sister sees to the drowning of our young and, soon, we harpies will reign supreme!”
Ramvik dropped the unholy prayer book to the floor. The minotaur was now fully aware of the harpy plot and she was torn. As a priestess of The Dark Prince, she knew she couldn’t stand against the will of her god but, as a minotaur, she couldn’t watch her tribe die.
“If you’re going to do something, do it,” growled Ramvik as she stepped aside allowing the adventurers to pass.
Shi, Roch, Jonathan and Felix quickly cut through the zombies, moving into the center of the temple to aid Cul’tharic and Grackle as Avertgul and her acolytes fought to slay their halfling sacrifice.
“Ignore them and kill the halfling!” screamed Avertgul. “His death assures our victory!”
Cul’tharic spun Riswan away from the incoming arrows and dropped the halfling to the floor before slashing him free with his claws as Grackle healed the halfling’s wounds. The goblin passed Riswan his dogslicer and told him to stand and defend himself if he wanted to live as a new pair of zombies entered from the north. The halfling dodged past one of the undead horrors slashing viciously at its knees as he moved to flank the creature. Meanwhile, Roch conjured fire and force to weaken the harpies. Shi noticed another group of zombies nearing the south exit to the temple and called for help to keep the creatures at bay. Felix and Jonathan raced into the hall to fight off the zombies but were surprised by the arrival of a harpy acolyte directing the zombies’ assault. The harpy began to sing and the dragon disciple was instantly enthralled by her voice.
Felix saw the glazed look of longing come over Jonathan’s face and thought of the battle in the temple. The zombies were hardly a threat and the harpy driving them forward was just a distraction reasoned the half-orc.
“Sorry, Jonny-boy, but Avertgul’s the real threat here,” spoke Felix as Jonathan stumbled through the clawing harpy zombies toward their minder. “I’ll come back with help once she’s dead.”
And with that, the half-orc cleric abandoned Jonathan and returned to the temple.
The fight in the temple had reached a stalemate. Grackle had conjured up a cloud of mist to protect his companions from the harpies’ arrows though Roch was brave or foolish enough to step out of the haze to launch fireballs at the creatures while the harpies, in turn, had changed their tactics. The acolytes let their zombie minions lurch through the mist keeping the party busy while they hovered above the fog channeling bursts of dark energy to weaken the adventurers. The life-draining power of the harpies wasn’t enough to do serious damage but, little by little, the creatures were wearing the adventurers down and Shi and Grackle were hard pressed to keep Riswan alive through the constant barrage. Felix arrived to find Avertgul had either fled or hid when Grackle’s mist filled the room. The disappointed half-orc swung his blade into a zombie as the goblin asked about Jonathan.
“Oh, him?” grunted Felix. “Some harpy broad charmed him so I left him back there. The zombies didn’t seem to be too interested in him so he should be okay.”
Grackle translated the message to Cul’tharic who cursed the half-orc in his reptilian tongue and broke from the melee to rescue the dragon disciple. The lizardman entered the tunnel outside the temple to find his way blocked by the three zombies Felix had failed to destroy. Hissing in rage, Cul’tharic gracefully dove through the undead monsters just in time to see Jonathan’s head caved in by the harpy acolyte’s morningstar. The human fell to the floor, stone dead, as Cul’tharic charged the harpy, managing to skewer her once before she took flight and fled up the tunnel.
Back in the temple, Ramvik suddenly stomped out of the temple through the north exit. The minotaur priestess had spent most of the battle surveying the carnage from a safe corner of the chamber but now pushed through the adventurers without a word. Roch was out of his most powerful spells and the harpies didn’t seem too interested in flying down into Felix’s reach as they continued to fill the cloud of mist with dark energy. Grackle sounded a retreat and cast a spell of invisibility on Riswan who fled through the south exit with the goblin and Shi close behind and, as the halfling made his escape from the fog, he nearly came face to face with his nemesis.
Avertgul had little to fear from Roch’s fireballs. Both she and her sister were accomplished rogues and skilled at avoiding destructive magic, but she knew when to lay low for a crippling strike. Over the course of the battle, the harpy flew directly over the cloud of fog and then took up a position in a high alcove where she could watch the fog below. Hearing the goblin’s call to escape, Avertgul dropped from her position to attack the first thing she saw coming out of the mist and, thanks to Grackle’s spell, the first thing she saw was Shi and not Riswan. The halfling managed to creep by the harpy invisibly, but the priest had only a prayer of sanctuary to protect him.
The death priest raced past Avertgul hoping his spell would be enough to deter her attacks, but the harpy’s will overcame his defenses and she slashed at the fleeing cleric. Though the priestess’ rapier pierced Shi’s flesh as he fled, Avertgul knew his companions would surround her within seconds. The harpy quickly snatched up the book of evil prayers Ramvik had dropped and once again took to the air as she called to her acolytes.
“Find and kill the halfling, and don’t any of you dare to report back to me until he's dead,” snarled Avertgul. “I go to find my sister.”
With that, the priestess wheeled out of the temple as Roch and Felix made a mad dash for the exit. The pair finished off the last of the zombies and had to dodge a volley of harpy arrows to escape but was soon with their companions.
Still invisible, Grackle ran past Cul’tharic who was only just returning to the temple. The lizardman called for the party to run through a nearby set of southward doors and helped Shi to recover Jonathan’s body as Roch and Felix held the temple doors closed. Riswan seeing the party flee into the south, followed just as the acolytes flew into the hall from a connecting tunnel. It was only after sealing the second set of doors that the party realized Grackle hadn’t made it through. The invisible goblin, fearing for his very life, had run straight past his companions toward the blood-encrusted door leading into Arnarah’s lair. All alone, Grackle was now trapped between a pack of murderous harpies and a sphinx with a hankering for goblin.
I swear The StoneShaper as my witness when I get out of here I am gonna take a level of ranger and put Harpies on the top of my KILL list
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The final battle with Mortgul's Murder is at hand! Last session we found out the party's actions have prompted the harpy twins Mortgul and Avertgul to go through with a plan to kill every creature living within Region F and, possibly, the dungeon itself. Discovering the plot, the adventurers fled with the halfling, Riswan, who was to be sacrificed to the evil god, Zon-Kuthon and now a pack of harpy acolytes is hot on their trail. With the twisted twins not far behind, the party must make one final stand against the harpies or join the ranks of their undead servants, a fate that has already befallen two of their former companions! It's an epic battle that had the players on the edge of their seats!
DAY 136 THE FINAL NUMBER
featuring: The World's Largest Adventuring Party
Riswan - Halfling Fighter
Roch - Dwarf Mystic Theurge
Felix - Half-Orc Barbarian/Cleric of Consumption
Cul'tharic - NPC Lizardfolk Fighter/Scaled Horror
Shi - Human Cleric of Pharasma
Grackle - Goblin Savage Skald
The harpy acolyte of Zon-Kuthon listened at the door leading into Arnarah’s terrirtory. The harpy priestesses Mortgul and Avertgul had long ago arranged with the sphinx to protect her privacy in exchange for access to her vast library. Indeed, the sphinx had become a trusted, if often nebulous, advisor to the harpies on matters arcane and they paid for her services with news from the surrounding region. Now, interlopers had come into the rook and threatened to ruin their plans for a bloody takeover of the labyrinth. Whether the minotaurs had hired these adventurers to stop the ritual or they had blundered unwittingly upon the plot was unknown, but they had done too much damage in the last three days for the harpies to put their plans off any longer. The sphinx had never interfered with their plans before so the acolytes beyond the door had no reason to believe she would come to the aid of these strangers. Once the sounds of the adventurers’ fleeing footsteps receded, the acolyte threw open the door allowing her rookmates to enter and open fire. Further into the tunnels, three of the acolytes’ accomplices searched for an invisible goblin bard.
Grackle arrived at the far door to Arnarah’s lair just ahead of the harpies chasing him. The goblin opened and quickly closed the door before pressing his back to the wall hoping the harpies would think he’d run inside. The ruse worked and the harpies cautiously passed the threshold in search of the goblin. One by one, the harpies passed into the lightning-trapped hallway that marked the entry hall to the sphinx’s lair. Suddenly, the northeast door of the hall burst open revealing the fleeing adventurers and a trio of harpies hot on their trail. The invaders were flanked and the acolytes, down to their crudest implements of war, pressed their advantage. Remembering well the words of Avertgul, the harpies would not relent until they or their halfling sacrifice was dead. Avertgul, meanwhile, had problems of her own with which to deal.
***
“Betrayers! Cowards every one of you! The Dark Prince throttle you for your treachery!” screeched Mortgul as her coterie departed.
Things seemed to be going so well for the harpy queen. Perhaps things were a little rushed, no thanks to those meddling strangers, but Ramvik had done her part and delivered the innocent sacrifice. Sure, some of the young harpies were nearly adolescents, but the requisite number of children had been assembled in the egg chamber for drowning and their mothers, still unaware of their role in the ritual, were in place and eager for the power Mortgul promised them. When the signal came that innocent blood had been shed upon the altar of her dark god, Mortgul ordered her followers to drown their own children in the unholy pools throughout the chamber and, in their reverie, the harpies obeyed. The vile, winged women clutched tightly at their struggling young as the fight left their flailing limbs, but something was wrong.
Mortgul’s first thought was that the adventurers had somehow ruined the ritual in the temple, but the signal was clear. Any amount of innocent blood should have been enough to serve as a catalyst for the spell. The power was in the pain of the victim. It didn’t matter if the halfling was dead so long as he suffered. Moments later, Avertgul arrived with the ancient, accursed prayer book in her talons and Mortgul searched its pages for any hint that might reveal the culprit behind the spell’s failure. Then, a sad, horrible truth dawned on the priestess. The invaders were not at fault. The blame fell on her people. The Lamentation of the Weeping Woman, the abhorrent rite that would have given the harpies the power to kill with their song, wasn’t just fueled by the pain of the innocent; the ritual relied on the sorrow of the mothers of the drowned children. The monsters’ only thoughts as they murdered their neglected, ill-treated young were of power and hatred for their enemies. Zon-Kuthon demanded the pain of remorse and guilt and the harpies, those black-hearted hags, had none to give.
The harpy queen’s followers eventually realized something was amiss and ceased their horrible slaughter to scream dissent at the priestess. She’d promised them power and failed to deliver. Now, thanks to Mortgul, their numbers were greatly reduced and they knew it was only a matter of time before the hated minotaurs learned of their plot and came to exterminate them. Better, they screeched, to disband and flee to the far corners of the dungeon, every harpy for herself. For her part, Avertgul chastised her former followers and stood by her sister along with a few loyal bodyguards and the zombies Zom-lee and Jan-bie. Ritual or no, the harpy twins would see the halfling and his rescuers suffer. Swearing to make their screams a hymn to their evil god, the harpy priestesses flew to meet the adventurers for one final battle.
***
The harpy priestesses silently approached the doors to the sphinx’s territory. Using her knowledge of the tunnels’ layout to her advantage, Mortgul took two of her fighters and the zombie wizard, Zom-lee, around to the west door while Avertgul took the other fighters and the zombie warrior, Jan-bie, around to the east. Both doors were closed, but the harpies could hear the adventurers on the other side fretting about how to protect their halfling charge. Apparently, the interlopers had little trouble dispatching the six acolytes, but were taxed from their battle in the temple. “Perfect,” thought Mortgul. “We’ll let them think we still want the halfling’s life. Let the fools exhaust their few resources guarding him.” Then, the harpy gave the signal and Zom-lee threw open the door allowing the harpy fighters to fire into the room.
Felix and Roch were suddenly caught in a crossfire as the doors to either side of them broke open. Worse than arrows, however, were the will-sapping songs of Mortgul and Avertgul echoing through the hall. The priestesses’ powerful voices caught the adventurers off guard and Felix, Roch, Grackle and Riswan were instantly ensnared. Cul’tharic managed to grab the halfling before he could reach the beckoning Mortgul, but the half-orc and dwarf were already out the door and standing enthralled at the feet of the harpies before Shi could reach either of them.
Grinning at the irony of the situation and Felix’s earlier abandonment of the dragon disciple Jonathan, Shi shouted after the half-orc. “Don’t worry, Felix! I’ll be back with help.”
Grackle, unfortunately, had leapt to the other side of the hallway’s lightning trap and his ensorcelled mind bade him to cross back through the deadly corridor. Without thinking to take a running start, the goblin leapt into the air in a feeble attempt to avoid the trap only to land a few feet into the tunnel. The bard, smoking and trembling from the ensuing bolt, stumbled several feet out of the trapped hall and collapsed at the feet of Cul’tharic.
“I hate to leave the others, but we can’t stay here,” the lizardman called to Shi. “I can carry these two. Go to the lantern archon. We need all the help we can get now.”
Shi fled toward the trapped passage. The cleric was sick from the poisoned arrows of the harpies but hoped his little acrobatic skill would be enough to carry him across the gap. It wasn’t. Shi’s arms reached forward as if he might pull himself the few feet he needed to clear the distance but, ultimately, he missed the mark by less than a foot. A surge of electricity coursed through the cleric who somehow managed to twist his way out of hallway only to lapse into unconsciousness on the other side. Cul’tharic was close behind, landing safely next to the priest with a few arrows jutting from his chain shirt, Riswan and Grackle tucked under his arms. Suddenly, the volley of arrows from the harpy fighters stopped. Mortgul and Avertgul had dragged their charmed captives into the hall and were calling to the lizardman. Roch was unconscious from several stab wounds Mortgul had made in the dwarf’s chest, but Felix stood despite a series of blows from Avertgul’s mace.
Cul’tharic couldn’t make sense of Mortgul’s words and dumped Grackle’s body to the floor as he reached down to rouse Shi. With Morgul’s song ended, Riswan snapped out of his trance as Shi got to his feet.
“Give us the halfling and we’ll free your companions!” shouted Mortgul.
“Fine,” called Shi. “But I don’t trust you. You’re going to have to meet us halfway!”
“Just a gosh darn minute here!” Riswan protested. “I’m not okay with this! On any other day, I’d willingly lay down my life for a good cause but, if what they said in the temple is true, a whole lot of people are going to die if they get their claws on me and I just can’t let that happen!”
“Hush, you,” Shi scolded even as a harpy fighter approached to collect the halfling.
“What is happening?” asked Cul’tharic who was still unsure of what had been said.
“Nothing to concern yourself with,” Shi answered as he healed Grackle’s wounds enough to wake the goblin. If the cleric had a plan, he wasn’t sharing it with his companions.
“Hand him over,” ordered the harpy. “My queen grows impatient.”
“Not until our friends are brought to us,” Shi replied.
“The man is being difficult,” called the harpy to Mortgul. “I don’t think he is taking us seriously enough.”
In response, Mortgul nodded to her sister who bashed Felix’s knee sending the half-orc to the ground with a yelp of pain. Still charmed despite the wound, the half-orc got back to his feet oblivious of his impending death.
“Tell me what is happening!” hissed Cul’tharic.
Groggily, the now-conscious Grackle replied, “I think Shi is about to trade the halfling for our friends.”
In that instant, any plan the cleric had to trick the harpies was ruined. Perhaps if Shi had bothered to whisper his idea to any of his companions, it might have worked but all Cul’tharic knew was that the priest was about to doom everyone. Felix wouldn’t be too great a loss considering the half-orc’s penchant for dark, life-twisting magic and apparent lack of concern for his companions but Roch had always been a loyal friend regardless of his often-incomprehensible logic. It pained him to do it, but Cul’tharic couldn’t risk the lives of so many after fighting so hard to preserve those lives.
“Tell that witch she can come over here and try to take him,” the lizardman hissed as he loosed a javelin into the nearby harpy warrior who screeched in anger.
Mortgul’s claw seethed with dark power as she throttled the dwarf at her feet. “Stick to the plan, my sister,” spoke the harpy queen in a hushed tone. “We kill the halfling, we crush their will.”
Roch’s will, owing largely to his training and dwarfish resilience, managed to resist the necromantic attack of Mortgul and cling to life. Unconcerned, the harpy priestess charged through the air toward the group of adventurers fighting for every life in the dungeon. Felix’s life, unfortunately, was about to become forfeit.
“I remember you,” sang Avertgul to her enthralled captive. “Making a zombie from your idiot brother might have increased his intelligence enough to make him a halfway decent archery target but he wasn’t worth the onyx so I turned his skull into a chamber pot instead. It isn’t even a good chamber pot.”
Those were the last words Felix heard. In the next instant, the half-orc’s ears were filled with the sound of his head caving in under the weight of Avertgul’s mace.
Mortgul dove toward Grackle driving her rapier into the goblin’s back. The wound wasn’t enough to kill the bard, but it was enough to silence him as he slumped to the floor. Cackling with malicious glee, the harpy turned her attention on Riswan.
“It’s over, my little innocent one,” cooed the harpy as she hovered in close to the halfling. “Come to mam-oof!” Mortgul’s taunting was suddenly cut short as Cul’tharic tackled the harpy out of the air. The harpy queen cursed and struggled, but couldn’t break the reptilian warrior’s hold.
“Never mind me!” screamed Mortgul. “Kill the halfling!”
Avertgul was there in an instant. With Cul’tharic occupied, the halfling was on his own. Earlier, Shi had fled to seek aid from the lantern archon, Flash, and the cleric hadn’t yet returned. With nothing more than a bag of alchemical goods to defend himself, Riswan hurled a small bag of entangling goop at Avertgul gumming up her wings. The harpy dropped to the floor, but was quickly on her feet and flanking the halfling with the wounded harpy fighter. The remaining harpies warriors drew their aim on the halfling and were prepared to fire when the sound of tearing flesh suddenly caught their attention.
The zombies, Zom-lee and Jan-bie, had been left behind to guard Roch’s unconscious body and were being disemboweled by a halfling wielding a pair of small swords. Not far away, a nearly naked man wielding a short bow howled as he launched three arrows into one of the harpies from the east doorway. Traxxus and Durthuunicar had finally managed to free themselves from the compacting room to the east and the ranger was mad with rage at the sight of the creatures, which had imprisoned and violated him. With Avertgul now blocking their shot at Riswan, the harpies turned their attention on the two new combatants and charged the pair with morningstars drawn.
“It doesn’t matter!” Mortgul spit into Cul’tharic’s grim face. “My sister will kill the halfling and, then, she will kill you and all your little friends!”
Straining to keep hold of the harpy, the lizardman hissed in his reptilian tongue, “How many times do I have to tell you, ‘I don’t speak B&~+%!’” And with that, Cul’tharic pitched himself and Mortgul into the lightning trap.
Avertgul looked back to see her sister and the lizardman rocked by the mystical bolt and Riswan used the opportunity to dart quickly away from the harpies and further down the hall. However, his small legs could only take him so far and the harpy priestess was once again at his back as he fled through a door at the end of the hall. The harpy struck a heavy blow flooring the halfling as she laughed in triumph.
“We’ve won, my sister!” cheered Avertgul as she charged her talons with negative energy. “With one touch, I rob you of life, halfling, and seal the fate of all who would oppose us!”
Avertgul’s clawed hand seized the dying halfling by the throat and a pulse of dark energy shot to Riswan’s heart. The harpy grinned an evil grin expecting to feel the halfling’s life force drain away and fill her with strength but she suddenly screamed in disbelief.
“Why won’t you die!” Avertgul screeched.
Somehow, Riswan had survived the priestess’ deadly spell. Avertgul could feel the halfling’s will resist her touch and she was in shock. Unable to understand the harpy’s words but sure of their meaning, Cul’tharic managed to laugh as he rolled Mortgul into the lightning a second time. Avertgul raised her mace to crush the life out of the halfling and brought it down upon Riswan’s back screaming with furious hatred and rage. Riswan, broken, mangled and torn in a hundred places, lay silent and still for a moment, then coughed and breathed in a shallow breath.
“Inconceivable!” Avertgul raged. “What does it take to kill this guy?!”
“More than you’re apparently capable of,” chimed Flash as the lantern archon sped toward the door slamming and holding it closed to the enraged harpy.
“I don’t know how long I can keep it closed,” Flash spoke to Shi. “Get him on his feet and get him out of here. I’ll do what I can to help your friends.”
Avertgul hammered at the door to the chamber, the sound of the heavy mace clanging against the thick iron, deafening her to the sounds of her sister’s final blood-choked curses. It was only when Avertgul stopped briefly to catch her breath that she noticed Mortgul was dead.
Cul’tharic and Mortgul pitched and rolled across the floor of the trapped hallway. The smell of burning scales and feathers filled the corridor and, as tough as he was, Cul’tharic knew he would not survive another blast. Spotting a length of enchanted rope Grackle had dropped in the hall just prior to the attack, the lizardman threw all his weight onto the harpy queen pinning her to the ground. With the rope in his grasp, Cul’tharic quickly bound Mortgul and left her helpless in the trapped corridor.
With Avertgul preoccupied with killing Riswan, the wounded harpy fighter attempted to rescue her queen but was torn down by the lizardman’s claws and teeth as he stumbled out of the hall. Earlier, Cul’tharic had thrown his trident into the harpy warrior and now he lifted the formian weapon from the floor and turned back toward Mortgul’s struggling form. The harpy queen was helpless. The enchanted rope cut into her flesh as she tried to wriggle free and, in a final desperate act of self-preservation, Mortgul opened her mouth to sing. Cul’tharic grinned and, for a moment, the harpy rejoiced, believing she’d ensnared his mind.
“I think…we have heard enough…out of you,” the wounded reptilian huffed. Then, the tines of the lizardman’s trident plunged into the harpy queen crushing her windpipe and severing her vocal cords; the final notes of her song drowned out as blood filled her lungs. Seconds later, Cul’tharic fell to the floor as a chain of force whipped him from behind.
Avertgul, like most harpies, was wholly incapable of remorse, pity or love but, as she looked down on the lifeless body of her foul, terrible sister, something on the horizon of loss reached into the harpy’s coal-black heart like the desperately grasping fingers of a drowning man and, as it took hold and fueled her rage, she vowed she would see every one of these interlopers skinned alive, their stripped corpses reanimated to serve her sadistic will. With the entangling glue dried from her wings, Avertgul screamed up the corridor toward the only visible targets for her vengeance: Traxxus and Durthunnicar.
The halfling and human had held their own against the pair of zombies and the three harpy fighters. Traxxus’ sword tore through the zombies as he nimbly dodged their clumsy fists and Durthunnicar, maddened with hate, rapidly loosed volleys of arrows into the wings and breasts of the hags so quickly the bowstring left deep, bloody furrows across his fingers. Avertgul’s approach only filled the man with greater fury and, when the harpies closed, the crazed ranger flung his bow and leapt upon them with a morningstar he’d pried from a dead harpy’s talons. The sudden arrival of the lantern archon, Flash, gave the pair a fighting chance but eventually, pressed by Jan-bie and struck repeatedly by Avertgul’s mace, Traxxus fell leaving Durthuunicar and the archon to fend off the harpy and her zombie servant.
Durthuunicar’s weapon battered and tore at the harpy priestess as the ranger cursed the creature responsible for his ensorcelled imprisonment. During his time among the harpies, Durthuunicar had seen and been forced to do things he would never be able to forget and he swore he would fight to his dying breath to ensure the same fate would never befall another. Had he his trusty longbow and his sturdy breastplate, he might have fared better against the harpy priestess but, with only the tattered remains of his clothes to protect him, his body was a maze of open wounds. At last, the ranger could take no more and he fell, his gore-flecked and blistered middle finger raised in the face of his enemy as his weapon slipped from his grasp.
Avertgul howled in triumph. Only Flash remained to oppose her and, though the custodian of the labyrinth could not be completely destroyed, the priestess knew a powerful enough attack or a few blasts of negative energy could discorporate the archon long enough for her to find and kill Shi and the escaped halfling. Turning to face the lantern archon, the harpy laughed to see Flash quickly fleeing to the south. Adding to Avertgul’s perverse joy, Shi had slipped back into the hall during her fight. Heavily wounded during his previous escape, the cleric’s arms shook as he raised his weapon.
“So, the cowardly priest of Pharasma returns!” cackled Avertgul as she stepped over the bodies of the dying and the dead. “I’ll afford you a quick death for saving me the trouble of hunting you down!”
The harpy priestess of Zon-Kuthon leapt into the air and sped toward Shi like a missile; her sinewy and scabby arms ready to dash the cleric’s brains across the hall with the bloodstained mace in her claws as her taloned feet reached forward to tear the heart from his body.
“Tell my sister I miss her when you see her in Hell!” screamed Avertgul.
Then, lost in her rage and blinded by overconfidence, the harpy failed to notice or realize she was flying right into a trap.
Shi had looted the body of Mortgul and found several potions and an enchanted belt of healing as Traxxus, Durthuunicar and Flash kept Avertgul busy. Quickly donning the belt, the priest roused Cul’tharic with its magic and the curative elixirs and, now, as the harpy charged into the lightning-trapped corridor, the possum-playing lizardman scrambled forward sending a bolt of deadly electricity arcing through the air. Feathers trailing smoke and flame, Avertgul had just enough momentum and strength left to careen straight into the path of Shi’s own waiting mace.
“Tell her yourself,” quipped the cleric as Avertgul’s limp body fell into the hallway atop the body of her vile twin. Any question as to the condition of the harpy was answered when she struck the floor setting off the lightning trap one final time.
“Did we do it?” weakly hissed Cul’tharic, his body wracked with pain and blistered from the voltage of repeated lightning blasts. “Are they all dead?” Suddenly, a pair of lasers fired through the corridor carving the shambling Jan-bie’s face into a smoking crater.
“They are now,” chimed Flash.
I swear The StoneShaper as my witness when I get out of here I am gonna take a level of ranger and put Harpies on the top of my KILL list
ROCH: you and me both I hate Harpies so much. No more parley, kill, kill, kill and oh yes destroy and kill.
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Greetings, dungeoneers! I had to teleport around the country for a little while and Independence Day delayed our game a little bit, but I'm back now and I'm sure you've all missed me.
*chirp chirp, chirp chirp*
Eh..heh..okay, so the grigs missed me but that's better than nothin'!
DAYS 137-139 A SOUND LIKE THUNDER
featuring: The World's Largest Adventuring Party
Roch - Dwarf Mystic Theurge
Cul'tharic - NPC Lizardfolk Fighter/Scaled Horror
Shi - Human Cleric of Pharasma
Grackle - Goblin Savage Skald
Riswan - Halfling Fighter
Shi and Riswan rested in the prison area of Arnarah’s lair as their companions recovered from their battle with Mortgul’s harpies, their only conscious company being the mysterious prisoner Flash called The Eagle. The lantern archon, for its part, maintained a steady watch over the wounded adventurers, Roch, Traxxus and Durthuunicar, who lay in the trapped hallway where the harpies fell. The Eagle said nothing. The maddened, catatonic elf merely stared at the wall as Shi spoke to him through the viewing portal in his cell door. Hoping to get the prisoner’s attention, the cleric tossed a small rock into the cell, which landed softly upon the elf’s lap. As if by some automatic response or muscle memory, the prisoner picked the rock out of the folds of his tattered robes and placed it into his mouth. Shi winced as The Eagle’s teeth grinded against the stone and, from over the cleric’s shoulder, came a sure, soft voice.
“He speaks rivers, doesn’t he?” Arnarah purred.
Shi turned to see the sphinx casually turning over Grackle’s unconscious body with a sniff of derision.
“I’ll have to see if the celestials grow any strong herbs in that garden of theirs,” she commented to herself as she left the goblin’s body splayed across the floor.
“You must be the creature they mentioned, the one who drew all these images on the walls” inquired Riswan who marveled at the appearance of the strange beast. “They’re amazing. I’d bow or something, but I’m not sure you aren’t here to eat us.”
“Not yet, Riswan Briarborn, though your rescuers may know you by a different name,” Arnarah assured the halfling. “And, excluding the goblin there, maybe not ever. I’ve seen what I’ve come to see and now I go.”
And with that, the sphinx slinked back into the shadows of the dungeon only stopping momentarily to snatch a shred of Grackle’s left ear. “Definitely going to need some strong herbs…” her voice trailed into the darkness.
***
Roch, Traxxus and Durthuunciar woke the next day to the chipper tones of Flash who informed them of the outcome of the battle with the harpies as the dwarf healed his allies. Sending the lantern archon ahead to alert their companions, the trio was soon reunited with Shi and the others who decided to use the recovered silver key to escape into the prisoners’ commune to the south. There, Traxxus and Durthuunicar parted ways with the adventurers who took some time to recover and restock their supplies before returning to the Broken Axe tribe of minotaurs.
The group returned to Region F through Arnarah’s lair and quickly passed through the empty harpy lair to a Red Horn guard post where a trio of minotaur warriors greeted them. From the minotaurs, the adventurers learned the Red Horn tribe was unaware of the fight with the harpies though the three minotaur guards were eager to hear of the battle (especially the part about how the adventurer’s hadn’t taken the time to thoroughly loot the lair.) The minotaurs directed the adventurers to the quickest path to the Broken Axe territory then got to work spreading the word that the harpies’ treasure was free for the taking. Passing through the Red Horn tunnels, the group was stopped by the minotaur warrior Hrumi.
“King Grauki wants a word…now,” growled the minotaur.
“We’d be happy to speak with his hein..er..highness,” Grackle replied. “Lead the way.”
Hrumi nodded past the group to a pair of minotaurs watching from a distance then turned and led the adventurers to the throne room of the Red Horn chieftain Grauki as his warriors followed behind. There, Grauki ordered the minotaurs from the room so he could speak with the adventurers in private.
“I hear you’ve been visiting the harpies,” Grauki began. “Find anything interesting? Anything you might want to share?”
Grackle bowed to the minotaur chief and told him of the great battle and of how he and his companions had bravely fought to end the harpy threat to the dungeon. Grauki feigned interest tossing the goblin a few gold coins in exchange for his tale and then Riswan spoke.
“When do you get to the part about the sphinx? I still haven’t heard how she fits into all this.”
The goblin’s face turned a shade paler as his hand went up to slap it. Distrusting Grauki, Grackle had chosen to leave Arnarah out of the story.
“What’s this about a sphinx?” Grauki inquired.
“She lives in a trap-filled section of the dungeon near the harpy lair,” answered Roch. “She has an elf prisoner.”
Grackle slinked into a corner of the room as unobtrusively as possible as the dwarf spilled everything he knew about Arnarah and her riddle.
“…and we think your brother is possessed by some sort of demon or maybe an elf wizard,” Roch concluded.
“I see,” Grauki retorted. “That would explain his un-minotaur-like behavior. If you can prove it and free him from this control, we could reunite the tribes. We minotaurs would once again become the most feared, savage and powerful army in the dungeon.”
The minotaur king called for Hrumi and ordered the warrior to accompany the adventurers.
“Hrumi here will aid you in your mission to free my brother from this evil spell and keep me apprised of your progress,” announced Grauki. “Do let me know if there is anything else I can do to help.”
Grumbling the entire way, Hrumi accompanied the adventurers to the edge of Broken Axe territory where something seemed amiss. It seemed to Shi the monsters were expecting a fight to begin at any moment though they did their best to hide their tension. The old warrior Brumni approached the group with a pair of minotaurs and orders from Markuli himself that the party be brought to him at once and that Riswan be returned to his cell.
“The halfling is still a criminal according to our laws,” Brumni growled.
“It’s no trouble,” Riswan spoke. “I’ll go. Just don’t forget me.”
Shi and the others were then taken to the throne room of Markuli where Vornmik, the minotaur bard waited for them. The bard informed the party Ramvik had returned to the tribe warning of a possible attack by the harpies. She also told of the party’s struggle against the creatures, saying their sacrifice would buy the tribe time to prepare for the fight. After this, Vornmik claimed Ramvik had gone silently to her temple where she refused to see anyone. However, there was no time to investigate Ramvik’s fate. Markuli was waiting.
The king of the Broken Axe minotaurs looked down on the party from his throne, his one good arm gripping the haft of his axe.
“The harpies are dead?” Markuli asked.
“They are, your highness,” Grackle toadied. “They’ll never trouble anyone with their caterwauling again.”
“The goblin’s caterwauling, on the other hand…” Shi whispered to his companions.
“Ha! Good!” the minotaur laughed. “Let The Dark Prince have them! You must have won many treasures from their lair.” At that very moment, dozens of Red Horn minotaurs ransacked the harpies’ halls, absconding with anything and everything of value.
“Not so much,” Grackle sighed.
The party went on to recount their tale to Markuli and, hearing of Riswan’s role in the battle, the chieftain agreed to free the halfling so long as he did not leave the region. Then, asking for a moment to discuss “trade,” Grackle was able to get a few minutes alone with Markuli as his companions and Hrumi were occupied elsewhere.
“Do you know about the sphinx living near the harpies?” Grackle asked the minotaur king.
“What’s a sphinx?” replied Markuli.
Earlier, Grackle had the sense Grauki already knew of Arnarah’s presence though he claimed no knowledge of the creature. Markuli, however, seemed honestly perplexed by the question and seemed only to want to know if his warriors should slay her and take her treasure. Still incensed by the loss of his favorite ear, the goblin, nonetheless, did his best to dissuade the minotaur from making any immediate plans to attack the sphinx.
“With all due respect, your liegefulness, I think your brother is possessed by a spellcaster,” Grackle said hoping to change the subject.
“That makes sense,” Markuli agreed. “When he split from the tribe, there were many reports of him wielding magic in combat. I thought he may have learned from the rakshasa or maybe found some sort of enchanted weapon. The day he took my arm, he seemed…stronger, more powerful than ever before. Do you have proof?”
Grackle could offer nothing more than Arnarah’s riddle, but Markuli saw even this as an opportunity.
“If this is true, freeing my brother from this spell could reunite the tribes,” Markuli began. “but you say you don’t know how to end the curse or if there even is a way to do it so there is only one thing to do. If you cannot break the spell, you and your companions must kill my brother. I won’t allow my kin to be shackled by some enchantment and I know he would prefer death. Do this and I can reunite my people.”
***
Shi and Roch stood before a minotaur acolyte in the temple of Zon Kuthon. The priestess told the pair her mistress, Ramvik, had left instructions to allow entrance only to members of the adventuring party should they return from the harpy lair and, now, the cleric was ready to see them.
As Shi and Roch entered the private chamber of Ramvik, the minotaur rose and covered herself in a thick, dark robe. Blood trickled down the cleric’s legs from under the cloth leaving a red trail as she approached.
“Does Markuli know why I was in Mortgul’s lair?” Ramvik asked.
“No,” Shi responded. Sure enough, Ramvik’s part in the harpy ritual had been left out of the story when the party met with the minotaur king.
“The chest in the corner contains all I have to give. Take it and go.”
With that, Ramvik returned to the center of the chamber, knelt with her back to the pair and waited for them to leave.
***
Vornmik returned with Hrumi to meet with the assembled adventurers after Grackle’s meeting with Markuli. To keep him busy, the bard had given Hrumi a tour of the tribe’s forge and taken him to see Broken Axe warriors training for battle. The captain of Grauki’s guards figured he was being taken for a ride, but he could store what he’d seen for some future skirmish against the Broken Axe or go back to his own tribe with some new ideas for the weapon smiths so it was a small price to pay. Hrumi only wanted the party to get on with whatever it was they were up to so he could go home. Unfortunately for Hrumi, what the party was up to was going to delay his return trip.
Grackle was still stewing over Markuli’s words when he caught up with the rest of the party. Grauki seemed too smart for a minotaur and the goblin was certain the minotaur knew more than he was letting on. On the other hand, Markuli had abandoned the ways of his people and seemed entirely too willing to have his own brother killed and Grackle had to wonder if it wasn’t to hide something. Regardless, the party was going to have a lot more leeway to get to the bottom of things if they could prove Riswan’s innocence to the minotaurs and doing that might lead to more answers to Arnarah’s riddle. With that in mind, the party set out for an unexplored section of the region where, it was said, dwelled the terrible matriarch of the manticore pack.
“This oughta be good,” grunted Hrumi.
***
The tunnels west of the old manticore lair were eerily quiet and a scent like death and stale urine hung in the air. Through a thick, heavily battered door, the adventurers found a corridor thick with mist. Judging from the pile of broken furniture and assorted debris around the portal, something or someone had attempted to block up the door on numerous occasions only to see to way cleared by some tremendous force or, perhaps, the greedy fingers of some curious explorers.
The party held close to Cul’tharic whose savage snout helped to steer the reptilian through the fog toward the source of the musky odor. The feet of the adventurers brushed against something firm but yielding and, reaching down, Grackle found torn, bloody wing bones and feathers. Harpies had recently fled this way, but something had caught them and ripped them asunder. Only small bits of the harpies remained, but Cul’tharic detected the scent of something that had carried them off into the hazy cloud. At a narrow hallway where the floor descended at a slope, Grackle, uncharacteristically, offered to sneak up ahead of the group with a rope tied round his waist. Many among the group believed the goblin only offered to scout ahead so that he could get his fingers on any treasure dropped by the dead harpies or their murderer, but Hrumi offered that Grackle had either gone off to find a place to hide from whatever was about to kill his friends or else he’d tired of living the life of a pathetic goblin and had decided to invite the thing to eat him.
Grackle felt along the wall as the tunnel went deeper and deeper until he reached a corner leading into another hall. The fog in the tunnels seemed to be without source and the skald could only guess the cloud was magic in origin. Nearing the end of his rope, Grackle began to return to his companions when a passage opened to his grasping fingers. The goblin stood a moment trying to peer through the fog into the corridor. Were those the glaring eyes of some hateful beast staring back at him? No. Nothing but swirling mist and demons of the goblin’s imagining. Grackle turned to go.
A creature so large and so savage has no right to move as silently as did the beast that lunged out of the mist-filled hallway at Grackle that day. The goblin suddenly felt the searing pain of dagger teeth and claws as large as picks raking across his body as something massive and glinting tore at his limbs.
“Reel me in!” screamed the goblin, his lifeblood spraying in fountains upon the walls of the corridor.
Cul’tharic and Riswan charged through the mist after their comrade as Shi and Roch followed close behind. Hrumi, for his part, sauntered after the party laughing heartily at the goblin’s cries.
Owing to an enchanted armband, Grackle managed to slip past the murderous thing as he scrambled through the concealing cloud.
“It’s gonna eat me!” he squealed.
“Nothing’s going to eat you,” assured Cul’tharic as the goblin stumbled into his legs.
“Uh..that might,” Shi corrected as he pointed toward the adjoining tunnel.
From where the cleric stood, he could only make out the size of the thing that emerged from the tunnel but Cul’tharic and Riswan were suddenly confronted by a monster of terrifying strength and power. The thing looked like an immense winged lion but where it should have had fur, the beast was covered in thick scales and its mane was like an armored collar of brass javelins. The beast in the cloud pealed a deafening roar that nearly shook the adventurers to their knees weakening them as it pounced forward to claw and tear at this new prey.
Cul’tharic and Riswan pressed in, the lizardman striking with his trident while the halfling drove at the beast wielding the enchanted rapier he’d claimed from Mortgul in both hands.
“You could get up there and help, ya know?!” Roch shouted at Hrumi.
“Not what I’m here for,” Hrumi replied with a chuckle. “Grauki told me to help you free Markuli from some spell. This ain’t that and besides, I don’t fight alongside my food.”
Shi, meanwhile, healed Grackle’s wounds as the goblin performed a song inspiring rage in Cul’tharic though it was Riswan who was taking the brunt of the monster’s attacks. The mist was making it difficult to strike the beast, which seemed to have little trouble fighting in the haze, but the halfling managed a couple of quick, deep thrusts into the belly of the monster, leaving serious bleeding wounds. Angered by the tenacity of the halfling and the pain of its wounds, the monster lifted Riswan in its powerful jaws, thrashing him side-to-side before flinging him to the ground. Riswan lay in a heap on the floor, alive but horribly mutilated and unconscious. The beast’s teeth had punctured the halfling’s skull driving into his brain.
The monster roared in triumph as Shi dragged Riswan’s body to safety. Roch closed with the beast, firing bolts of mystical force and beams of flame into its hide from the corner of the corridor as Cul’tharic stood his ground against the thing. From the rear of the group, Hrumi only continued to quietly laugh to himself. While the minotaur could see little of the fight, the sound of the adventurer’s cries and battle orders amused him. Then, came a sound like a hundred thunders.
The adventurer’s knees buckled and their fingers threatened to loose their weapons, but they managed to hold strong against the deafening roar of the dragonne as Roch and Cul’tharic dealt killing blows to the creature. The minotaur, completely unprepared for the monster’s death cry, felt his strength leave him along with about 12lbs of unlisted goods. Hidden in the fog, Hrumi did his best to conceal his little accident while the party examined the corpse of the horrible beast.
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Tragedy, triumph and the return of a terror no one has been foolish enough to challenge. A rookie member of the party comes one step closer to freedom as a veteran falls. Read all about it in...
DAYS 140-141 DEADLY DOORS AND A DEAD DWARF
featuring: The World's Largest Adventuring Party
Roch - Dwarf Mystic Theurge
Cul'tharic - NPC Lizardfolk Fighter/Scaled Horror
Shi - Human Cleric of Pharasma
Grackle - Goblin Savage Skald
Riswan - Halfling Fighter
Ayor - Goblin Shadowdancer
Cul’tharic watched as the cleric, Shi, called upon the blessings of Pharasma to restore Riswan to health. The halfling had suffered terrible wounds in battle with the monstrous dragonne and, after having his head used as chew toy, was little more than a vegetable. Fortunately, Shi’s healing magic was enough to bring the fighter back to his senses. Meanwhile, Grackle wrenched a few scales free from the dead monster’s body for use in a spell of his own.
The goblin skald chanted a few words of power over the scales revealing a crude map.
“This’ll lead us right to the thing’s loot!” squealed the goblin who wasted no time in rushing off through the fog toward the closest of the locations revealed by the scales.
Grackle’s map first led the party to a door blanketed by the mist and lacking any sort of marring by the claws of the dragonne.
“The monster didn’t break this door down like it did the others so there’s got to be treasure on the other side!” cheered Grackle.
The goblin eagerly pushed the door open expecting to find a huge pile of loot only to be confronted by a small, empty room shrouded in mist. Through the fog, the party could just make out what appeared to be another door only ten or so feet from the room’s entrance. Anxious to get his grubby little paws on the dragonne’s hoard, Grackle suddenly leapt across the room toward the door.
WER-CHUNK! The door behind the goblin quickly slammed shut as the floor of the room suddenly fell out from below his feet.
“Squueeeeeeee!” screamed the terrified goblin who suddenly remembered he had a spell prepared for just such a situation.
Grackle quickly imagined a piece of ash floating on a breeze from a burning trash heap and made a sound like a swooping bat. Instantly, the goblin’s fall slowed allowing him to glide safely to the ground 70 feet below. There, Grackle discovered the first of the dragonne’s “treasures.” The ravaged and broken bodies of several unidentifiable humanoids rested at the bottom of the pit. The monster had apparently figured the place was a good spot to search for meals and considered the pit to be a valuable source of food. At the top of the pit, the goblin’s companions were hard at work on a rescue mission.
Cul’tharic used Roch’s axe to batter down the thick iron door, pieces of which sailed down into the pit nearly cracking Grackle on the head and, as the door came completely free of its hinges, a sound like a snapping spring could be heard from somewhere within the wall of the chamber. Destroying the door had apparently broken the trap and the floor of the room sprang closed sealing the goblin below.
Riswan volunteered to tie a rope round his waist and step out onto the floor to test it then slowly walked into the room. Given what little he knew of engineering, the halfling reasoned the trapdoor should open after only a few seconds. He waited. One second, two, three, nothing.
“Hmph,” grunted Riswan tapping his foot at the center of the floor. “I think it’s st-fuuuuuu…!”
The halfling was suddenly dangling several feet below the trapdoor as Cul'tharic and Roch caught hold of the trailing rope. The lizardfolk reached down between the sections of floor bracing his trident between them and helped to pull Riswan out of the hole. Moments later, thanks to a spider-juice potion Grackle carried, the party had the goblin out of the pit and was ready to continue their search for the dragonne’s treasure.
The adventurers followed Grackle’s scale map deep into the misty lair of the dragonne and finally came to a broken door leading into what they assumed must a large chamber. The fog in the chamber was thick and roiled violently as they approached as if it were alive. Roch and Hrumi waited outside as the others entered the chamber and, as Grackle’s feet crossed the threshold of the shattered door, he caught sight of a stirring in the mist.
The rent faces of harpies, minotaurs, men and monsters suddenly whirled toward the party as they entered the dragonne’s nest, their misty features shrieking torment and hate like the piping of tea kettles. Grackle’s heart leapt into his throat and the goblin nearly turned to flee but, realizing the apparitions could do little more than cry their chorus of screams, he pressed on through the cloud. Their rage spent, the phantoms receded back into the mist only to harass or whisper unintelligible dread at the adventurers occasionally as they searched the chamber. After an hour of searching the massive pile of fallen stone, bones and broken furniture making up the nest of the dragonne, the party discovered a treasure unlike any they’d won to date.
Thousands of silver, gold and copper coins and handfuls of gems and jewelry lay buried within the pile of debris. An exquisite rod of white gold caught the attention of Grackle and Roch and a gleaming, white tabard bearing the holy symbol of Iomedae found its way into the hands of Riswan. The rod was a mystery but, seeing the tabard, Grackle searched his brain for fragments of a legend he once read of a set of enchanted items called the Raiments of Valor. The Raiments were said to provide magical aid to noble warriors wounded on the field of battle and were most powerful when worn together as a complete set. The tabard, Grackle recalled, granted its wearer powerful resistances against physical and mental attacks when it was needed most. Two other items, a crest and a charm, were said to confer greater skill at arms and protection, but the goblin knew not what the complete set would offer.
“There’s a crest in the Celestial Garrison’s armory,” offered Shi. “Made of gold and shaped like a griffon, I thought it was just some fancy paperweight when I first saw it.”
“That sounds like the Crest of Valor!” Grackle exclaimed. “That means I..er..we’d only have to find the last piece, the Periapt!”
“In that case, one of us will have to join the Garrison to gain access to their armory,” Roch spoke. “I think I’m more than capable of passing their tests, but we’ll need to find a witness.”
“We can do that later,” hissed Cul’tharic. “For now, we should concentrate on clearing Riswan’s name and we still have not decided what to do about the minotaurs or Arnarah’s riddle. We may still be able to save Grackle from being eaten.”
Gathering their bounty, the party left in search of the evidence that would finally prove Riswan’s innocence.
***
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Hrumi groaned as Grackle, Roch and Shi examined nearly every square inch of a 100-foot corridor. “There’s nothing to find! Let’s just go already!”
“We don’t know that,” answered Grackle as the goblin pryed at a loose stone that really was just a loose stone. “There could be a secret door or maybe some hidden treasure or something around here.”
The search continued until the party reached the end of the tunnel where the passage doubled back the other direction. Seven cell doors awaited exploration in the south wall along the corridor.
“Looks like we’ve got a lot more searching to do, guys” Grackle announced.
“Uuuughh! Enough!” roared Hrumi who stormed up the passage peering through the viewing portals of each door. “Nothin! Nothin! Dead gnoll! Nothin! Dead minotaur I think I recognize! Dead demon-lookin’ things! Nothin! Okay! We’re done! Let’s get out of here!”
The party insisted upon searching the cells and, exasperated, Hrumi stomped off toward the end of the tunnel. Finding little more than the corpses, the adventurers called after the minotaur to see what he’d found and, to their surprise, Hrumi did not answer.
The tunnel Hrumi had entered ended at a simple iron door much like every other door in the region. No noise issued from the other side and, when called, Hrumi still did not respond.
“I guess we should take a look,” Grackle offered as he pushed open the door. The hall beyond the door looked safe, but there was no sign of Hrumi. “Maybe he finally got sick of us and left?”
One by one the party moved through the door and one by one each realized he’d been fooled by one of the mystical warp gates. At the mercy of the dungeon’s magic, the party was once again cast throughout the region.
***
Grackle managed to shake off the effects of the warp gate only to find himself in a small, dark, empty room. The skald had been dropped into a room with no exits aside from the warp gate itself. Cursing his misfortune, the goblin held his breath and closed his eyes as he stepped back through the portal.
***
Roch, emerged from the warp gate with little more than a slight pain in his eyes, which he quickly shook off. The sound of minotaur voices seemed to be coming from an open room near the gate and the dwarf did his best to sneak closer, but one of the creatures heard his approach and called out.
“Didja bring the grog!?” shouted the minotaur as he stepped into the hall.
“No. I don’t have any grog,” Roch answered staring up at the beastman only inches from where he crouched near the door.
“What’ve we got here?” chuckled the minotaur, placing one of his hands on the dwarf’s shoulder. “Some kind of bearded dungeon rat? Come in and have a seat, dungeon rat. I insist.”
The room was occupied by two other minotaurs who stood as Roch was “helped” into the room. All three appeared to be members of the Broken Axe tribe though none seemed to recognize the spellcaster.
“There’s a toll for passing through Broken Axe territory, dungeon rat. How much gold’ve ya got on ya?”
Roch was surrounded and the lead minotaur blocked the exit from the room.
“Almost seventy gold coins but you’ll get none of it,” the dwarf replied. “because I’m leaving right now.”
“Izzat so?” laughed the minotaur. “Boys, show the rat how we deal with trespassers round here.”
“Markuli and Ramvik aren’t going to like this!” Roch protested. “Let me up this insant and let me go!”
“Looks like this rat’s got friends in high places, my brothers!” the minotaur laughed. “Well, la-dee-da! Ain’t you well connected! Standing’ll cost you twenty gold coins.”
“Fine!” Roch shouted, throwing a handful of coins across the floor before getting to his feet. However, the instant the dwarf stood, he was knocked back to the ground by another minotaur.
“Whoopsie daisies! Howabout giving us the rest of that gold, now, huh?” the minotaur grinned as Roch’s axe was struck from his grasp.
The dwarf was at his boiling point. The minotaurs had insulted his pride and, worse, they wanted his gold. It was time to teach them a lesson. Dodging an incoming blow, Roch quickly thrust an outstretched finger toward a pair of the brutes and made a sound like a roaring bonfire. A tiny bead of fire flew from the dwarf’s finger exploding just behind the minotaurs and catching them within its flames.
***
Grackle opened his eyes and exhaled. He’d survived another trip through the warp gate, but his stomach felt upside-down and tied in knots. Steadying himself against the wall of the chamber, the goblin surveyed his surroundings. The Stoneshaper must be laughing at him. A small, dark and empty room almost exactly like the one he’d just left met his eyes. Grackle cursed again, waited for the sick feeling to leave him and jumped back through the portal.
***
Shi and Cul’tharic emerged from the same gate only moments apart to find Hrumi had preceded them. The irritated warrior seemed to be having it out with a gate guard from the Broken Axe tribe, and after explaining how he’d arrived and threatening the guard with terrible violence, Hrumi turned to the cleric and the lizardman.
“Have I told you lately how much I hate you guys?” Hrumi asked Shi. Before the priest could answer, however, a sudden flash of light and explosion caught everyone’s attention.
The Broken Axe gate guard quickly ran toward the sound of the blast followed by the adventurers and Hrumi. Down the tunnel and around a corner past another warp gate, the group was astonished to find Roch surrounded by minotaurs and rolling around the floor, launching bolts of mystic force through the air. Two of the minotaurs seemed to be heavily scorched by fire and the third was laughing so hard he could barely stand.
“Enough!” shouted the gate guard. “Back to your posts you layabouts!”
Cowed by their superior officer, the minotaurs backed off from Roch who quickly got to his feet.
“We was jus’ havin’ some fun with the little guy,” one of the minotaurs spoke. “We didn’t know he was anyone special.”
“How’s this for fun?!” yelled Roch as another burst of missiles flew from the dwarf’s hands striking the wounded monster.
“I said that’s enough!” shouted the gate guard as he seized Roch. “Return the dwarf’s weapon and gold to his companions here!” Then, to Shi and Cul’tharic, “Take your friend and go. I’ll see these three are punished.”
As the minotaur released Roch, the dwarf was already beginning to cast another spell. This time, however, it was Cul’tharic who intervened.
“This is not wise,” the lizardfolk hissed as he struggled to keep Roch from further assaulting the minotaurs. “You have your things. We should go while you all still have your lives.”
“I’m going to kill them, Cul’tharic,” growled the dwarf. “This isn’t over! You better I hope I don’t come back! I’ll kill you all!” he shouted as Shi and the lizardman dragged him out of the room.
“Awww, let him finish what he started,” Hrumi cajoled. “That was just getting interesting.”
***
Grackle kicked the wall of the chamber stubbing his toe. He couldn’t tell if it was because he’d wound up in a third small room with only one exit or if it was an effect of the warp gate, but he was enraged and wanted to tear something apart. Unfortunately, this chamber was as empty as the previous two so the goblin could only take his frustrations out on the walls and floor as he leapt about screaming. Eventually, his fury subsided and Grackle turned back toward the warp gate determined that this would be the last time he’d step through one of these stupid, thrice-cursed abominations of arcane architecture.
***
Riswan examined the room around him. Ashes and broken furniture lay about the room and a pair of broken, burned doors led out to the south or west. Aside from not knowing where he was, the halfling felt absolutely fine and he struck out west to explore the tunnels beyond.
The area was cold. The halfling’s breath crystallized before him as he snuck out into the wide chamber beyond the charred room. To the south, one of the griffon-emblazoned doors marked an exit to the south but, without the Silver Key, Riswan would have to find another way out. To the southwest, the halfling found a strange room blackened by a repeating explosion of flame that filled the adjoining tunnel with warmth but offered only a violent, burning death to any who entered the chamber. Turning to the north, Riswan tightened his vest as the chill of the tunnels seemed to increase.
Riswan held out the enchanted rapier he’d taken from Mortgul’s corpse. The blade glowed dim and green providing the halfling with some light but only enough to make out vague shapes twenty feet ahead. One of the shapes appeared to be low to the ground and shimmering and Riswan moved in for a closer look.
The thing was a goblin, or had been once. Now, the creature was closer to a piece of furniture, its terrified eyes staring out from behind a sheet of ice that reflected the green glow of Riswan’s sword. The halfling shuddered. Had it been crawling? The goblin looked like something that had died as much from fear as from the cold. Undaunted, the halfling moved forward, climbing over a pile of debris that seemed to grow larger as it neared the south wall. Another dead goblin, this one frozen and bent over a broken desk, its leg trapped in the refuse. At the edge of the rapier’s light, something large glistened and Riswan approached carefully.
Just a wall. The chamber was somewhere around 80 feet wide by Riswan’s guess, its walls and floor covered in a thin layer of frost. The thicker patches became icy, reflecting the light of Riswan’s blade and allowing him to catch dim glimpses of his own reflection and, now, to his horror, something else.
Riswan stood transfixed as the ice upon the wall reflected what appeared to be a pair of glowing blue eyes behind him, then another and another and another. The sound of cracking ice, wood and bones tumbled out of the huge debris field in the center of the chamber and Riswan turned to face the creatures moving through the pile. The halfling counted sixteen eyes glowing in the dark and each one cast an eerie blue glow out to 60 feet. Then, as a pair of the azure beacons turned toward the east doors illuminating one of the creatures’ heads, Riswan’s knees threatened to buckle and leave him lame. It wasn’t eight monsters lumbering out of the pile of smashed and frozen skeletons. It was one.
Shaking himself free of his terror, Riswan ran round the debris pile toward the room’s only exit as the cryohydra shrieked with an ear-splitting roar that shook some of the ice from the walls. The slick floor made movement difficult and Riswan was suddenly blasted by several jets of freezing wind and ice that tore his flesh and froze his blood. The hydra shrieked again, snow and ice dripping from its many mouths, as it moved to block Riswan’s only clear exit from the chamber. The halfling could see the remains of the crawling goblin, now crushed into dirty, red and green chunks of ice beneath the hydra’s bulk, and knew another blast from the monster would reduce him to a similar state. Then, scanning the room, his eyes fixed on a single point in the north wall.
The light of the hydra’s eyes revealed a patch on the north wall where the ice appeared to be a shade darker than the rest and it seemed the creature’s shrieking had knocked some of the ice away revealing what might be a passage covered by a thin sheet. Praying for Iomedae’s mercy, Riswan charged the wall, breaking through into a narrow tunnel as the hydra’s jaws snapped close behind him. Angrily, the scaled horror unleashed a second blast of freezing wind that cracked the ice around the entrance and through the tunnel, but Riswan had made it far enough inside to dodge the gale. The hydra huffed and scraped at the tunnel entrance but, for now, Riswan was safe.
***
After arranging for safe transport into Broken Axe territory, Shi, Roch, Cul’tharic and Hrumi stood before the main warp gate used by the tribe. The adventurers had decided to ask around the tribe for any sign of their missing companions before attempting another jaunt through the portals, but they’d come up with nothing. Grackle and Riswan were nowhere to be found. It was then that Shi recognized a goblin among a visiting caravan from the Goblin Empire.
The goblin (Shi thought his name might be Ayor) had often been seen skulking about the tombs in Region B after the adventurers cleared them of undead and Shi knew him to be sort of an outcast among his people. Antisocial, depressed and rather the killjoy, Ayor had just lost his job as a caravan guard and the cleric asked if he might help to find their companions.
“I guess,” Ayor sighed. “If we have to.” And before anyone could stop him, the goblin walked through the warp gate in search of the missing adventurers.
“The hell is his problem?” Hrumi asked, but nobody knew and Ayor would never be able to tell him because the goblin was never seen again. He died moments later when the magic of the warp gates reduced his body to a twisted, shriveled husk in some far corner of the region.
It was ultimately decided the group would wait ten hours and then send one person into the warp gate to search for the others. When the time came with no sign from either of their companions, Roch drew the short straw and stepped through the portal. The dwarf stumbled wearily out of another warp gate moments later and collapsed. He’d survived, but the strain on his body was too great and he fell into a deep death-like sleep.
***
The tunnel Riswan leapt into fleeing from the cryohydra led him to an intersection leading east and west. To the east stood a closed door marked with dwarf runes. A symbol for darkness and shadows along with the words “BAD NEWS” hinted that nothing good was waiting on the other side. To the west, however, Riswan found another door where someone had scrawled the dwarf words for “HOME SWEET HOME” on the floor at the door’s threshold. Riswan tried the door and found it stuck but easily freed. Inside, atop a simple bed blanketed by the fur of a polar bear, laid the skeleton of what appeared to be a dwarf in rotted leather armor and boots. A dirty, but otherwise magnificent, short sword rested next to the dwarf’s body along with an old leather sack. A pair of chests, one square and one round like a hat box, sat on the floor at the end of the bed and Riswan entered to examine them.
The air in the room was stale with a peculiar odor and Riswan guessed the dwarf had, perhaps, died in his sleep. Under the bed, he found a pair of keys and a slim book appeared to have been placed below the head on the polar bear fur where rested the head of the dwarf. Riswan gently lifted the head of the bear and slipped the book out from under it without disturbing the skeleton then took the keys from below the bed. The cover of the book was blank but, within, Riswan found the words, “THE LIFE AND TIMES OF ONE DARVIL T. IRONBOTTOM.” No doubt remained in the halfling’s mind. Here then lay the infamous thief who’d stolen from the minotaurs and caused Riswan to be labeled an accomplice and, in one of the locked chests at the foot of the bed, the halfling discovered the stolen plates, the elephants adorning the cheap glassware trumpeting in victory. At last, the Riswan could clear his name.
Riswan spent the night on the floor of the chamber near the bed of Darvil after safely securing the plates and journal within his pack. He was certain the hydra was waiting for him but hoped the thing would eventually tire and sleep. He could attempt to slip out then.
The halfling woke hours later shivering with a throbbing headache and terrible fever. Suspecting he’d caught some sort of illness from the bad air in the room, Riswan swore he’d return to the Broken Axe tribe before the sickness overtook him. With that, the halfling snuck off toward the lair of the cryohydra.
The monster sounded as if it were sleeping near the passage Riswan used to escape. Likely, it had worn itself out throwing itself at the frost-rimed walls and Riswan thanked his goddess for the luck. The halfling crept into the room keeping one hand on the wall of the chamber. Afraid to wake the beast, Riswan kept his sword in its sheath hoping he could find his way to the exit in the dark. He figured he was at about the halfway mark when he caught sight of a dim blue glow in the corner of his eye. Peering over his shoulder, he saw the thing was awake and searching the room while six of its heads continued to snore. It hadn’t been asleep at all. The evil thing had been listening the whole time and now thought it had heard the halfling’s soft footfalls. Riswan waited, then saw the lamplights of the hydra’s eyes moving toward him and fled.
The halfling scrambled over the slick floor of the chamber as quickly as he could as the hydra roared after him. He could feel the monster’s icy breath licking at his heels as the sweat on his back froze and slid to the floor in icy beads. Riswan ran with every ounce of strength in his body for life and fear and freedom and rounded the corner out of the chamber of the room as the massive horror wedged itself through the passage beyond. Leaping over the charred, broken furniture in the burned room, Riswan dove through the warp gate praying it would be deliver him to safety as the hydra burst into the chamber behind him blanketing the room in freezing death. Moments later, four minotaurs in gleaming golden breastplates surrounded the halfling as he fell into the center of the chamber outside the minotaurs’ treasure vault. “Thief!” they cried, and Riswan couldn’t be happier.
Meanwhile, in a small, dark room hidden deep behind the walls of the dungeon, Grackle stood motionless. The goblin was right. He would never again step through one of the thrice-cursed magical portals. By the power of the warp gates he’d been turned to lifeless stone. And while no one would know the fate of Grackle for some time to come, further tragedy awaited the party when Cul’tharic emerged from the Broken Axe warp gate carrying the body of Shi. The pair had followed Roch after waiting a few hours and the gates had finally done what oozes and giants, shadows and even a dragon could not do. Pharasma’s servant was off to meet his mistress.
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Greetings, dungeon lovers! So during the last session, the party decided they'd had all they could take of the corrupt minotaurs and their blasted warp gates. Eager to explore a new region, the party set their sights on Region I. However, before we get to that, it's time to bid Region F adieu.
Region F Epilogue
The actions of the World’s Largest Adventuring Party had many ramifications for the denizens of the dungeon in the days that followed Riswan’s return to the Broken Axe minotaur territory. For one, the halfling was free. Darvil’s journal, recovered from the dwarf’s tomb along with the elephant plates and the crystal key, proved Riswan had no part in the theft of the minotaur treasures. Markuli, himself lavished a gift of precious gems and gold onto the halfling as a means of repaying Riswan for his wrongful imprisonment as well as the return of the stolen items and Vornmik, the chronicler of the Broken Axe Clan, gifted the halfling with the journal he’d recovered hinting at its potential usefulness in the journeys ahead. Meanwhile, the lizardman Cul’tharic bore witness to the bestowing of another prize, the gift of life.
It was Cul’tharic who discovered the body of Shi within a darkened chamber of Region F. The cleric had been slain by the magic of the warp gates and it troubled the reptilian warrior to lose such a staunch ally. Among his own kind, the death of an ally would be cause for a feast (with the main course being the fallen ally) but, during his time in the dungeon, the lizardman had discovered these warmbloods had the peculiar habit of wasting good meat by putting their dead into crypts or burning it until only ashes remained. Unknowing of when he would once again see his companions, Cul’tharic lifted Shi’s body onto his shoulders and carried him toward the Goblin Empire where he knew the cleric maintained a small domicile within its haunted tombs. Shi’s home within the dungeon would become the resting place of his remains while the lizardman sought out the assistance of the lizardfolk druid Slissth who lived within Four Waters.
Slissth and her companion Kalhiss maintained a small nature shrine among the four fountains from which the commune took its name and had, overtime, filled the once-Spartan chamber with a multitude of planters for growing herbs and vegetables taken from the celestial garden to the north. The druid had gained power over the course of her stay in the dungeon and, it was rumored, had gained the ability to restore life to the fallen, albeit in a new form chosen by fate or the fallen one’s ancestors. From Slissth, Cul’tharic learned the necessary reagents for the spell grew only within the celestial garden and could not be transplanted. However, the Celestial Garrison had given her permission to take a few of the plants from time to time in order to restore the lives of noble souls so they might continue to battle the evils of the dungeon and seek an escape from its walls. Normally, Kalhiss or a loved one or companion of the deceased would make the trip to retrieve the herbs, but Cul’tharic was surprised to learn Shi had an anonymous benefactor.
News of Shi’s death had spread when Cul’tharic was seen locking the cleric into his tomb. The cleric was well known among the commune for his role in the fight against the shadows and his battle against the shadow lord Seraxes and Cul’tharic learned someone had made the journey north to retrieve the reagents needed to restore the cleric’s life. Furthermore, the stranger had broken into Shi’s tomb to procure a lock of the cleric’s hair for use in the spell and hired the goblin Writa and her companion Wrunt the Dwarf to maintain watch over the open tomb. The goblin refused to tell anyone the identity of the mystery figure but Shi himself and informed the lizardman she was instructed to await his return.
Shi awoke in a small tent within the fountain chamber of Four Waters. His new body ached as he stretched, joints popping and skin groaning. He felt shorter and he was definitely hairier. Slissth handed him a blanket to cover himself as he regained his feet and a large bowl of water to drink so that he might moisten his new throat. A different, yet familiar, face stared back at him from the reflection on the water’s surface. Pharasma or fate or perhaps Slissth’s scaly ancestors had decided in their infinite wisdom to make Shi a dwarf. He would need to remember to have his robes let out.
Writa hopped to her feet when Cul’tharic returned with the dwarf who would be Shi and took the cleric into the tomb while Wrunt closed the stone doors and guarded the entrance. What she had to say was for Shi’s ears only and the cleric exited the tomb moments later with more questions than answers. Those answers, Writa told him, awaited him in the east though it would be some time before he sought them.
Region C saw a lot of activity while the adventurers were occupied with the harpies and minotaurs of Region F. Talita Draghignazzo’s party of adventurers, now calling themselves “The Trust,” which had kept busy hunting the enemies of Argliss and keeping monsters out of Four Waters since their victory over the region’s gnolls, caught wind of Markuli’s interest in Nardarik’s hoard and secured a contract to destroy the young black dragon on behalf of the minotaurs. Their hard-won victory over the beast brought new money into the Broken Axe coffers and gained the group even more glory when they brokered a deal with the lantern archon Coleman to use the dragon’s lair as a prison within the dungeon. Though many of the denizens of Four Waters were good people unjustly imprisoned by Lord Antagonis, a large number were evil and deserving of their fate and Balian and Ariel were hard-pressed to police their actions. The fact that only a bearer of the Mark of the Righteous could access the only entrance to Nardarik’s lair, made it the perfect place to incarcerate troublemakers.
The Goblin Empire, which now stretched across Region B into Region C to the threshold of the new prison, continued to evolve as trade was established with the minotaurs and goblins slowly trickled into Broken Axe territory carrying treasure looted from their territory in exchange for minotaur-crafted goods (tales that some goblins never managed to trickle out were ignored as insubstantial rumors by the hobgoblin caravan guards.)
Many were the members of The World’s Largest Adventuring Party who entered Region F never to return and, after dealing with harpies, manticores, minotaurs and enchanted portals, the remaining members of the group decided they’d had enough. The dwarf Roch only just survived when he had the misfortune of falling into a deep coma near the guard post of the very minotaurs whose lives he’d threatened hours earlier. Thinking the dwarf already dead, the minotaurs stripped him of his gear and threw him into a sack for later eating. It was only by the providence of a passing pair of Redeemers from The Celestial Garrison that Roch was saved from the stewpot when they purchased the dwarf with wages they’d earned patrolling the halls. Vyk Vulkyn, a halfling rogue, and his companion, Elster “The Stir” Slocan, an aasimar paladin of Torag, carried the dwarf’s comatose body back to the Garrison where the ghost priest Iridinhael, promised to care for him until he recovered. Much of the dwarf’s equipment had already been traded to hobgoblins by the time Riswan left the halls of the Broken Axe to find the yard sale laid out by the minotaurs, but the halfling did manage to procure Roch’s spellbook using the reward given to him by Markuli. It finally took the intervention of the minotaur Hrumi, of all people, to put a stop to sale of the “found” goods.
The party had made no mentionable progress in their investigation of Roch’s claim that Markuli was possessed by a demon or wizard and Hrumi had grown impatient. The minotaur finally demanded the party decide if they would proceed with their investigation or allow Hrumi to return home with word they had failed to discover any convincing evidence of the dwarf’s theory. In exchange for their decision, he would convince Brumni the Blind of the Broken Axe Clan to confiscate the dwarf’s items so Roch could collect them when he recovered. The decision was made to abandon the quest and Hrumi happily returned home after speaking with Brumni.
Riswan, Cul’tharic and Shi ultimately decided to leave Region F and its undiscovered mysteries and riddles locked within its labyrinthine walls. Roch would recover in time but, for now, The Redeemers, Vyk Vulkyn and The Stir, would join the party on their first foray north into a region that had come to be known as The Halls of Flesh.
Despite not fully completing this region, the party still managed to earn a few perks for their trouble:
Darvil’s Journal – This simple, cheaply constructed, non-magical book contains the story of Darvil Tundermugg Ironbottom, a dwarf who served the Golden Axe minotaur tribe as a trapsmith and slave for forty-six years before escaping during the sundering of the tribe. Not only a record of the dwarf’s life and travels through the World’s Largest Dungeon, the book is a collection of Darvil’s notes and trap designs.
Anyone capable of reading Dwarf who studies the book for ten hours receives a +2 circumstance bonus to Craft mechanical traps, Knowledge Geography and Survival checks made within the dungeon and to Perception and Disable Device checks made to locate and disable mechanical traps for a number of days equal to their INT score. The book may be read multiple times but the bonus will not increase. Studying the book need not be done all at once.
Fantastic Farggalaan’s Magic Hut - Actually it’s just Farggalaan the goblin wizard disguised via magic and selling wondrous items, wands and such from a briefcase in the seedy part of the commune.
Argliss has a strict No Wizardry policy when it concerns the Goblin Empire, but he’s finally allowed Farggallan to use his crafting abilities to turn a profit so long as the wizard continues to keep his abilities a secret from his fellow goblins and part of his profits go toward the Empire. Farggalaan, being something of a genius, knows most goblins could never be trusted to handle a wizard’s abilities responsibly and he’s fully aware of the monopoly he has on the market so he’s okay with that.
From now on, the party may place orders with Farggalaan for any magic items he is capable of crafting alone. The goblin won’t work with other spellcasters for fear of his secret getting out and because it cuts into his profit margin. Also, the goblin doesn’t accept credit. It’s cash or trade only.
Spishak’s Speedyish Delivery Service – At the request of the adventurers, Spishak Kilbane has devised a method by which he can deliver goods through the most dangerous regions of the dungeon.
Using specially trained vermin, rats and bats wearing cute, little, monogrammed vests to relay messages across the dungeon, Spishak can take orders from adventurers no matter how far they wander from Four Waters, probably. Once the order is received, the halfling adept fills it and hands it off to a trusted runner who will theoretically make their way to the adventurer’s location at the time the order was placed to collect payment. Spishak employs Writa and Wrunt for jobs around the civilized areas of the dungeon (+5% to cost of items +gratuity,) but retains treasure hunter extraordinaire, Bartleby, for deliveries to dangerous domains (+15% to cost of items +gratuity.)
Spishak will fill orders from any craftsperson (including Farggalaan,) friendly to Four Waters but delivery times will vary due to circumstances of the journey. Failure to meet cost of items + delivery fee will result in return of said items + a penalty fee based on the location of the delivery. All items are guaranteed to eventually arrive in serviceable though likely soiled condition.
The biggest problem comes from the warp gates. Each time a creature passes through a gate, a D20 is rolled for both location and effect. I let the players make their own rolls so their PCs fate was in their hands. Effects range from temporary rage or dazedness to petrification and instant death with DCs anywhere from about 16 to 23. Also, the writers once again made it clear they favor good-aligned PCs by noting Lawful Good PCs are immune to the effects of the gates. Though the results were often amusing to everyone, we lost a lot of time and a fews PCs to the gates. I recommend anyone running this in the future just have all the PCs wind up in the same place to cut down on time lost and, possibly, casualties.
The other problem with Region F stems from the cast of characters. With the exception of Arnarah, all the major players in the region are evil, evil D-bags. As interesting as their story is, good PCs might be loathe to help any of these villains knowing what these creatures are capable of or what they intend to do once they’re problems are solved. Region F is one region where it might be simpler to just kill everything that moves, loot the corpses and get the hell out.
Speaking of Arnarah, I love her. She isn’t very fleshed out in the text, but there’s enough to understand her motives and the way she operates. The riddle she gave the party isn’t in the book. I came up with that and prepared some rewards for anyone who figures it out. The benefit of writing this journal allows me to flower up her speech a bit more than when I’m at the table, but I’d recommend GMs without this luxury or lacking in improvisational skills prepare a script for her so she sounds suitably enigmatic.
All in all, Region F is a solid, challenging region if you can get around the problems with the warp gates and, if your party is more into hack and slash, there’s a ton of good treasure to loot off the corpses.
Be here next time for an updated roster of all the adventurers who have fought alongside the party and, if I can find my notes, a statblock for a monster near and dear to the party's collective hearts. Also, Region I! The Halls of Flesh! Oooooo, scary!
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Howdy, readers! We've got a brand new journal update today but, before we get to that, I've got a couple of bonus items.
As promised, here is the newest roster of all characters to serve as members of the World's Largest Adventuring Party:
1. Shi
2. Roch
3. Cul'tharic
4. Vyk Vulkyn
5. “The Stir”
6. Riswan
Inactive members
7. Durthuunicar II = serving as guardian of Four Waters
8. Patreus = location unknown
9. Klibb = serving as guardian of the Goblin Empire
10. Traxxas = usually getting drunk at Famous Macready's pub
11. Marcus = working as a bowyer for Four Waters
12. Hurk = wererat, living among the goblins as a guest
13. Pallas = joined The Redeemers
14. Walker = in Hell
15. Thorin = currently serving Four Waters as a healer
Deceased/Incapacitated Members
16. Saelin = left party, killed by wererat Mina
17. Mina = left party, became wererat, killed by Hammerfist
18. Ranoth = killed by lightning bolt
19. Poker = killed by darkmantles
20. Lockwalt = killed by darkmantles
21. Foxy Loxy = killed by darkmantles
22. Air'elon = killed by lightning bolt
23. Runath = left party, killed by howlers
24. Chu = killed by lightning bolt
25. Ayla = killed by dire wolf
26. Laze = left party, joined The Trust, killed by Nardarik
27. Dorin = killed by ghoul paladins
28. Drax = killed by howlers
29. Dammi-tall = killed by bugbear
30. Dorian = killed by howlers
31. Marius = killed by bugbear
32. Annali = killed by phantasmal killer trap
33. Gofer = killed by ghoul paladins
34. Dan-Zig = killed by ghoul paladins
35. Mio = killed by ghoul paladins
36. Jin = killed by pendulum blade trap
37. Pojies = killed by ghoul paladins
38. Rayder = killed by shadows
39. Kraum aka The ½ Orc = killed by shadows
40. Jayder = killed by shadows
41. Rudeth Ravenlark = killed by shadows
42. Grimdar = killed by hellwasp swarm
43. Mark = killed by ghoul
44. Rags = petrified by medusa
45. Troy = killed by cloudkill trap
46. Chumlee the Third = killed by mimic
47. Chumlee the Seventh = killed by harpies
48. Patterson = killed by dragon bile poisoned key
49. Reg = petrified by medusa
50. Janus = killed by harpies
51. Grackle = petrified by warp gate
52. Sloth = killed by harpies
53. Felix = killed by harpies
54. Jonathon = killed by harpies
55. Durthuunicar I = petrified by warp gate
56. Ayor = energy drained to death by warp gate
And, because I thought somebody might be interested in this sort of thing, here are the stats I'm using for the friendly custodian lantern archons of the World's Largest Dungeon:
LG Small outsider (archon, extraplanar, good, lawful)
Init +3; Senses darkvision 60 ft., low-light vision; Perception +7
Aura aura of menace (DC 15)
DEFENSE
AC 20, touch 14, flat-footed 17 (+6 natural, +3 Dex, +1 size; +2 deflect vs. evil)
hp 17 (2d10+6)
Fort +3, Ref +6, Will +7; +4 vs. poison, +2 resistance vs. evil
DR 10/evil; Immune electricity, petrification
OFFENSE
Speed fly 60 ft. (perfect)
Ranged 2 light rays +5 ranged touch (1d6)
Spell-Like Abilities (CL 3rd):
At Will—aid, continual flame, detect evil, greater teleport (self plus 50 lbs. of objects only, not available within WLD,) stabilize, mage hand, unseen servant, hold portal, mending, knock
STATISTICS
Str 5, Dex 16, Con 16, Int 10, Wis 15, Cha 14
Base Atk +2; CMB –2; CMD 10
Feats Iron Will
Skills Diplomacy +7, Fly +16, Knowledge (planes) +5, Perception +7, Sense Motive +7 Stealth +12
Languages Celestial, Draconic, Infernal; truespeech
SQ resubstantiation, beacon
SPECIAL ABILITIES
Resubstantiation (Ex)
A destroyed custodian lantern archon will reform at full strength within its region within 2d12 hours of its destruction. The archon will generally reform near the location it last occupied, but may appear anywhere within 500 ft. of that location. If this space is now dangerous to the archon, it can reappear in the closest safe area.
Beacon (Ex)
A custodian lantern archon can transmit a signal to other good creatures at will. By concentrating as a standard action, the archon can transmit this signal, which can be detected by any creature with a good aura (i.e. good-aligned cleric, good subtype creatures, good creatures of 6 or more HD, etc.) within one mile of the archon. These creatures are under no compulsion to respond to the signal, and no messages can be conveyed through the transmission. Creatures responding to the beacon can locate the archon with a DC 0 Perception check modified by +1 for every 250ft. they are from the archon’s location.
Light Ray (Ex)
A lantern archon can fire beams of light to damage foes. These light rays have a maximum range of 30 feet. This attack overcomes damage reduction of any type.
ECOLOGY
Environment any (World’s Largest Dungeon)
Organization solitary
Treasure none
The custodian lantern archons of the World’s Largest Dungeon are a special unit of lantern archons endowed with abilities beyond those of their peers. When the dungeon was created, these archons volunteered to serve as its eternal caretakers and sacrificed not only their ability to combine with others of their kind to form a gestalt, but much of their freedom and the ability to advance among the archon ranks.
A custodian archon’s abilities reflect its primary duties of maintaining the prison, and they were never meant to be its first line of defense or wardens. However, the earthquake that broke the dungeon in half left many of these lanterns as the sole celestial inhabitants of their respective regions. Honor-bound to maintain the watch, these loyal guardians welcome any good creatures they encounter and can be counted on to offer advice or support to any non-evil creature in need. Due to their oaths, a custodian lantern archon never leaves its assigned region so they are often grateful for news or stories from the outside world.
And now, on with the story...
DAYS 142-147 THE HALLS OF FLESH
featuring: The World's Largest Adventuring Party
Roch - Dwarf Mystic Theurge
Cul'tharic - NPC Lizardfolk Scaled Horror
Shi - Dwarf Cleric of Pharasma
Riswan - Halfling Fighter
Vyk Vulkyn – Halfling Fighter/Rogue
”The Stir” – Aasimar Paladin
Elster Slocan, the Redeemer paladin, had only been among the adventurers a few days but his exuberance at the prospect of dispatching the evils to the north of Region E was already wearing thin on his allies. Of course, the paladin’s passions weren’t entirely at fault.
“ONWARD, MY COMPANIONS!” the paladin bellowed as the party paused at the threshold of a doorway thick with what appeared to be living flesh. “WE MUST DESTROY THE EVIL THAT DWELLS HERE SO THE GOOD PEOPLE OF FOUR WATERS CAN ESCAPE THIS FOUL PLACE!” He couldn’t help but shout. The enchanted gauntlets he’d purchased from Spishak increased his strength but, as with most of the halfling’s wares, carried a side effect and also increased the pitch of his voice. Nothing short of removing the gauntlets could lower Elster’s volume, but the paladin didn’t seem to mind…even if it meant alerting every monster within bowshot to the party’s presence.
The Halls of Flesh, according to the Celestial Garrison, had once been much like Region E but the earthquake and subsequent jailbreak, along with an incursion of monsters from outside the dungeon, caused some foul curse or magic to be unleashed upon the region. Now, nearly every square inch of Region I was covered in a throbbing, pulsing and crawling flesh-like substance that grew like a tumor across the dungeon. Attempts to remove the growth had failed and the celestials eventually had to fall back, sealing the region off with their powerful wards so it would not spread to the south. The wards kept all evil things from crossing into Region E but meant Region I was lost to the Garrison. Bearing these things in mind, the party cautiously approached the flesh-covered archway.
Someone or something had carved symbols into the pulsing flesh that writhed upon the frame of the threshold.
“Those are unholy wards, a protection against all things holy and good,” announced Shi. “It appears whatever lives here now is just as keen to keep the celestials out of this place as the celestials are to keep them out of the south.”
“THEN WE WILL SEE HOW WELL THESE WARDS PROTECT AGAINST THE HOLY MIGHT OF TORAG!” Elster shouted. “LET US PROCEED! VYK! SCOUT THE WAY AHEAD!” The aasimar’s celestial blood slowed slightly as he crossed through the archway into the hall beyond. The wards would not affect him the way they would a full-blooded celestial, but Elster could still feel a trace of their power resisting his passage like a thin curtain of spider webs.
Vyk Vulkyn, international halfling of mystery and heroic scoundrel, was already well ahead of his companions as he crossed into a rubble-choked corridor. The room had apparently been the site of a massive cave-in, but a thin, difficult trail seemed to wind its way through the wreckage.
The halfling slowly crept through the chamber toward an exit in the west as living flesh squished and squashed under his bare feet. Then, a bit of movement caught Vyk’s attention. Something thick, rubbery and tube-like was slithering out of the flesh covering a pile of fallen masonry. The wormy beast reared up as Vyk reached for his sword, its tapered mouth opening into a mass of writhing hooked tentacles surrounding a wicked beak.
“Uh, guys!” Vyk shouted. “It’s time to Stir things up!”
Elster groaned. Vyk had given the paladin the nickname “The Stir” while the pair served with The Redeemers and it caught on with their fellow guardsmen. It was bad enough he would try to find clever new ways to work the word “stir” into any conversation regarding the paladin but now, whenever battle was imminent, the halfling would shout out this ridiculous battlecry.
Cul’tharic, Shi, Riswan and “The Stir” rushed into the chamber to find Vyk surrounded by pack of the tentacled worms. The creatures appeared from slick tunnels within the rubble or from fleshy burrows underneath the floor.
“Gricks!” Riswan alerted his companions. “We’ll need enchanted weapons to pierce their hides!”
“Now you tell me!” shouted Vyk as his rapier bent and sprang harmlessly from one of the monster’s rubbery bodies. The halfling quickly tossed the blade aside and drew his bow.
While Shi, Riswan and The Stir detained a trio of the creatures from the east, Cul’tharic fought his way through to Vyk’s side, but the halfling had already suffered multiple cuts from the lashing hooks of two of the beasts. Attempting to tumble away through the rubble and slippery flesh at his feet, Vyk lost his balance and stumbled into the waiting tentacles of a grick. The halfling was down, but his companions would quickly have the battle in hand and aid his recovery. Most of the monsters had fled or fallen when one of the creatures atop a pile of debris made a hissing squeal as thin, leathery wings splayed out from its tentacles. The wounded creature suddenly took flight, rapidly spinning its tentacles and escaping to the west as Riswan looked uneasily after it.
“Wait. What?” came his confused response. “That isn’t right. Gricks don’t do that.”
The halfling searched his brain for any tales of flying gricks and, while he recalled hearing of aquatic gricks and gricks adapted to jungle environments, he had no knowledge of flying “whirly-gricks.” Just then, Cul’tharic hissed and motioned down toward the unconscious Vyk.
The halfling’s body twitched and convulsed as patches of light, golden fur grew over his body and a pair of short, goat-like horns sprouted from his brow. The transformations were accompanied by the scent of a bestial musk that seemed almost reptilian to Cul’tharic’s nose. Elster quickly placed a hand over the halfling’s heart hoping his healing touch would reverse the strange mutations but it was no use. Vyk awoke, healed but changed by some mysterious power within the dungeon.
“I feel different…stronger,” the halfling bleated, his voice altered by the mutation. “…virile…frisky.”
Thoroughly creeped out by not only Vyk’s transformation but the way he kept leering at everyone, the party turned their attention back to the dungeon and pressed on with the halfling well ahead of them.
Vyk, with Cul’tharic not far behind, soon came to a wide chamber slathered in a thick layer of viscous, congealed goo. The living flesh here dripped from the ceiling and walls forming tapered mounds and drifts of oozing meat. Calling back to the rest of the party, the pair waited for their companions’ decision on how to proceed.
“I’LL GO THROUGH AND MAKE SURE THE AREA IS CLEAR!” declared The Stir. “YOU ALL WAIT HERE, AND I’LL SHOUT IF THE WAY IS SAFE!”
“A whisper should suffice,” commented Shi.
The Stir trudged through the morass of goo toward an open door in the south wall of the room. Aside from the difficulty of moving through the slime, the way seemed safe enough and the paladin waved back at his companions. Then, Elster caught sight of a berm forming in the sludge near him. Something was burrowing toward him through the flesh!
The cancerous mass erupted as a slime-coated grick shot toward The Stir. The creature was quickly joined by five more of its kind and the monsters quickly surrounded the paladin as Riswan, Cul’tharic, Shi and Vyk fought their way through the disgusting sludge.
The gricks fought savagely but seemed slightly weaker than the last batch and the adventurers quickly had the upper hand. The creatures were quickly dispatched and, while none seemed to possess the wings of the beast that had fled the previous battle, each appeared to have been altered in some fashion by life in The Halls of Flesh. Thick scales coated the body of one monster while another’s skin secreted poison. Yet another appeared to be covered in black-beaded pores that seemed to serve as hundreds of small eyes. Having only just begun their journey, the adventurers could only imagine what horrors still awaited them.
Soon, the adventurers came to an alcove the fleshy mass seemed to avoid. A dim luminescence poured from the area and, as they turned the corner, the party discovered the source of the glow.
The bones of some slain celestial creature hung pinned to the wall by several long spikes of a strange organic material. Blood from the celestial, still wet as if freshly shed, dripped from the spines casting a pale light into the alcove.
“THIS CREATURE’S BLOOD IS HOLY!” shouted The Stir. “IT COULD BE USED AS A WEAPON AGAINST EVIL OR, PERHAPS, AS A HEALING ELIXIR!”
“What about the bones?” asked Vyk.
“It isn’t an uncommon belief that the bones of a saint or angel can provide protection against evil,” offered Shi.
“That’s good enough for me!” cheered the halfling who drew his knife to cut one of the creature’s toes from its sinews.
“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!” chastised Elster. “THIS IS A WARRIOR OF THE HEAVENS! YOU CAN’T JUST MUTILATE ITS CORPSE!”
“Don’t go getting all stirred up on me now, Mr. Healing Elixir,” chided Vyk. “You’re the one who just sucked down three potions in order to harvest his blood so you can drink it later, you sicko.”
“He’s got a point,” agreed Shi.
Elster was speechless. He’d just been fact-checked by a furry, womanizing, goat-horned burglar. This dungeon wasn’t just evil; it was Hell.
The party next came to a door held open by a mass of tendons and leading into a large room filled with huge mounds of pulsing flesh. The ceiling of the room appeared to be strung with bridges of muscle and ribbons of fat like a veritable Ewok village of meat. The sounds of low chattering and gibbering alerted the party to a group of creatures hiding within the room and Vyk tossed a magically lit piton into the room.
The room erupted in a cacophony of screeches like a choir of monkeys and one of the mounds on the floor of the room seemed to ripple as a flap of skin opened slightly revealing a thin, gray arm that snaked its way toward the light, grasping at it with fingers like the arms of a starfish and then quickly retracting into the tent of flesh.
“I think we should go away from here right now,” suggested Riswan. “All in favor say nothing and move away from the door as quickly and quietly as possible.”
Against the protestations of Elster, the party slunk away from the chamber of screaming monkey-things saying they would return to cleanse the evil once they’d explored a little further and it wasn’t long before they discovered a secret room concealed by a wall of flesh and sealed by a combination of Celestial runes. Shi and Elster quickly worked together to decipher the code to enter the room and found the chamber was clean of the tumor-like growth outside.
The room was decorated with several mirrors and a glowing orb, which shined light into the chamber from above. Examining the mirrors, Shi determined the room was once used as a scrying chamber by the celestials and each mirror was linked to a separate room within the region. The cleric was just able to peer through one of the mirrors into what appeared to be a row of prison cells when Vyk suddenly knocked him to the ground.
The furry halfling foamed at the mouth and cursed as he beat his tiny fists at the priest’s armor. Small scales seemed to be forming on his face and hands and his feet appeared to be taking on the form of split hooves.
“Get off me, you freak!” Shi screamed as he flung the diminutive rogue toward one of the mirrors. Glass showered the floor of the chamber as Vyk shook himself to his feet.
“IT MUST BE THE CURSE OF THESE HALLS!” shouted The Stir. “WE MUST SEAL HIM IN UNTIL WE HAVE A CURE!” The party backed out of the room keeping the halfling at bay, then closed the door and reset the Celestial lock. From within, they could hear their companion thrashing about the room and smashing the scrying mirrors. Vowing to return for the halfling, the adventurers moved on toward a narrow passage across the hall similarly overgrown with the fleshy substance.
The adventurers pressed on through the moist, throbbing halls of meat, defeating another pack of gricks and discovering a mysterious, enchanted ring embedded within the hide of one of the monsters, until they came to a great, stone door bearing a symbol shaped like a spider roughly the size of an elf’s hand. Riswan’s knowledge of engineering told him the spider was likely the key to opening the door, but it would not move and there was no apparent keyhole. Only a small pair of sharp, serrated fangs at the head of the design offered any clue but the halfling could not discern their purpose.
“WE SHOULD BREAK IT DOWN!” exclaimed The Stir. “STAND BACK AND I’LL SMASH IT FROM ITS MOORINGS!”
“I think that’s a terrible idea,” argued Riswan. “It’s bad enough you refuse to take those gauntlets off long enough to converse at a normal volume. If you try smashing through that door, you’re going to have every grick, screeching monkey-thing and Iomedae-knows-what-else in this dungeon tracking us to this passageway. Besides, from what I can tell, that door is at least five-feet-thick. You’ll break your arms off trying to hammer it down.”
“I agree with Riswan,” offered Shi. “Breaking down the door does sound pretty stir-pid. Ha! Vyk was right. That is fun!”
Cul’tharic agreed with the halfling as well and offered that it might better to return with a key if one could be found. If nothing else, the group might find a cure for Vyk and the rogue might know a way to open the door. Out-voted once more, Elster conceded defeat and followed the party into the west.
The western tunnels eventually led the party to long, octagonal chamber littered with fallen stone and, otherwise, much like the meat village they’d discovered to the south. The adventurer’s voices, mostly Elster’s, had alerted the creatures within to the party’s presence long before they arrived and, as the party, approached a sizable piece of stone was dropped to the floor near the paladin’s feet followed be a hoarse whisper from above. Shi recognized the quiet hiss of the monster as an Undercommon phrase but could not decipher its meaning. A moment later, the creature spoke again, this time in the Common tongue.
“Outsiders go!” came a bitter, high-pitched voice like air escaping a constricted balloon. “Not welcome! Go!”
“We come in peace,” responded the priest. “Who are you?”
“Me cho-king,” hissed the voice. “You outsiders. Go!”
“Did you just say you’re choking?” answered Shi. “I’m a trained healer and might be able to help.”
“No. Me Choke King. Here we home. You go!” the voice seemed angry now, and running low on patience.
“OUT OF THE WAY, SHI!” Elster roared as he stepped into the room, his hammer held at the ready. “PREPARE TO FIGHT!”
Several small shortspears suddenly rained from the bridgework above the floor of the room and Elster could see five emaciated figures emerging from their hiding places within the web of living tissue. The largest of the figures hissed and flung a spear, which pierced the paladin’s defenses. Elster was suddenly stricken with weakness as the weapon’s poison coursed through his body. The lead creature then fled the room after hissing orders at its companions and Cul’tharic and Riswan followed the paladin into the chamber.
The lizardman hurled a javelin into the shadows at one of the beasts luckily bringing it down and, as its body fell into view, Riswan identified the monster.
“These things are chokers!” the halfling shouted to his companions. “Try not to let them grab you! They’re stronger than they look and supernaturally quick!”
Spears rained down from the rafters of the chamber as the chokers clambered quickly to and from their elevated burrows with fresh ammunition though most of the weapons missed their mark or glanced harmlessly off the armor of the adventurers. Even reinforcements summoned by the choker leader had little impact on the battle and Elster cheered his companions on as he dropped his shield and hammer to the floor in order to ready his bow.
“WE’VE GOT THEM NOW, MY FRIENDS!” he shouted. “WEAKEN THEM WITH YOUR PROJECTILES AND WE’LL FINISH THEM OFF WHEN THEY RUN OUT OF SPEARS!”
Then, as the paladin reached for his first arrow, he became tangled in his quiver and dumped his ammunition all over the ground. Cursing, the paladin bent down to fetch an arrow and was taken off guard by a pair of long, rubbery arms that shot down from the wall of the chamber and plucked his hammer and shield from the ground.
“THIEF!” Elster cried as he loosed a single arrow from his bow. The arrow struck the monster’s back but did little damage to the creature as it scurried up the wall and away across the ceiling. Meanwhile, Riswan was warning the party of a quartet of chokers approaching from the tunnels behind.
Elster spun around to gauge the threat of the incoming beasts and, as he did, a spear from one of the creatures above him, struck his shoulder. The wound was little more than a scratch, but the paladin suddenly felt dizzy and collapsed to the ground unconscious. Cul’tharic, seeing the paladin fall, quickly rushed to Elster’s side, lifted him onto his shoulders and hissed an order of retreat to the his companions. While Riswan and Shi couldn’t understand the lizardman’s words, they were certain of his intent and quickly made their way into the hall outside the choker lair where they were suddenly ambushed by a pair of creatures, which had hidden within the fleshy folds of the wall.
Riswan and Shi struggled to break free of the iron grip of the chokers while Cul’tharic moved slowly toward the exit of the choker lair. In his plate-mail, the paladin was easily 250lbs, but the lizardman had no time to cut his armor free. Seizing their advantage, six of the chokers sped quickly to the floor and swarmed the encumbered reptile. Heavily outnumbered, Cul’tharic dropped Elster to the ground and threw off the first two monsters but they soon recovered and joined their cohorts in a dogpile on top of the embattled warrior. Back in the hallway, Shi and Riswan finally managed to break free of their captors.
The chokers in the hall continued to plague Shi and Riswan as they fled south and the priest suddenly came to a stop calling back to his companions. The choker leader had finally returned and he’d brought a pack of young monsters with him, ordering them to charge forward in a murderous wave.
“Run, Riswan! I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’ll hold them off!” Shi yelled over the screeching curses of the rubber-limbed monstrosities.
Riswan fled north as Shi rushed into the center of a group of the monsters clutching his holy symbol. There was a sudden shudder and a groan like a coffin being forced open by a crowbar and then a corona of dark energy erupted from the priest’s spiral necklace. Half of the young chokers fell on the spot and three of the adults dropped from their perches above the floor. Terrified, the remaining young broke from combat and fled back the way they’d come, only stopping when their king seized one of their brethren and snapped its neck threatening to do the same to any else who tried to run. Shi took the opportunity to run north, but was quickly surrounded by a group of adults as the young chokers cautiously herded back toward the main hall.
“Fine,” grinned the priest as he once again channeled the powers of death through his holy symbol. “Room enough in The Boneyard for you all.”
Under the assault of death itself, another two of the creatures fell along with a pair of young at the lead of the pack. However, desperate from their injuries and equally fearful of their insane king, a surviving pair of adults jumped Shi and strangled him to the ground. With Cul’tharic, Elster and Shi down from injuries or poison, it was now up to Riswan to save the day.
The halfling went unnoticed while the chokers dealt with Shi and quietly made his way around the main choker lair by way of a tunnel wrapping around the chamber to the north. Sneaking along the tunnel, Riswan spotted a strange patch of stone in the wall where the mass of flesh seemed less concentrated but there was no time to investigate. Riswan continued to sneak around the chamber until he at last came to its opposite entrance where he could see a pair of chokers sifting through the belongings of his fallen companions. Just then, Elster woke from his poison-induced coma and caught the creatures’ attention.
The Stir quickly reached for one of the shortspears that littered the floor of the chamber, but the chokers were on top of him before he could stand. Riswan rushed toward the chokers to assist Elster when he noticed he’d been followed through the north tunnel. The pair of chokers, which had strangled Shi had gone north to find Riswan while their cohorts looted the adventurers and, now, were lashing at the halfling with their sinewy arms.
Riswan dodged the attacks of the chokers behind him and struck at one of the beasts on Elster, giving the paladin enough time to reach out and heal Cul’tharic. Unfortunately, the paladin’s touch did not provide power for the reptile to recover and The Stir was once again unconscious a moment later from wounds inflicted by the chokers. With two chokers behind him and one in front, Riswan didn’t like his odds.
The halfling darted past the strangling arms of the closest monster to Cul’tharic and Elster and reached down to touch the paladin, channeling power through his enchanted belt and then moving to stand over the lizardman. The healing power of the belt was enough to get Elster back on his feet and Riswan’s final charge managed to heal Cul’tharic who tumbled savagely at one of the monsters and impaled it on his trident. A moment later, the final two chokers lay motionless on the floor of the lair as Elster stabilized Shi’s wounds. The party needed a place to rest quickly and Riswan suggested searching the strange patch of stone to the north.
Careful examination of the wall to the north revealed a hidden door opened by a pressing a button disguised as a carving eight feet above the door. Apparently, repeated use of the door had torn the flesh growing around it so that it was never able to fully regenerate over the passage. Climbing onto Elster’s shoulders, Cultharic reached up and pressed the button. Without warning, the wall spun knocking Cul’tharic to the floor and trapping Elster within the hidden chamber. Riswan quickly helped the lizardfolk to his feet and clambered onto his shoulders swinging Cul’tharic’s trident at the button above. Riswan’s first swing was too soft, but the second struck hard and the stone button receded with a click.
Elster lay at the adventurers’ feet, alive but once again unconscious. Something within the hidden chamber had stabbed the paladin repeatedly.
“Well, that certainly is dis-stir-bing,” Riswan nervously laughed. “I think we should go away from here right now.”
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I must be doing something right for the players to keep coming back but,to be fair, there have actually been 54 PCs and two NPCs (Cul'tharic and Klibb.) Riswan started as an NPC as well but one of my players evolved him to PC status after one of his characters died.
Aside from that, my players deserve a lot of the credit. I wouldn't have much of a story to tell without them.
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Post 200! That's gotta mean something, right?
No?
Oh. Well poop.
This session, our favorite band of dysfunctional derring-doers begins a campaign of genocide against the monstrous chokers courtesy of The Stir. However, the nefarious Choke King might have come up with a way to turn the hunters into the prey.
DAYS 148-153 DISCIPLES OF MADNESS
featuring: The World's Largest Adventuring Party
Roch - Dwarf Mystic Theurge
Cul'tharic - NPC Lizardfolk Scaled Horror
Shi - Dwarf Cleric of Pharasma
Riswan - Halfling Fighter
Elster ”The Stir” Slocan – Aasimar Paladin
Vyk Vulkyn – Halfling Rogue/Fighter
Living flesh popped, burbled and burped as it slid down the walls of the chamber Cul’tharic and Riswan chose as a safe room. The place was disgusting and uncomfortable but seemed comparatively secure to the other chambers in the region given that both its entrances were concealed by either a tunnel of dripping meat or a cleverly hidden door. Earlier, the adventurers had discovered the room and defeated its occupants, a half-dozen mutated gricks, and, now, Cul’tharic piled the bodies of the monsters into the far corner of the room while Riswan cleared a place on the floor for his wounded allies. As he looked over his companions’ injuries, the halfling couldn’t help but think of the transformation that had come over the rogue, Vyk. Something within the Halls of Flesh seemed to corrupt a body’s ability to heal and Riswan could only wonder if Shi or Elster might suffer the same fate as Vyk. Before he could learn the answer, however, he and Cul’tharic were introduced to a new quality of the dungeon.
Only a few hours had passed when Cul’tharic noticed a sudden squirming among the pile of “dead” gricks. Slowly, one of the creatures lifted its tentacled head as it writhed back to life. The lizardman and Riswan quickly closed in on the beast and struck it down even as a second grick began to slither from the pile. In their sluggish, weakened state, the monsters were easily brought low, but their sudden resurgence created a new concern for the adventurers. Had the Halls of Flesh restored the gricks to life and, if so, could the monsters be truly slain? To be safe, Riswan and Cul’tharic slashed and cut at the bodies of the gricks until they were thoroughly dismembered. This seemed to work and the gricks’ assorted pieces were soon claimed by the fleshy mass growing throughout the chamber as Shi came to his senses. The Stir, on the other hand, seemed to have lost his.
The paladin woke with a start, his thoughts a jumble. Confused and crazed, he wounded himself smashing a potion vial into his own face while babbling incoherently only to attack Shi and Cul’tharic moments later. Though he experienced a few moments of clarity, it was decided Elster should be restrained until either his madness passed or he could be safely moved out of the region. In the meantime, Riswan made the short trip through the halls to where the party had left Vyk.
The halfling was gone. Whether the rogue had freed himself or someone had let him out Riswan couldn’t tell. The fighter could only hope Vyk was okay and return to his companions to tell them the bad news. On his return, he encountered Roch who had recently tracked his companions into the Halls of Flesh after recovering from his coma and reclaiming his equipment from the minotaurs, a tale he was only too happy to share.
It was the ghost Iridinhael who’d informed Roch that most of his gear was being held by the minotaurs of the Broken Axe tribe and, with only his spellbook, the dwarf marched into Region F to retrieve his equipment. As it happened, the same three minotaurs who’d given the dwarf such a hard time before were on duty when Roch approached the entrance to the Broken Axe territory. Roch went on to tell how the brutes hadn’t forgotten the dwarf’s vow to kill them and once again attempted to get the better of him by taking advantage of their numbers. Sensing an attack was imminent, the theurge struck first. A fireball erupted within the tunnel scorching the three monsters as Roch retreated down a narrow corridor. Within the enclosed tunnel, the minotaurs couldn’t surround the dwarf as they had before and, a few fireballs later, Roch was victorious with only a few new scars to serve as a reminder of the battle. A pair of minotaurs who witnessed the fight, congratulated the dwarf and sent for his belongings. All of this took far less time to accomplish than it took for Roch to describe and, by the time the dwarf finished running off on tangents, it seemed like four days had passed, which is convenient because that’s when Elster returned to his senses and, it seemed, he’d had a revelation.
“THE HAMMER WAS A SIGN!” shouted the paladin.
His companions looked up, expecting The Stir was still babbling, but the aasimar continued.
“I WAS NEVER MEANT TO SERVE TORAG!”
It was probably true. Elster thought back to his days in the forge-temple of the Father of Creation. The paladin’s fanatic zeal for stamping out evil had never fit in well with the conservative nature of Torag’s philosophy and his own mentor, a dwarfen artisan priest had repeatedly told him his talents would be better utilized elsewhere. At the time, the aasimar thought the priest meant it was time for him to leave the temple and crusade against evil. Now, The Stir realized the dwarf had actually only meant for him to leave the temple.
“I MUST PLEDGE MYSELF TO A NEW CAUSE! I WILL WAIT FOR ANOTHER SIGN!” shouted the paladin.
“Please, Pharasma,” groaned Shi. “Let the sign be a picture of a man with a gag in his mouth.”
The Stir either ignored the comment or didn’t notice. He was too busy formulating the party’s next plan of attack; a mission to eradicate the choker menace from the Halls of Flesh forever.
***
Shi cautiously crept into what Elster had surmised was the lair of the chokers. The party had found the chamber early into their exploration and retreated from it after witnessing a slender arm slither out from one of the flesh tents that occupied the room. Elster’s plan was to have Shi sneak into the room and blast its inhabitants with negative energy, hoping the power of death itself would fell the creatures before they had an opportunity to mount a defense. Shi, of course, was not overly fond of this plan but went along with it anyway because it allowed him to distance himself from the paladin. It was also nice for the cleric to know Elster would share any pain inflicted upon him by the chokers thanks to a prayer of protection the aasimar was granted.
The creatures within the chamber quietly muttered and gibbered within their tents, unaware of the cleric’s presence. Then, Shi brandished the small spiral at his throat and a shadowy pall of death spread through the room. Chokers screeched and hissed as the grey aura enveloped them. The creatures were wounded but crazed and quickly emerged from their tents to pile onto the priest.
“Your plan sucks, Elster!” Shi yelled as three chokers leapt onto him dragging him to the ground.
Cul’tharic and Riswan rushed into the room to clear the chokers from the cleric as Roch and Elster followed close behind. The pack of monsters fought savagely but clearly lacked the tactical acumen of the chokers the party encountered days ago. The beasts threw themselves at their attackers flailing madly despite their injuries and were quickly dispatched by the adventurers who roasted their corpses with fire from Roch’s fingertips. One wounded choker managed to scurry away from the fight and The Stir was anxious to give chase but decided to ensure the defeated monsters were fully incapable of being healed by the twisted magic of the Halls. When nothing but blackened, dismembered, unidentifiable rubbery chunks remained of the chokers, the party moved on after the escapee.
The fearful creature was long gone by the time the party reached a chamber lit by ensorcelled tiles. Little of the fleshy mass grew here and the party quickly determined the room held some vestige of celestial power. To the south, a great door stood marked by the wards of the Celestial Garrison and the adventurers knew they must be close to the quarters of the angelic guardians of the dungeon but the creatures had cut off nearly all contact with the residents of the commune weeks ago. The adventurers felt the celestials would defend the prisoners of Lord Antagonis should the need arise, but chose to respect the garrison’s privacy by not passing through the south tunnel.
The party next came to a round storeroom, mysteriously clean and seemingly oft-used. Medical kits and weapons lined the walls of the chamber near a pile of empty silk bags and heavy barrels carved from the remains of stone pillars. As his companions collected the medical kits and some of the polearms from the wall, Elster’s eyes fell upon a wonderfully crafted longsword hanging from a rack near the barrels.
“THIS HAS TO BE A SIGN!” the paladin shouted, plucking the sword from its resting place. “THE INHERITOR HAS CHOSEN ME TO BE A VESSEL OF HER DIVINE JUSTICE! FROM THIS POINT ON, I SERVE IOMEDAE!”
“Greeaat,” sighed Riswan, feigning excitement. “That’s swell. Really. Welcome to the fold…I guess.”
The halfling had long held Iomedae as a patron. He’d never had the same kind of conviction or passion to seek and destroy evil many of her paladins and clerics did, but he believed in honor and fair play. He could only hope Elster would represent the goddess well as he’d heard too many tales of holy warriors descending into madness in their pursuit of virtue.
“WE SHOULD TAKE THESE WEAPONS AND SUPPLIES BACK TO FOUR WATERS!” yelled The Stir.
“What about the chokers?” asked Roch. “I thought you wanted to de-stir-oy them.”
“Ooo, good one!” applauded Shi.
Elster groaned loudly. “THOSE MUTANTS AREN’T GOING ANYWHERE! WE’LL DESTROY THEM LATER!” None of the other adventurers were really opposed to returning to the commune so they gathered up the weapons and medical kits and began the long haul south, unaware they were being watched…
***
In the aftermath of the battle with the adventurers, Choke King, the self-proclaimed king of the chokers, ordered his minions to quickly gather their weapons and evacuate their lair. The Halls of Flesh would see that his subjects’ wounds were healed but could do little to keep the loud man and his companions from returning to resume their unprovoked assault. And they would return, this the Choke King knew. All creatures hated and feared his power. These humanoids who sought to murder his kind were no better than the gricks that constantly returned to war on him. They needed to be stopped before they could carry out their genocidal mission and end the reign of Choke King!
Over the years, the Halls of Flesh had warped Choke King’s brain, giving him a greater capacity for thought and the mutant monarch furrowed his rubbery brow as he planned a plan beyond the plans of any choker before him. A small band of outcast chokers lived not far to the south. These foul gibberers had been exiled from the king’s tunnels for their madness and their worship of a dark god of hunger and lunacy. The outcasts themselves were useless to Choke King’s plan, but their god…their god could be the answer to destroying the invaders. Choke King gathered the youngest of his subjects, the scuts, and gave them a mission.
***
Several days passed before the adventurers were next seen moving through The Halls of Flesh. Scut scouts reported the party camped in a hidden chamber and, when the invaders were seen attacking the outcast lair, Choke King knew the time was drawing near to spring his trap. Of course, he didn’t expect the adventurers to just up and leave as soon as they’d wiped out the crazed beasts, but this didn’t change anything. They’d be back. They always came back.
Choke King was not disappointed. The adventurers returned and, when they did, they went straight for the lair of the younglings. Most of the scuts, however, had vacated the chamber. Only four remained to serve as a lure for the invaders and, when the beardless dwarf entered the chamber holding aloft a small disc that flashed with dark power, the creatures fled. The scuts led the party north and, when it appeared the invaders had lost interest in the chase, the young fiends slung heavy stones from a distance to draw the party’s attention. A few stones struck home, but the adventurers seemed to tire of their pursuit. The loud man led his companions away from the scuts and toward the lair of the adult chokers only to find it completely empty. Choke King was pleased. So far, everything, more or less, was going according to plan.
“THEY MUST BE NEAR!” Elster shouted. “THEY’RE TOO STUPID TO HAVE GONE FAR!”
“Have you considered they might be using your voice as an early warning system?” asked Riswan.
The paladin ignored the halfling’s suggestion and ordered the group to split up but to stay within earshot of each other. Before long, the group realized the chokers had moved on. They’d abandoned their lair and had likely pushed deeper into the region. Most of the tunnels west of the choker lair turned out to be dead ends or of no interest, but one did possess a singular mystery.
A marred statue, roughly the size of a large housecat and vaguely insect-like sat atop a pedestal at the center of the intersection. Riswan determined it was a larger version of a small figurine the party had found a couple days ago while searching the lair of the outcast chokers and searched the surface of the statue for any indication of a compartment or hidden levers. Suddenly, the statue began to hiss and a dark mist sprayed from the joints of the spider-thing’s legs enveloping the party in darkness. The adventurers quickly fled the intersection. None among them had been harmed. The trap, it seemed, was only meant to confuse or slow trespassers and it was decided the party would leave the statue in its place. Still seeking the chokers, the party soon came to a pair of heavy irons doors, nearly completely overgrown with the fleshy mass clinging to the region’s walls. Closer inspection revealed the doors had somehow been welded closed and hadn’t been used for a considerable amount of time. A sound like groaning steel could be heard faintly from the other side.
“WE NEED TO BREAK THESE DOORS DOWN!” bellowed The Stir. “THEY WERE OBVIOUSLY MEANT TO SEAL AWAY SOMETHING IMPORTANT!”
“Or something incredibly powerful and dangerous,” suggested Shi. “I say we leave it be.”
“I agree,” added Roch. “This entire dungeon was meant to hold demons and all sorts of other evil things. The fact that these doors remain sealed indicates they’re still doing their job. We don’t have any reason to change that.”
Cul’tharic hissed a short prayer to his ancestors and, a moment later, declared, “Grampy Bone says that way is safe. I do not think we will find the choker things there.”
Outvoted once again, Elster relented and the party turned their attention back to finding the chokers and returned to where they’d last seen the scuts.
***
The tunnel ahead of the adventurers echoed with a strange, babbling chant and, once again, Shi was at the head of the column.
“YOU’RE DOING A GREAT JOB, SHI!” shouted The Stir. “KEEP IT UP!”
“Would you keep your mouth shut!” the cleric hissed back at the paladin. “Just because your spell allows you to share my pain, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt any less when I’m having the crap strangled out of me!”
“This is ridiculous. I’m going up there,” announced Riswan. Tired of seeing the cleric used for poking hornets’ nests, the halfling pushed past Elster and hustled up the passage toward Shi as the assimar uselessly protested.
Riswan and Shi entered into a wide, high-ceilinged chamber. The sound of the gibbering chant seemed to emanate from the south end of the room where a scattered pile of detritus had been gathered around a sloshing pool in the floor. Aside from the pool and the garbage, the room was completely bare and its emptiness came as a bit of a surprise to the adventurers. Not a trace of the fleshy mass growing outside was to be found anywhere within the chamber but the walls were pitted in places where it appeared things had been pulled or broken from its surface. Then, Shi noticed the chokers.
Four scuts clung to the ceiling high above the pool. Each carried a sack seemingly crafted from the fleshy walls of the region and, as Shi and Riswan drew nearer, one of the creatures pulled a shining warhammer from its bag.
“Stir,” Shi called back to his companions. “You’re going to want to see this.”
As the paladin entered the chamber, the choker released the hammer dropping it into the pile of refuse at the foot of the murky pool.
“I think they’re praying to something in the pool,” Shi suggested. “The garbage looks like an offering.”
Seemingly compelled by either curiosity or, perhaps, a death wish, Shi moved closer to the pool and reached out for the warhammer. It was then the cleric realized the chanting wasn't coming from the chokers above. The sound was coming from the pool, and the pool wasn’t rippling from fallen trash. It was alive.
A thick, black pseudopod lashed out of the viscous blob as the thing lurched forward out of its pit, and Shi howled in pain as he was quickly trapped within its inky embrace. The touch of the thing burned the cleric’s flesh and quickly began to destroy his armor and clothing. Roch and Cul’tharic, who had used a side passage to enter the chamber from a door in the south, looked on in horror as Shi vanished into the oozing, babbling, mad thing. As Elster prayed for protection from the acidic touch of the monster, Riswan dashed forward to attempt to pull the cleric free of the mass and was suddenly overcome by an urge to stand idly at the side of the blob and listen to its gibbering chorus. Cul’tharic, too, fell victim to the hypnotic cacophony of the ooze and, though, Roch tried to hold the lizardman back, the reptilian warrior escaped the dwarf’s grasp and staggered toward the undulating mass of goo. The choker scuts laughed their hissing laughs from the safety of the high ceiling as the two fighters slowly approached the dripping ooze and, somewhere close by, Choke King was pleased.
***
Choke King crept up to the north door of the ooze’s chamber, smiling wickedly at the sounds of the battle within. His plan to draw the invaders to the lair of the outcasts’ god had worked and soon he would be rid of at least one threat to his power. Peering into the room, Choke King could see the adventurers were struggling to free the beardless dwarf from the blob. The reptile man and the small one had apparently been drawn toward the thing by its incessant piping, but now seemed to overcome their fugue as another dwarf Choke King didn’t recognize conjured magic bolts to attack the ooze with varying success and the loud man shot arrows toward the scuts on the ceiling of the chamber after they dropped his stolen shield into the ooze. “No matter,” thought Choke King. What were the lives of a few younglings compared to the good of the group? As the scuts fled the paladin’s arrows toward the closest exit, Choke King gave the order to close and seal the doors to the chamber trapping two of the young monsters within.
***
Shi was naked and covered in acid burns by the third time Cul’tharic managed to pull the cleric free of the ooze. Even with the paladin’s spell of protection, the cleric wouldn’t live long without healing and Riswan did what he could to save the priest using his enchanted belt while the lizardman turned to batter the blob with his resin shield.
Both Roch and Cul’tharic remembered their first encounter with a god of hunger deep within Region C. Then, it was Roch who had been enveloped by the monster, but the party managed to overcome the creature with a combination of magic and sling bullets. This time, no one carried a sling and magic seemed to be of little use. The ooze seemed to absorb half of Roch’s spells without harm, and Cul’tharic was left the only member of the party able to consistently damage the thing thanks to his shield and some acid resistance provided by Elster. There was no accounting for the strange abilities of the ooze or its apparent intelligence, but The Halls of Flesh had produced many mutations in the creatures of the region and it was likely this was just another example of the terrors awaiting the party.
“GIVE ME YOUR ROBE!” Elster suddenly shouted at Riswan. The halfling had found an enchanted robe when he discovered the resting place of Darvil the Thief and he’d been carrying it in his backpack since, up until now, none among the party seemed interested in wearing it.
“No,” Riswan answered. “All of your plans up to now have been terrible and you’ve nearly gotten Shi killed. You can’t just demand things of us because you think you’re some kind of hero. Now, unless you’ve got a pretty good reason for wanting it, piss off. I’m not dropping everything I’m doing to keep Shi alive and help win this fight so you can have a fashion show!”
"Oh...snap." Shi weakly muttered.
To his credit, Elster did have a pretty good reason for wanting the robe. According to Roch, the garment would increase a wearer’s unarmed combat ability and provide a small level of protection, and The Stir thought he might use those abilities to help Cul’tharic pummel the ooze. Still, Riswan wouldn’t budge and the paladin was forced to charge the ebony blob with naught but his gauntleted fists.
Though the gibbering ooze managed to incapacitate Shi twice and strike several blows against Cul’tharic as the lizardman wrestled with it or bashed at it with his shield, the creature was soon little more than stagnant mass of dribbling goo and Elster focused his attention on the lone choker scut still pressed up into the corner of the ceiling. The paladin recovered his bow and fired an arrow into the creature, which quickly scampered to the ground at the aasimar’s feet making a series of silent gestures and whispers.
“It’s speaking Undercommon,” Roch informed Elster. “It’s pleading for its life.”
“THESE THINGS DON’T KNOW THE VALUE OF LIFE!” The Stir replied as he placed another arrow into his bow. “IT’S MIMICKING US, DOING WHAT IT THINKS WE WOULD DO IF THE SITUATION WAS REVERSED!”
Roch quickly moved toward the closest door, forcing it open as he ordered the scut to run. The passage beyond the door was empty of chokers and The Stir’s arrow chased the young monster into the hall as the terrified creature fled.
“TELL THEM WE’RE COMING!”