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Ken here dotting with the alias that will eventually become a PC.
DOT!!!
Three legendary artifacts disappeared clean from the Blacklake district vaults: Wave, Whelm, and Blackrazor.
Rewards were posted, servants hanged, even the sanctuary of the thieves’ guild was violated in the frantic search for the priceless arms, but not even a single clue was turned up until the weapons’ former noble owners each received a copy of the following note:
Search ye far or search ye near
You’ll find no trace of the three
Unless you follow instructions clear
For the weapons abide with me.
North past forest, farm and furrow
You must go to the feathered mound
Then down away from the sun you’ll burrow
Forget life, forget light, forget sound.
To rescue Wave, you must do battle
With the Beast in the Boiling BubbleCrost cavern vast, where chain-links rattle
Lies Whelm, past water-spouts double.
Blackrazor yet remains to be won
Underneath inverted ziggurat.
That garnered, think not that you’re done
For now you’ll find you are caught
I care not, former owners brave
What heroes you seek to hire.
Though mighty, I’ll make each one my slave
Or send him to the fire.
All the notes were signed with the symbol of Keraptis...but the remnants of the Many-Starred Cloaks mages guild swears this can't be. Keraptis died 13 hundred years ago...
The wealthy owners have promised you a reward of anything you desire, as long as it is within their power to grant. You've been outfitted better than most armies and set out on horseback into the Neverwinter Wood towards the Crags a few days past.
A rain soaked and runny map marks the location of the Dead Gnoll's Eye socket cavern, a place to store your horses and any other possessions while you plan your assault on the Plume, 2 miles from its mouth...there you stand plotting your approach.
In the distance you see it: White Plume Mountain is an almost perfectly conical volcanic hill formed from an ancient slow lava leakage. It is about 1,000 yards in diameter at the base, and rises about 800 feet above the surrounding land. The white plume that gives the mountain its name and fame is a continuous geyser that spouts from the very summit of the mountain another 300 feet into the air, trailing off to the east under the prevailing winds like a great white feather. The spray collects in depressions downslope and merges into a sizable stream. Steam vents are visible in various spots on the slopes of the mountain, but none of them are large enough to allow entry.
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Godric stood silently. His black cloak covered blackened Mithril armor. He stood as unmoving as a statue, looking at the mountain. It was odd, he reflected, how he felt. He was still himself, he was still Godric. But at the same time he wasn’t. In the past he cared about so much. His order, his family, his reputation. Now the only thing that mattered to him was the will of the Raven Queen. Intellectually he knew this to be wrong, but he couldn’t be angry about it, or even scared. It was just how he felt. How long had it been, he wondered, since he last slept? Ate? Breathed? All of those were impossible now, for he and his armor were one. His body was likely buried along with the corpses of his ancestors. He had left it behind long ago. He had lost track of how long. Days had no meaning anymore, let alone years.
But right now? The Raven Queen wanted the sword. Why? He did not know. But he could feel her desire, and as such, it was his. All he had to do was figure out the how.
"Well, that's a rukking sight! The note read 'Then down away from the sun you’ll burrow', so where do we rukking find the hole?"
Urth is a tall Illuskan human with an obviously strong upper body. He has raven black hair and tanned skin indicating a life spent in the sun. He wears plate armor that is decorated in shells and fish motifs and shoulders a backpack with a coil of hempen rope strapped to it. His weapon’s harness carries a cutlass and a shield with an emblem of a cloud above three lightning bolts, the divine symbol of Voltus who he worships.
This swearing sailor is an accomplished wizard wearing plate armor and likes to be called captain. He says that his ship in his backpack, but you don't believe him.
Narnel is tall and well-muscled for an elf. He stands over six foot in height. He is often described as wiry. The fact that he wears no armor is a bit offputting. His skin has a greenish hue and his hair is jet black. Narnel's eyes are violet in color. His eyes are penetrating, and you can almost see the wheels turning behind his countenance. His logical and dogmatic thought-process is worn upon his visage. He has tattoos over most parts of his arms. He walks lightly on his feet, and one can tell that he has a catlike grace to his movements.
He has a finely crafted Rapier on one hip and a Scimitar on the other. There is also an elven longbow and quiver on his back.
Well then, it appears as if spelunking is in order.
Molok stands over 7 feet tall and weight just over 300 pounds. His skin is a light grey colour and his head is shaved. His hazel eyes seem more like chips of polished stone than actual eyes, and his quiet demeanour hides a very passionate heart. His maul resembles a slab of rough-hewn stone than an actual weapon, and his armour is made of hardened stone scales sewn onto a leather backing. Small fetishes festooned the armour; each a reminder of a battle, place or event significant in the Goliath's life. All of his worldly goods are carried in a leather pack that he has slung over his shoulders. The only item that has any real colour on him is a small pendant that he wears tied around his wrist. It flashes from a pale blue when the sky is bright and the clouds are white and fluffy, all the way to an ebon-black during heavy thunderstorms. He also has a torc-like necklace around his thick neck. Two golded spheres attached to a length of braided gold wire make up the odd piece of jewelry and it seems to be a new addition to the Goliath's wardrobe, for he constantly fidgets with it. Deep in his heart, Molok would love to dress in "fancy and bright" clothes, but fears making a fool out of himself.
The stone-man stands silently but looks down at the bauble at his wrist to get a feeling of what the weather over the next 24 hours might be like.
Lyraath hunches slightly, making his 6 foot height somewhat shorter. His yellow-grey skin and angular facial features makes his githyanki heritage obvious, but his wildly dyed frizz of bright blue hair distracts from that. Although he wears a decent chain shirt, it is mostly covered with mismatched wildly patterned clothes hobbled together from obviously a myriad of sources. Further, he is adorned with simple leather straps for necklaces and armbands, each with a souvenir of one of his enemies - a few feathers here, a bit of scaly hide there, a square inch of chain mail, and so on.
He looks at the others more closely than the mountain, wondering if they will be allies or not, and whether they will be weak or strong. They look promising, but looks can be deceiving. Turning his attention now to the mountain, Lyraath thinks to himself, Soon the crucible of the mountain will reveal our selves. The ordeal will be quite entertaining.
Molok, the gem flickers to life and then steadies into a solid azure color. Likely to be clear a few days. However, you notice that when you align the gem with the feathered plume of the volcano, it flashes randomly 1000 rainbow colors.
With nothing yet to protect save a few well tied up and fed horses, the party disregards Dead Gnoll's Eye Socket cave and sets out closer to the mountain. A steady hissing from the summit makes the journey feel unnatural, and the rugged terrain is doing everything it can to burn your thighs.
Just as you are about to climb even higher, you hear a loud repetitive whistling sound over the roar of the summit...like your grandmother snooring peacefully. Tracing its source, you find a cave on the southern slope...a breathing cave.
Unlike the other smaller steam vents, this larger mouth exhales a large cloud of steam and then slowly inhales it back again, like a person breathing on a cold day. Each cycle takes about 30 seconds.
”This looks as good a place to start as any.” Godric was ready to canvass the entire mountain, regardless of how many decades it took. But it would certainly be nice if this proved itself to be an entrance.
Molok nods in agreement, gripping his maul tightly as he moves forward into the cave.
Nearing the entrance, you spot an old dilapidated wooden sign from god knows how long ago that says "Wizard's Mouth". At the end of the 8 ft diameter 40 ft long cave, near the roof, is a long, horizontal crevice about a foot wide. The air is sucked into this crack at great speed, creating the loud whistling noise and snuffing out torches. Shortly the rush of air slows down, stops for a couple of seconds, and then comes back out in a great blast of steam.
Molok is almost scalded by the blast, but keeping low seems to avoid the brunt of it. Its making the cave very uncomfortable, like a hot sauna bath interrupted by blasts of cold air.
The ceiling and walls of the cave are slick with the condensed steam that runs down them. The floor is covered with several inches of fine muck, sucking your feet down a few inches.
Molok looks around the cavern to see if he can locate any other way to continue onward.
Perception:
Likewise, Godric looked for a way forward. He focused with single minded determination in finding a safe path, for it was his queen, and thus his, sole desire.
Urth investigates the ground and exterior of the cave for tracks and cart ruts to confirm that this is a regular egress, before he actually puts himself in the way of the blast of steam. Or if there is another secret entrance near the cave.
We can time it, and enter when the blast does not occur, but we would have to go one at a time.
Molok slogs through the silt, alert to any oddness...and finds from under his heavy feet a *clang* where all else has been *clong*. Godric hears it too and turns to the goliath excitedly. Feeling down in the muck, they both manage to locate an iron ring...free to rotate but attached to the floor. The handle to a trapdoor, perhaps.
Urth notes the natural sanctity of the place for, other than the old sign, there is nothing to suggest the Wizard's Mouth was used by anyone for anything.
Narnel contemplates going up the breathing crevice, but hesitates due to it only being about a foot wide.
Pull that ring to see if it conceals a way in.
”Leave it to me.” The paladin reached down, his dark gauntlets coming from out of his robes, and pulled with all of his might.
Godric and Molok tear a small iron grate from its hinges, not bothering getting dirty and first clearing away the silt. There is a pronounced sucking sound, like uncorking an old wine, and the nostrils are soon assailed with a hot humid sulfurous odor. Inside, through the dark, you can see some handholds on the walls leading down 20 ft to the beginning of a spiral staircase which goes even further down...
Urth casts light on Molok's maul.
The party begins the 100 ft descent into the heart of the active volcano, finding the spiral staircase absurdly rusty and missing a few planks here and there, but otherwise quite convenient. Continuously you feel a pulsing, a thrumming low vibration in the hand rails, no doubt from the Plume geyser steadily and rythmically ejecting its contents.
You reach the bottom of the stairs with a splash — the floor is submerged beneath a foot of water! Floating on the water are splotches of green and white subterranean algae. This algae or algae-like fungus also clings in patches to walls and ceilings...
Rounding the corner you stop dead in your tracks as you seem to encounter some kind of invisible barrier blocking your passage to a space where 3 corridors converge. Just ahead, on the other side of the barrier, is a winged lion with the head of a humanoid female regalled with a gold and emerald crown. Her eyes seem to see beyond the present time and place.
At the same time, she is rather mangy and bedraggled...and apparently doesn't find the water soaking her feet at all amusing. "*sigh* Oh god another crew stumbling around after what...100 years? I hope you're smarter than the last...get me out of this hell hole." Her voice is strangely doubled as if through some magic translation.
Godric looked at the creature, though under his robes and with his fullplate's helm it was impossible to read anything. Not that there was anything under that to see.
"We are not the first..." He said, slowly, to himself. "Then perhaps we can be of use. It would seem that you are trapped, and know of a way that we can help you. If you tell us what fate befell those who came before us, and where we may find what we are looking for, then I am sure we will be able to find a way to ensure your freedom."
In the same strange whispering doublespeak of tongues, she replies bored but with a glimmer of hope "Well, they were too stupid to answer my geas riddle correctly, and therefore turned around and walked right back around that corner." wringing the water out of her tail. "eh...excuse my curtness, I've been in a foul mood lately...hmm...what is it you are looking for then?"
Stepping forward and bowing, Molok speaks to the Sphinx.
"We wish to enter and recover the stolen weapons, mistress. Ask us your riddle and we will try to free you and allow ourselves passage further into this mad man's home.
He bows again and steps back, keeping his hands away from his maul and showing the utmost respect for the Sphinx.
Rolling her eyes "Oh boy here we go again...Round she is, yet flat as a board, Altar of the Lupine Lords, Jewel on black velvet, pearl in the sea Unchanged but e’erchanging, eternally..." she looks at you expectantly with a faint blue glow behind her eyes, tapping her tail splishy splash in the water impatiently.
Narnel ponders the riddle as he leans comfortably against the wall.
”It is what the wolves pray to, and what you long to see. The moon.”
Molok had been scratching his head at this riddle, but as soon as Godric answered, he nods in agreement.
"The moon. That is the answer. Very good Godric!"
He looks to the pretty sphinx to see her reaction.
*blink* "Huh?" she starts a cautious smile and the corridor tremors and shakes. The magical barrier flickers and falls like sand. "Holy hell...you did it! I'm getting out of this nightmare while I have the chance..." she holds up her lion claws in a strange pattern and geometrical lines start to encapsulate her body. They take on a higher and higher density until she is almost solid white and, with a thundercrack, she disappears.
The path is now clear, but you have a choice of 3 passages before you.
Godric stared at where the creature once was. ”A barrier broken, but no other aid given. At least we were not placed under a geas. Shall we go left? I know not where any of the tunnels go, so one direction is as good as another.”
Whichever way we go, let us maintain that direction when given such options.
Godric leads the party down the eastern corridor trudging through the wet stinky tunnels. Suddenly, his feet give out from underneath and he falls fast below the water...
Forewarned by a sixth sense, Godwyn narrowly avoided the trap.
”Is anyone proficient in the detection and removal of traps?”
Not I.
Molok feels around the pit to see if there is space to cross on the sides. If so, he will continue onward, using his maul to tap the path before him.
Molok finds no side ledge, and poking down into the murky dark waters reveals only an unknowably deep chasm stretching down and out as far as he can reach.
After a long enough time to have exhausted all obvious options, Urth takes out a small box from his pack. With a command word, it unfolds into a small boat. If the boat grounds on the tunnel across a pit, the captain folds and stows his boat when they are all across.
Otherwise, he’ll navigate down the tunnel as a row boat.
”Perfect.” Godric said with surprise. He wasn’t looking forward to swimming. He and his armor were one...and that would make anything involving floating hard. Though he supposed that he would have been able to walk on the bottom at least.