The bomb sails past Storn and Turan, over the bench, and just catches the derro on the shoulder as it tries to duck, exploding and doing minimal - but still substantial! - damage.
Jani then attempts to make the derro's mounting misfortune worse.
Turan's blow is mighty and assuredly would have been lethal, but he guessed wrong and only shattered fungus.
"It went right by you and around the wall!" Torvic yells about the fleeing derro, having missed terribly himself, and begins to follow.
"Your other right!" Torvic exclaims.
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Herman shakes off the ringing in his ears finally able to hear and act again. He stops and picks up his crossbow, still not able to see in the darkness.
He gets a bit confused by the directions of where the remaining derro is and makes a mental note to paint R and L on the back of Storn's hands after they get clear of the fight.
Storn chooses one of the directions and hits with his large greatsword very convincingly, bringing down the second derro. (Or, perhaps, he misses missing very convincingly.) In either event, combat ends and, after a few minutes, the darkness lifts, revealing the grim scene.
And, sadly, Storn returns to normal size.
The dissected, partially-frozen and violently shattered remains of the mountain goat lies surround by bloodspattered parchments covered in cryptic notes and drawings. Strange wires project from the goat’s remains, connected to odd-looking metallic boxes. Incomprehensible surgical tools lie scattered about.
It appears that the whole may have been a library at one time. Most of it appears to have been destroyed, but a few ancient books and scrolls remain.
The scrolls and books are not magical (and nothing else in the room detects so), at least not in the conventional sense. Torvic takes them down gingerly off the shelves and an actual smile crosses his face. "Dwarven texts full of long lost artistic techniques and the most valuable secrets of stonecutting and weaponsmithing - now found!" There are a dozen in all - some rescued from piles, fertilizer for the mushrooms - and they are of some considerable value.
Although many are incomprehensible, and the purposes they were put to were insidious, Wuliem can readily attest that the surviving derro tools would also be of some value, for study and as laboratory equipment.
A healer's kit is found, discarded but intact.
Finally, in one corner of the room lies discarded the tortured corpse of a very small, humanoid creature.
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Storn feels the meaty crunch of derro beneath his sword.
HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAAhahahaha...awh." He trails off as he returns to normal size, looking exceedingly disappointed. With a shrug, he cleans of his greatsword and stomps over to the dead body.
"Hrm, tortured to death and then.. killed by a rapier I suppose? Cold iron. And you say it's a pixie? Who tortures a pixie?"
With that Storn, mutters a coarse prayer of Gorum, hoping the pixie goes off to a better life, fighting an eternal war. He proceeds to loot the derro. Once that is done, he points southwards. "Let's go that way."
Perception
Starting to the south, you begin to hear strange and horrible sounds coming down the stairway. You are sure they must be hideous tortures or combat or - seeing what you have faced so far - perhaps both.
Before you are wide, ornate stairs leading up. The stairs are clear of the fungi infesting most of the complex and dwarven statuary can be seen in niches on each side of the stairway. Strangely-colored candles burn atop the statues, filling the stairwell with a faint red light.
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Hagan stared at the dead Pixie but disagreed with Jani's statement.
"No, not mad. This was cold, calculated, precise -- deliberate. They knew exactly what they were doing. And they reveled in it."
"Old Deadeye," Hagan beseeched outloud, "Guide our weapons and our magics. May we find our quarry, fly true, and hit our mark."
Hagan took a steadying breath.
"Come friends. Let us lay waste to the enemies of good and order."
***
Hagan stared angrily at the ascending stairs and gripped his axe tightly.
"Alright. Who's first?"
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Prior to opening any doors, Wuliem applies an alchemist's fire to his staff.
At 2nd level, a grenadier can infuse a weapon or piece of ammunition with a single harmful alchemical liquid or powder, such as alchemist’s fire or sneezing powder, as a move action. This action consumes the alchemical item, but transfers its effect to the weapon in question.
The alchemical item takes full effect on the next creature struck by the weapon, but does not splash, spread, or otherwise affect additional targets. Any extra damage added is treated like bonus dice of damage, and is not doubled on a critical hit. The alchemical treatment causes no harm to the weapon treated, and wears off 1 minute after application if no blow is struck. At 6th level, a grenadier can use her alchemical weapon ability as a swift action. At 15th level, this ability becomes a free action.
This ability replaces poison resistance.
Herman can see that the statues depict archetypes of various skills and professions especially prized by dwarven culture: there is the stonemason with hammer and chisel; a smith with hammer, tongs, and an anvil; a miner with a pick and a shovel; a jeweler or gem-cutter with an eyepiece and an vest-apron with many small, delicate-looking tools; a scholar with stylus and quill stands before a great, open tome.
The strange candles, irreverantly stuck on the heads of the statues, sputter and smoke, producing sparks and a foul, acrid odor. You shudder with the thought of what was rendered to make them.
Continuing up the staircase, the echoing sounds become, if anything, more and more disturbing. Rounding the final corner, you see unveil before you a truly grand and expansive gallery and an extraordinary and bizarre ... celebration.
Dozens of whirling, twitching humanoids fill the massive chamber, dressed in outlandish costumes. Masked derros madly waltz about, ducking in and out of the light shed by the luminescent molds. Others wave banners of tattered cloth or whirl feeble, guttering torches whose dim light is an unnatural blood red. Screams and howls erupt from the derro and chittering cries from the mites erupt frequently and randomly. Some mites wind between the derros' legs in a chaotic mimicry of peasant' country dances, while others intoxicated mites awkwardly gather dirty plates and goblets from the tables. A nauseating smell of burned flesh fills your nostrils from the table, and an occasional hand or foot hang from the table edge. More creatures crowd an elevated gallery at the chamber's east end and appear to be a mockery of an orchestra, each musician vying to outdo his fellows in thunderous cacophony. One derro here and a mite there lay on the ground, convulsing, frothing gore from their mouths, but do not draw any concern.
At the far end of the cavernous chamber, perched on a throne of carved alabaster, an ill-proportioned product of elf and ... other... sits, a white mask over her face, flowing white robes covering darkened skin and armor. A voice like nails on a chalkboard screeches from behind the mask, "The guests of honor have arrived. Please enjoy the refreshments!" With that a mite scurries forward with a tray of goblets filled with a thick black liquid.
In the center of the room lie what appear to be a handful human or humanoid bodies, but they have been reduced to a bloody ruin, perhaps as entertainment for an earlier course of the festivities.
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Storn looks at the dozens of insane, capering derro, the gory and blasphemous feast of human flesh, the demented orchestra, and finally the goblet of black liquid in front of him. He cracks his knuckles and leans back to whisper to Herman.
"This fight is very uneven. Should we let them get reinforcements?"
The two mites flanking the masked woman-thing appear to be observing, not dancing or participating in the revelry.
Initiatives
Herman moves forward, drawing his lute. As he does so, the masked woman-thing suddenly rises 10' in the air, casts a spell from a scroll and, tossing it in the air with a flourish, says, "I am delighted, the next of the night's entertainment begins!"
Jani sees that the concoction probably is some mix of the noxious fungal brews from the kitchen, further adulterated with blood from the smell of it.
Hagan swings at the mite, causing the creature and its hideous offerings to disappear in a wide spray of gore.
The nearer derros and mites, even intoxicated as they are, start to take notice and begin running this way and that, shrieking.
Wuliem expertly lobs a frost bomb into the derro, and the exploding cold shards rend the nearby mite, causing it to fall.
Following the group's lead, Torvic then moves, forward ahead of Herman, and though weak, nicks the same derro as she staggers away. (It is hard to tell what Wuliem's bomb did, however, since they are all staggering.)
At this point, there begins a mad stagger towards what may be an exit in the northwest of the room, although many are confused and pile upon and scramble over each other. (Any sympathy you have may be justly negated by seeing them slipping on the spilled gore of the feast.)
The two mites from the dais manage to move stably and fully towards you.