Helena stares at Cerin through wide, pale eyes. "Do- do you know this for certain?" she stammers fearfully, looking from the gnome, to the half-elf attempting to escape, to the Garundi woman.
"Did he now?", Orik says, raising an eyebrow at Cerin as he recounts Tsuto's crimes. "I mean, I knew he was leading the goblins in to steal the old priest's bones during the attack, but I was sure he was lying about bumping off the old man. Who knew he had the balls to do it?"
Kyrian pulls his blade out, looking at it as he slowly turns it in front of his face, listening to everything going on. "You know, I've seen a lot of low lifes before. Hell, I've even had my childhood ruined by them. I've seen kids become stripped of who they could be, all because of low life scum and their horridly thought up schemes. But this t@&!... Oh boy..." He pauses with a harsh chuckle as he raises his blade, extending it out towards Tsuto. "This degenerate bastard makes the scum who made my life hell look like noble kings who only do good. And that's sayin a hell of a lot." he finishes, the tone of his voice completely different than anyone has heard from before.
"I have to admit that's a pretty bad list of deeds, but you know we could accuse Orik here of being at least one of those," Gwyn replies, though her eyes are now hard and fixed on Tsuto's face.
Round 1
As Tsuto moves toward the door, Cerin rushes in to prevent his departure, listing his crimes. Tsuto sneers at the gnome, reaches into his sleeve and then drops something to the floor. You hear the sound of breaking glass, and the air before Tsuto is now filled with heavy white smoke! The nimble half-elf bounds into the smoke, disappearing from view.
You hear a few steps from within the smoke and then the sound of a door opening and slamming shut.
At this, Lyrie says, "You're on your own, Tsuto! And I'm outta here!" She moves quickly through the war room and up the staris.
The door is locked.
"Alright stand back, Cerin!", Orik cries as he notes the short man fail to open the door. "It's no good, I'll have to break it down!" He rushes the door, slamming his shoulder into it. The door doesn't budge an inch; Orik, though, stumbles back a few feet, clutching his aching shoulder. "Oh, F**K me, that hurts!"
"Great," Gwyn grumbles as she fishes out her picks and moves to the lock.
Helena hesitates, unsure whether to help Orik break down the door or wait for Gwyn to pick the lock.
Orik rubs his sore shoulder as Gwyn attempts to open the lock. She is fascinated by the sophisticated craftsmanship of the lock... it uses some techniques she's never encountered before.
Kyrian then takes a crack at it, with similar luck.
Collaborating, Kyrian and Gwyn slow down and take their time with their lockpicks, bouncing a few ideas off each other. After about five minutes of work, you successfully finesse the lock open.
Beyond the door is a short passage that leads to a flight of stairs leading down into darkness. The stairs seem oddly skewed, leanning noticably toward the west.
Orik grimaces as he holds his shoulder. "Damn, that thing's sturdy. You think you guys can get that op-", he starts to say, just as the two pop the lock. "Well, I'll be damned. Alright, what do we do? I have no idea what's down there, but I do know some of what's up here. My quarters, Tsuto's, Nualia's, Lyrie's, Bruthazmus'...um, some goblin bedchambers that stink to high Heaven, a jail, and the chapel to Lamashtu." Orik's jaw clenches a bit after the last of these places he lists. "Nasty place, that. That's where I started realizing this whole thing had gone pear-shaped. Anyway, there's more areas on this level besides, but I really don't know what's in it. Maybe awesome stuff, maybe more goblins, probably just goblin filth. Up to you guys how we proceed."
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"I think we should head down as fast as possible. Tsuto already has a good head start and I don't want to give him and Nualia more time to prepare for us than we have to!" Cerin states as he strides towards the door. He looks down into the darkness, then back up at the group with one brow raised quizzically.
Kyrian chuckles to himself as Orik comments on the lock. "A skilled mind and some fine hands? Last time I checked, that never really equated to a bad time..." he finishes with a grin. Listening to the rest of what the man has to say, he nods after Cerin. "I agree. I'd rather get to him before he gets to the crazed mistress. Besides, I've got a little score to settle with that walking rat. And for the record, I wouldn't say pear shaped is a bad thing, but that's just me."
Gwyn mumbles something about cold water as her face flushes.
"Wouldn't it be better to make sure we're not about to play the part of a hot iron at a smithy? If we trap the door, we could take care of whatever's up here first then have at them when we aren't worried about being caught between a hammer and anvil."
"...and how do we know that sorceress friend of yours left without telling anyone where we are?"
"I have to agree with Gwyn," Helena says quietly, casting her eyes meekly to the floor. "It would be a good idea to make sure nothing's going to follow us down there... or ambush us on our way back up."
"Wow, I must be rusty," Gwyn mumbles as Shalelu brings up something the elf hadn't even thought of.
"Well, the only other person she could have told would have to be someone on this level, since we've killed everyone up top, right?", Orik replies to the elven archer. "That means Bruthazmus. We could test that out - if she hasn't warned him, then we know she's left for good. If she has, then we stave off an ambush before it happens."
Kyrian nods. "Fair enough. I say let's make a trap to help us ensure we don't get followed in case she crosses us. Either way, we still do need to press on. The farther he gets ahead of us, the harder it's gonna be to take out the she devil."
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"Maybe we could use some of the flasks of Alchemist's Fire to trap the door?" Cerin muses. "We did something similar back when I was trapping game in Brevoy. If you use just enough, the animal you caught would be cooked as well as caught! You have to be very careful, though; I still remember what happened to poor 'Lefty' Collins..."
Between Cerin, Kyrian, and Gwyn, you rig a flask of alchemist's fire to pour over the head of the next person to open the door. The trap is obvious from this side of the door, but not from the other.
You then open the door to the east, to find a short, five-foot wide corridor leading east for 10 feet, ending in a closed wooden door. Hearing nothing beyond and seeing nothing suspicious, you push the door open.
The lower four feet of the walls in this empty 10-foot square room are covered with crude drawings in mud, blood, and paint. Most of the drawings show goblins engaged in some sort of violence against humans, horses, or dogs. One picture on the north wall is at least three times the size and complexity of the other scrawlings. This image shows Thistletop from the side, the goblin stockade perched atop it like a crown. A cave has been drawn into the center of the image, and looming inside is what appears to be an immense, muscular goblin with snakelike eyes and a dogslicer in each taloned hand. If the scale compared to the rest of the drawing is to be believed, this goblin must be at least thirty feet tall.
Another wooden door leads south.
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Cerin uses the healing wand on himself again as he looks over the crude drawings. When he comes to the drawing of the huge goblin, he shakes his head. "Gobs are known for exaggerating their stories. I seriously doubt there's ever existed one of that size!"
After putting away the wand, he listens at the door and tests it gently to see if it's locked.
"And if he did, I doubt there'd be any goblins in the area for long. Have you seen how much they eat," Gwyn asks as she readies her tools in case the door is locked.
Helena shivers at the sight of the drawings, tugging her thick mantle tighter over her shoulders. "I really hope you're right," she mutters.
"Me too. Although, when have I been that wrong before," Gwyn asks in a cheerful voice and a grin on her face that slowly turns to a frown as she remembers The Incident of Which We Must Not Speak.
"Actually, don't answer that. I know you're nervous Helena, but a goblin of this size would have depopulated the entire area by now. Even barghests don't grow so large. And if there was one of those where it could get out, I think Thistletop would have been devoid of goblins," Gwyn says, trying to reassure her friend.
Fluff, unable to to keep her beak shut, chimes in.
"Oh yes, we wouldn't want everyone to know about that time in the Bazaar of Sails would we," she chirps mischievously. The smugness slowly fades from the thrush's expression as Gwyn turns a basilisk gaze on her familiar.
Shalelu nods at Gwyn's assertion that a 30-foot-tall goblin would certainly have been noticed by now. Yet, she still seems troubled by the image.
"This crude art is what as close as goblins get to a written language."
"What if that..." she points at the image of the giant goblin "...is the 'Malfeshnikor' Nualia is trying to release?"
As Shalelu's question hangs in the air, Cerin uses his magical wand to close all of his wounds and heal the bruising. He then feels good as new.
Pressing his ear to the door, Cerin signals the group that there's nothing apparent beyond. The door does not seem to be locked.
"All the more reason to put Laughing Girl to the sword," Orik says, trading places with Cerin as he opens the door.
"Can't argue with that..."
Cerin heal's some of Orik's wounds, then Orik throws open the door.
The door opens to a dark corridor hewn from the rock. It heads south about ten feet, then branches west and south to closed wooden doors.
Two large, stone doors sit in the western wall here, their faces carved with images of horrific, deformed monsters clawing their way out of the abdomens of pregnant women of numerous races.
If Shalelu's comment about the thirty foot tall goblin being what Nualia was trying to free didn't unnerve her, the doors at the end fo the hall did.
"I think I hate this place more than the Acadamae now," she whimpers to Helena before she makes her way to the wooden doors as silently as she can and listens at them.
Fluff flits from Gwyn's shoulder to Helena's. She can feel the thrush trembling with fright.
"That's saying something," Helena murmurs back, draping a corner of a linen scarf over the quivering Fluff. She swallows audibly, trying to stare at the back of Gwyn's head to avoid seeing the doors.
"The temple's through there," Orik says, gesturing towards the stone doors. "Only been in there once. Nualia holds services there for her goddess, and attendance was mandatory. I managed to convince her that someone should be on guard duty during them, so my first was also my last." He grows silent for a time. "Nobody should die like that. Not even that b+#$% that did the killing."
"Never mind," Gwyn whispers to herself, "I hate this place more than the Acadamae."
Keeping an arrow in his bow just in case, Kyrian just keeps walking with the group. "You know Gwyn, you and I are gonna have to have a sit down at some point because you seem to have a lot of stories, we ain't heard yet. Either way, I'm not getting an easy feeling here, thanks to our new found friend here. What exactly do you mean 'nobody should die like that'? What in the abyss happened in here?" he says while still trying to be quiet, giving Orik a more concerning look.
"I hope you don't mind if I keep some to myself. I'm sure Orik has some things he'd like to not revisit either," Gwyn whispers as she works.
Orik slowly wheels around to face Kyrian, his face stony. "You want to know? You really want to know? Fine. She tied up some poor bastard - a farmer, I think - to the stone altar, as naked as he came into this world, sliced open his belly, let her gods-damned demon dogs feast on his entrails as he screamed in agony, while her goblin lackeys whipped themselves into an orgiastic fury, and only after his screams ceased did she remove his head with her wickedly serrated blade. And that's not the worst. The worst? That's the only time I've seen her smile." He lets his barrage of words sink in.
"You see why I never went back?", he asks. "You see why I'm turning on her like this? If I try to do something about this, I end up on that altar next. If I throw in my lot with you all, then maybe, just maybe, I get out of this alive, and the crazy woman gets her head cleaved from her shoulders. I'm not a good man, but even I have my limits, and I did not sign on for this s**t."
Gwyn is ghost white at the end of Orik's tale.
"Please tell me they weren't... y'know, doing that," she says quietly.
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Cerin is quiet as Orik relates his horrendous tale. "It is a terrible thing that there are such people in the world, so twisted and full of hate they try to destroy everything and everyone around them. The only thing we can do is stop them." He pats Gwyn on the back with a sympathetic smile which he turns on each of his companions.
Then, with a resolute stare he intones "And we will stop her!" as he heads towards the western door, checking only to make sure everyone is ready before he opens it.
Gwyn slinks silently down the eastern, then southern corridors and presses her hear to the doors. Hearing nothing beyond either, she returns to the group, shaking her head.
Before she can check them, Cerin throws open the disturbingly-carved stone doors to the west.
Stone fonts containing frothy dark water sit to the north and south of the eastern entrance to the room, and twin banks of stone pillars run he length of the long chamber. At the western end, shallow stairs rise to a platform about two feet off the ground. The walls surrounding this platform are lit by hanging braziers that emit glowing red smoke, giving the place an unnerving crimson lighting that throws the bas-relief carvings of countless monsters feasting on fleeing humans into lurid display. A black marble altar stone, its surface heaped with ashes and bone fragments, squats before a ten-foot-tall statue. The sculpture depicts a very pregnant but otherwise shapely naked woman who wields a kukri in each taloned hand and has a long reptilian tail, birdlike taloned feet, and the snarling head of a three-eyed jackal with a forked tongue. The left kukri flickers with fiery orange light while the right one glows with a cold blue radiance.