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Lolygert made his way through the dense wood, alert for both dangers from men and beast, but also alert for the type of tree he was seeking.
He'd heard all the tales of Rappan Athuk from others at Zelkor's Ferry and the surrounding woods... dangerous!
But , dangerous meant that few ventured this way, especially woodcutters such as himself. There could be some prized copses of wood just sitting there...waiting for him!
So, as he made his way along a ridge of tall pines, his mind was on the potential riches above the ground, not far below.
He had just spotted a small grouping of iron oak , when the distinct sounds of battle drifted through the foliage.
Cocking his head to one side, Lolygert could hear the shouts of men...and the baying of wolves.
"Blast them!" he spit, the wolves of this area were a constant plague. His father and the other woodsmen had thinned their ranks considerably, but they were ever present.
Rolling his neck, Lolygert set out with a long loping stride, his feet never landing awry across the uneven forest floor
The sounds of battle grew louder and louder as Loligert pressed through the thick trees and bushes....to burst forth into a clearing.
Spying the few remaining wolves and those they assailed, Loligert hailed the embattled , "Well met! Thought I'd join in your little fracas! Damned curs!"
Grabbing a flask from his bandolier, he takes a quick pull, smacking his lips in appreciation, the shrugs his pack to the ground and draws his great sword...
With a quick adjustment of her grip on the wooden length of the quarterstaff, Aurora brings it around to make another strike.
Not very successfully, however.
Aurora is on the ground!
But Wolf initiative 2 goes for the corporal, cannily thinking that a few less NPCs might streamline the party a bit...
It gnaws on the corporal's unconscious body.
Elma yells, "Stop detracting from the value of my investment in human resources!"
And fires at that wolf in particular:
But she misses, badly.
The private attempts to save his buddy by finishing the worg, as does Sarge. They move into flanking positions.
...but somehow, their coordinated assault utterly fails.
The worg takes one last bite at the corporal--at least one of these miserable two-feet won't come back to the woods!
...Satisfied that the corporal won't be waking up again, the worg howls to her remaining packmates, gesturing urgently to the forest with her gory nose, and makes a sudden dash for the trees! Everyone whales on her as she tries to escape.
It's pretty brutal--Worgles is stabbed twice by the mercenaries and cracked hard in the shins by Aurora! But the muscular she-wolf is now 50 ft away from the fight, and barely visible in the darkness... the two remaining smaller wolves look like they might be itchin' to leave, too. Could just be fleas, though.
Brand happily accepts the assistance in getting up, drawing his bow as he does. "Much obliged, master Bottomland. Name's Brand... Give me one moment."
He draws an arrow and shoots at the fleeing worg, but only barely grazes it.
Despite the dim light, Brand's tiny arrow hits the fleeing worg. She howls in pain and rage.
"Well done!" he says to Bedlam.
Tragershen glances over his shoulder at the main melee, and then says "We should regroup. We don't want to get too far separated."
Then the elf runs back to the main melee, drawing his club as he goes.
Bedlam smiles down at Brand, as he skillfully, and nonchalantly prepares a bomb and tosses at the fleeing Worg.
The dwarfhulk then moves toward the main fight.
Ye be coming?
Creatures in the splash area that fail their saves are entangled but not glued to the floor; those who make this save are not entangled at all.
While Bedlam's bomb doesn't catch the worg on the head or anything, its detonation crumples the already-wounded animal into unconsciousness. The tangling goop of the bomb adds insult to very serious injuries.
Lolygert sees the worg signal to it's brood to leave, muttering "Oh no you don't!"
He moves to intercept the fleeing wolf-beast, his great sword cutting a huge swath through the air...
As Lolly's preternaturally swift legs lead him on a direct course to the worg, the sound of a hissing fuse passes his right ear--Bedlam's thrown a grenade of some sort... and then BAM there's an explosion. When Lolly stops running, he's standing next to an unconscious worg, and it's covered in goo. He might reach up and wipe his face with the back of his two swordholdin' hands, realizing he's got some of the tarlike goop on himself, too. Nothing serious. Just a little gross.
Assuming one of the wolves is close enough, Joden will once again attempt to draw blood with his fancy new scimitar and smash some muzzle bones with his shield.
Wolf 9, horrified by the death of his pack, tries to make a careful exit. He uses the Withdraw action to back away from the mercenaries... unfortunately, he's been thoroughly surrounded (not to mention the looming dwarfhulk), so he'll pass through squares threatened by the party.
...finally, Joden's literally shiny new scimitar connects with something! The wolf goes down under the first attack of opportunity.
That leaves one miraculously unscathed wolf standing in the middle of a party of angry warriors...
Aurora does not bother even trying to stand before she swipes her quarterstaff towards the wolf.
Aurora takes a swing, but misses..
At this point, the last and luckiest wolf makes a break for it. Using the Withdraw action, he jinks away from the mercenaries and tries to slip past the other party members, who are better placed to swipe at him. Joden has already taken his AOO, which leaves Dwarfhulk and Aurora...
Aurora manages it this time, clocking the wolf hard as it tries to slip past.
Dwarfhulk, looming over the combat, takes his free shot:
...and it's a darn good shot. The lucky wolf's luck has done lucked itself out.
The battlefield is covered with blood and fallen wolves... and a fallen soldier of fortune. Sarge embraces the dead body of his corporal before beginning to strip off the dead man's armor. He gruffly asks, "Anyone roughly his size need some studded leather? Damnfool should have gone with chain, I'm always telling the younguns to go with chain. There's a sword, a buckler, and a longspear as well. No sense wasting it. Yours if you need 'em, so long as I can take it all back to his family when we get out of this hellhole."
The private weeps quietly and starts to dig a hole. Elma Bourse looks thoroughly annoyed and scans the woods with her crossbow ready.
Soon, the light of the dawn filters down through the trees, illuminating the gory scene. In the middle distance, the cave, carved in the likeness of a massive demon's face, seems to take a stony glee in the death of so many, so close by.
The party turns to its unexpected helpers--a man and a dwarf, Lolly and Bedlam, such a strange coincidence to run into strangers after not seeing anyone else for days.
Eagerly looking for any more wolves, Bedlam searches the surrounding area for a minute before being satisfied and returns to the group.
Introducing himself to those gathered, the dwarf asks,
You be knowing where you be, don't ya? Me be a dungeon expert ' round here. Me be going in and ken 'elp wit yer 'ploring?
The Alchemist then speaks to the elf.
Me be enjoying that spell. Mayhap you might be learning it to me?
Bedlam will camp if invited. He will share in any duties; eating; and conversation. He will also brew a Mutagen (Str).
Lolygert stands just outside the clearing, picking at the tar-like substance that splashed up on him from the warg at this feet.
Slowing, spreading his fingers apart, tendrils of gunk stretching between each finger, he absent mindedly dispatches the unconsious warg with a gravity assisted chop of his blade.
Turning, still looking curiously at the substance gluing his fingers together, he walks back to join the others.
"Haloo!! And well met ,again! What in the blazes is this stuff...it's quite marvelous!"
Tragershen winces at the dwarf butchering a language already as crude as Common. But he does admire the wit and power of the dwarf.
"Perhaps, friend. I can discuss the logistics behind it, and show you my arcane notes on the topic if you are familiar with such things."
"We should make sure the wolves are dispatched. It wouldn't do to have such hostility recover, nor should they be allowed to suffer." He looks to Elma an asks "Are such pelts of any value in this region, or are wolves too commonplace?"
Elma looks greedily at the healthy, glossy wolf pelts and opines, "Yes, ol' Odo and Rasmus buy pelts, or we could ship them over to Riddleport and get a better price. Rivenrake wolfpelts are some of the finest in the world, it's almost like the wolves never go hungry, never suffer, never catch mange... they say they belong to some woman of the woods, but I don't buy that."
Sarge, moving from grief to anger, starts yelling at Elma. "You said we would be guarding artifacts, you foul pile of bugbear's droppings! Instead you conned us into going dungeon diving ourselves and now one of my men is dead! I don't know whether to abandon you to your fate and try to get back to town ourselves or to stick with these warriors--they at least seem somewhat competent! Or maybe we'll just hole up in the mouth of the dungeon and hope you come back... gods only know how many wolves are out there, gods only know..."
Bedlam laughs a bit. The dwarf proudly states,
It be me own concoction. I fused me bombs wit Tanglefoot bag properties. Fun time!
And to Tragershen, the Alchemists confirms,
I be knowing how to translate. I do be meself a practitioner.
Hearing the dispute between the woman and the mercenaries, Bedlam walks over; heavy pick resting easy on his shoulder.
How 'bout you boys take position inside da mouth. Meself already stayed and it be a good defensive position. We Be treasure hunting! And, you be believing it once we return!
Brand walks over to the sarge and offers his hand in friendship. "Sorry 'bout yer lad. Seemed like the good sort. Now, yer sayin' this lady played ye wrong, did she? Miss, is there any truth to this? I 'ssumed ye'd hired yer own dungeon delvers, but seems these lads aren't much lookin' for such. P'rhaps ye all should set up in the mouth, like my big little friend said, an' ye, miss, can purchase what relics we're willin' to put up for coin. Catch me?"
Lolygert offers his sticky hand down to Bedlam, "Name's Lolygert!"
Then listening to the general discussion, "So, yer all for going down into this hole in the ground? " he asks as little skeptically.
Elma explains: "Don't listen to that old scarfaced sergeant. We've worked together before and he's a reliable man. He's just shaken up. I hired them to guard me as I retrieved treasure from Zelkor's Ferry.
She glares significantly at Joden, who is probably wiping off and sheathing the glowing scimitar that Elma so coveted.
"All I'm doing now is changing the geography a little. Instead of the Ferry, the Depths--but the job's the same. Guard me while I get some treasure." She stalks over to the demon's mouth and peers inside.
"We'll act as a rearguard. Bring any heavy treasure up to us and we'll secure a camp. That's fair, I think, and who knows, we might be taking the more dangerous task if there are more wolves out there."
Bedlam remakes his camp. The dwarf invites any to join him, as he cooks up some venison stew; complete with carrots, celery, and onion.
Too awake to tuck herself back to sleep after the battle Aurora will go ahead and don her armor, then settle down by the fire to await morning, her daily prayers, and the group's eventual descent into the cave.
Tragershen beds down again after one more glance at the fallen lad. Many more will certainly be lost before this is done.
In the morning, Tragershen shares his notes with Bedlam, pleased to see that another of keen intelligence is now with them.
Welcome to Hell, Ladies and Gents! (Ballad for Beezelbub by Graveyard Train, YouTube)
Day 4. 6 AM.
Sarge has ordered the private into the woods, where he’s chopping down small, pole-shaped trees. He says he’s going to make a treehouse to keep his group safe from the wolves. Sarge himself, covered with bandages, is gingerly digging a grave. Elma Bourse is skinning wolves, her concern for the quality of the pelts meaning she does a pretty good job for a first-timer.
But the party’s attention is ahead, not behind. Below. They head down the stone-carved demon’s throat, marveling at the centuries of graffiti marring the walls of the place—initials, epitaphs, jokes, and an entire pantheon of deities’ holy symbols (many desecrated). Some of these marks are carved, others are scrawled with chalk. Some of the carvings are in ancient scripts. Some of the chalk art contains remarkably fresh references to Varisian pop culture. You all reach the staircase at the back of the room. Everything gets very dark very fast. If you turned your head, you would see the light of day framed by fangs… forward, only darkness. There’s a smell of stagnant air and mold.
At the foot of the stairs is a rectangular room. Six doors pierce the stone walls—one to the north, one to the south, and two each to the east and west. Unlike the room above, this one has no graffiti—someone must be keeping it clean.
When no one but the dwarf responds to him, and even he ignores his outstretched hand, Lolygert thinks to himself, Not the friendliest bunch..., but then he shrugs, they're headed into the Demon's Cave, so at least they're interesting.
Sitting down and loudly partaking of Bedlam's stew, Loligert proclaims "My Ma told me to stay away from this place...its the baddest place in these parts. But, she's in the ground and I'm my own man, so I'll come with!"
With that he rolls himself up and promptly goes to sleep.
The next morning he's fairly hopping around with excitement as the group enters the Demon's Cave...
As things start to get dark, Lolygert waves his hand and his breast plate begins to glow....
Shouldering his gear; his heavy pick in easy reach on his pack, the sturdy dwarf takes a walk outside the Demon's Mouth. Reaching down with hands bare, he grabs a handful of dirt. Returning back to the foyer; passing the porch and back down the stairs, the Alchemist stands in the center of the rectangle. He promptly tosses the loose dirt into the air.
Now which way be da dirt liking?
Bedlam's puff of dirt reveals a barely-perceptible breath of wind pushing away from doors C and B, and from there up the stairs.
Tragershen is silent during the morning preparations, and again as they head to the opening. Once they head down the stairs, the elf stays close to the base of the stairs, watching the others carefully.
Aurora eyes the graffiti curiously as they pass, but doesn't pay it too much attention — much of it, after all, was likely to be drivel. Still, that those who had come so far left such things behind like some manner of guest book...
...
... she retrieves a nub of white chalk from her things to scrawl 'The Moon Beckons' amongst the writings, framed by a pair of crescents — the waning and the waxing moon. After, she jogs down the steps to catch up with her fellows if she has lost step from them in her shenanigans.
-----
"Quite the number of doors... more than I expected. Do we have any preference for which to open..?"
Bedlam points out the two doors blowing air back out from them. The dwarf looks at the elf.
How ' bout you wiggle and waggle yer slim and slender fingers? Might be sum magicks dere?
Should Tragershen choose to follow the dwarf's suggestion despite his ill manners, he'd find no magic on doors B and C.
Tragershen purses his lips and gives a backward glance to the stairs, as though reassuring himself that they were still there. He starts with the doors Bedlam indicating, reporting on any magic auras found. Then he continues to concentrate, circling the room (including ceilings and floors) with his examination. If any magic is detected, he describes it to the best of his ability to the others.
Tragershen's slow, circling dance proceeds without incident until he faces the northern door--then, with a feeling like reaching for a doorknob and receiving a little shock, his spell brushes against an aura. As he waits for it to resolve itself, he sees the characteristically wispy glow of illusion magic--a faint, but definite aura. After noting this, he completes his sweep, finding nothing more.
Following the evening's nocturnal encounter, Brand had become rather quiet, and though they transitioned their campsite to the mouth of the cave, he spoke little. After Aurora's ministrations, Brand was swiftly back to sleep.
The morning, he stretched and yawned, a groggy fool. He tightened his armor, made sure his blades were sharp, then quietly went with the others the the cave's entrance. As they descended down, Brand looked back at the large, shaggy man. "Hey, tall man. Ye helped us, last noight, with the pups, roight? Sorry I didna say thanks then, 'twas a bit battered from gettin' dragged down an' chomped on. Ye seen the brawny type. Ye good at smashing thinns?"
Down in the first chamber, Brand waits idly while Bedlam and then Tragershen examine the surroundings. "Find anythin' excitin'?"
Tragershen frowns at the question. "I am not sure. There" he says, pointing at the northern door "I thought I detected a faint, elusive bit of magic holding to the door. Perhaps some sort of illusion. Other than that, nothing of note."
The dwarf steps toward the Northern door. The Alchemist assistance Brand in checking it out, before offering to initiate this delve.
Even before they get terrifically close to the door, say, about ten feet away, there's a movement in the stones above the door. The small, unmortared rocks swirl and clash, and a pair of horrible lips swims up through them. A booming, grinding, stony voice roars into the echoing hall:
"You stand at the threshold of the Rappan Athuk, the Dungeon of Graves. Turn back, trespassers, for you will find nothing but your death in these dark halls."
The stone lips then surge back into the walls.
The trapfinders are pretty certain that the mouth doesn't mask a more serious trap.
Bedlam smiles at the whatever magicks that was. The dwarf bows to the door, yanking it open.