Pinned by Garrok, the thrashes around until Hieronymous smashes his mace down into the face of the creature and it squeels in pain before resuming its thrashing while Garrok struggles to hold it to stone floor.
Erin, having sidled up beside it slides her rapier into one of the gaps.
The quasit squeels again in agony and Erin pulls back her blade, the last foot of it covered in a black inklike blood.
With hatred in its eyes the quasit chants a few words and turns a baleful expression at Garrok ending the chant with one yelled word.
Battered as she is, the spell fails to complete and a speck of fear appears in her eyes.
C'mon, Zafzalurg Marniklum, smite this loathsome demon. At least hit the forsaken thing.
The gnome swings his mace again at the struggling figure...
Close. Next time for sure!
Hieronymous closes his eyes and then opens them, shakes his head, and takes a swing.
He swings wide, letting the Mace scrape along the ground at the end of his swing, too tired to keep it aloft.
"Ugh, so drained..." he manages to utter.
Zaf manages to conk the quasit on the arm, but can tell that her tough demonic hide just absorbs the blow.
Katarina, decides its time to put the demon to sleep if she can, she mutters a few words and releases her magic at the demon.
The demon's eyes grow heavy and she yawns as she stops struggling and fades off into dreamland.
Feeling the quasit go limp in his arms, Garrok relaxes and for a fraction of a second he closes his eyes, thinking thank all the gods above... Cayden in particular will see a worthy tribute back at the Dragon tonight!
Immediately, he is moving to pick up his warhammer. "Master Gnome! Would you do us the favor of applying your most nefarious knots to the limbs and wings of this thing? Gently - you don't want to wake her, of that I'm sure you're aware...
"Once he's done, Hieronymous, you have the honor of striking the final blow if you want it. Miss Erin, I'm afraid your blades will be no use against that hide - I've never felt the like." He stands next to the demon, hammer in hand.
Taking Garrok's advice, she cleans the black gore from her blade with a piece of cloth.
Zafzalurg nods at Garrok's suggestion.
"Shouldn't be a problem, my friend. I'll truss it tighter than a wild boar on St. Carlozingal's Day. Local tradition, he saved my village from the Red Itch... But I digress. Now is not the time to regale our troop with St. Carl's incredible deeds. Now is the time for cinching!"
Rope retrieved, the bard begins to tie the creature up in a complex series of Sailor's knots.
Hieronymous looks down at the quasit with a grim expression on his face.
I know this creature is responsible for the deaths of innocent people, the right thing to do is end this now. Angradd would want me to do so.
He hefts the Heavy mace, and in a reverent voice says, "Angradd demands an end to your evils deeds, foul creature." He mumbles something under his breath, possibly a prayer, and brings the weapon crashing down on the creatures body.
Hieronymous brings his hammer hard into the body of the sleeping quasit. The blow hits but glances off the creature's demonic skin and it sucks in breath then howls in pain as it awakens once more.
Tied up as it is, the creature scrambles to get loose, but only succeeds in jerking from side to side. Surrounded and out-numbered, cursing and spitting, the creature finally surrenders its life to the void and its body turns to black soot before your eyes leaving behind only its ragged clothing, a spell component pouch, and a well cared for dagger made of some exotic metal.
As the demon turns to dust before his eyes, Garrokmal deflates just a little bit - he was looking forward to smearing its brain against the floor... After a minute of staring in stunned silence, he deflates significantly more as he returns to his normal size. He glances sidelong at Hieronymous. Giving him a little shove with his elbow, "Who is Angradd and what did you do to piss him off?"
Hanging his warhammer back onto its loop at his waist, he walks over to the door they entered through and picks up the longbow and arrow he dropped in haste... what seems like so long ago. "I'm exhausted - remind me never to enter an underground tunnel without a full night's rest first."
Looking around the room once the mist has dissipated, he notices doors in the nearby corners of the room. Curious, he tries the handle on one.
Hieronymous panics as the blow fails to do enough damage to kill the quasit, knowing he and his group don't have much left to give this fight. Fortunately, Zaf's knots are up to the task, and Hieronymous is relieved when the creature disintegrate before their eyes.
"Excellent knots Zafzalurg, they did more damage than my mace!"
He looks to Garrokmal, chuckling a bit, "Indeed Garrokmal, it would appear that invoking the name of a god is not always enough to vanquish a foe. Next time, the killing blow shall be yours!"
He readies himself as Garrokmal checks the doors, trying not to let on how drained he feels.
The two rooms to the sides appear to be alcoves once used to store robes and change clothes, a quick search through them reveals nothing but dust and ancient bits of cloth.
Meanwhile, Katarina examines the dagger, revealing it to be both magical and made of a special type of metal known as Cold Iron. Erylium's Dagger
The demon also leaves a silver tiara worth 50gp, a black silk gown worth 25gp, and an obsidian holy symbol of lamashtu worth 10gp.
After examining the empty rooms, he looks back to his friends examining the dusty remains of the demon. Seeing them holding the tiara and dress, he remarks "Maybe it won a quasit beauty pageant. The world is full of strange things..."
Garrok climbs the stairs and examines the dais and the altar near the end of the room.
Hieronymous walks around the pool:
and then walks up to the pulpit, looking around carefully, looking more as if he is looking through things than at things.
You both study the room further, noting that it seems to be actually quite well maintained in comparison to the rest of the complex.
The pool at the center of the room makes you shiver as you study it further, the many heads mounted on the spikes unnerve you, especially when you see that some of them are notably smaller, but definitely human.
Turning from there, you both venture up to the dais and peer into the pool there. It's only three feet deep but churns and bubbles like a volcanic sauna. A deep orange and yellow light emanates from it, almost as if it were radiating heat, but the room here is markedly colder.
Upon further study, Katarina states the pool has a very strong aura of necromantic magic.
Erin, studies it further for a few minutes and pulls a book from her pack and mumbles something in what you've come to know as Thasillonian. She gasps, "It's a runewell! This one's smaller than the one's I've heard of, but it's a runewell, it has to be."
She stoops down almost touching the surface before jumping back in shock as she feels the cold bite at her, "They feed on emotions somehow, I'm not sure how, but they're ancient, thousands of years old, the Thassilonians used them to send messages across great distances within their realms."
She stares at it like a child with a new toy.
The gnome, making a circular route to grab and stow his shortbow and dropped arrows, joins the crowd on the dais.
"Should we say hello?"
"What?! Did that demon drive you mad? I don't think we should have anything to do with this. Let's gather our things and report what we've found back to Father Zantus and the Mayor. Maybe that fiend Tsuto can tell us something about this, as well."
Returning to the remains of the Quasit, he examines the dagger. "If the girl is right, then this is an enormously powerful and valuable weapon for its size... I think we should hang on to it - maybe it will become useful later. If that quasit was in contact with something else, then this may not be over."
He stands by the door, clearly tired but ready to move. He readies his new longsword and shield, just in case the walk out reveals any surprises. "If anyone wants to keep those souveniers of the fight, grab them. I'm ready when you all are... And I want to make a brief stop on our way out.
You make your way out of the caverns and stop in the statue room, giving it a thorough look over once more before Garrok climbs up to the statue and gives the ranseur a good tug. The weapon comes free with relative ease and is surprisingly light for its size.
On your way out you pass guards that have been stationed at the entrance to the caves, letting them know that the danger has passed. They look at your collective bruises and scrapes and sigh with relief that the heroes of Sandpoint have once again saved the day.
Soon enough you return to the City Hall where the Mayor calls for Father Zantus and Shalelu. You all enter a private meeting room, the Mayor looks you over and says, "What have you found?"
"Well! I'd say we found trouble, Mayor... And I fear not the end of it, either."
Garrok goes on to tell the three, with the help of his companions when his memory gets foggy (and the occasional interjection of song by the gnome) of their journey into the tunnels below the town... The sinspawn, the mutant goblin "...in haste he turn'd Marigold to paste..." "Not now, master gnome." Then the mysteries of the anti-gravity room and the mysterious statue, and finally the fight with the quasit "...but the ropes did hold and the demon fold..." "Zaf, can it!"...
"But the most unsettling thing of all is the runewell - Miss Erin can tell you about it if you don't know, but the long and short of it is that all of this may be orchestrated by some other power, gods only know how far distant from here. Why they should want to cause such trouble in our sleepy little burg, I don't know, but if there's a rune well here, I'd bet there are others in more prominent locations that haven't even been discovered. Alas, I have no idea what we few can do about it. A cult of Lamashtu covering all the land? It's as overwhelming as it is confounding." Once it's all out, he stretches out his exhausted muscles and idly begins examining the edges of the fine weaponry he has brought back from the tunnels, taking some small solace in knowing his skills in using them are getting better every day.
The Mayor considers Garrok's words with great care then speaks. "With the goblins entering the town from the tunnels, Tsuto's connection with Nualia, and the threat from below, this all seems far too connected. We need more information, Sandpoint could be in great danger, especially with Sheriff Hemlock and his guards away. I'm afraid everything points at Thistletop being our only place to seek answers. Did you find any new information from your rounds Shalelu?"
Shalelu replies, "The town itself seemed calm, but badly spooked, the townspeople just aren't used to seeing goblins running loose. From the surrounding countryside, I saw what only confirms our suspicions, goblin activity around Thistletop is greatly increased. I fear there are dark days ahead. I can only hope that Hemlock returns quickly."
Hieronymous produces the book they found, "Also, we found this..."
"Well, I think I can speak for my friends here when I say you can continue to count on our help. First though, we're probably going to need some rest, it's been a long day!"
Hieronymous looks around at his friends for confirmation, and then turns to the mayor with a warm smile, "If you like, sleep on this new infomation, and we can meet back here in the morning so you can let us know what you would like us to do next?"
"Yes, food, drink and rest are in order. Thistletop is an evil place and I can hardly bear the thought of it in my current condition. I bet there are some in town that will be very interested to see some of what we found down in those tunnels, as well."
The Mayor nods in agreement. "You certainly look as though you've had a rough day. Go and take your rest and we can continue this discussion tomorrow."
With that the Mayor calls an end to the meeting and you are free to go about your own business.
"Right... I'm going to stop by and show Savah these weapons we found - she'll be plenty impressed! What say we meet at the Dragon in an hour or so?"
With that, Garrokmal lumbers out the door and to the Armory. Excited to show a fellow enthusiast the wonderful things he's got, he is all but skipping on his way there.
"Savah! Savah, come feast your eyes on some weaponry the likes of which even you may not often see... You've had some wonderful pieces in here over the years, to be sure, but I tell you, it sure feels good to have pried these from the cold, dead hands of true enemies of our people."
In that moment, he notices that the act of defending the town has made him feel more a member of the community than he has ever in his life. It's strange, but it feels good - he could get used to it, if it doesn't get him killed...
With that, he presents the Silver Dagger, the Masterwork Handaxe, the Masterwork Ranseur, the +1 Longsword from his belt, and then... "Get a load of this..." and he reveals the Cold Iron Dagger. "Not bad, eh? I may have use for some of these, but I wanted to show you anyway."
Savah whistles at the hardware as Garrok shows it to her. "That's authentic cold iron you've found yourself, there. Not many around here use that metal, takes a deep mine to find, much less smelt and forge with the stuff. If you're looking to sell, I bet I can find a fast buyer for it. Speaking of selling, I traded some things, managed to get a nice magical spear out of the deal. A good spear always comes in handy, I know we could come to a good deal if you were looking to bargain." She lays a nice fat pouch of gold coins on the counter beside her.
Hieronymous tries to look somewhat disinterested in the spear, then wanders around Savah's place looking at various things.
Perhaps my share of the gold from our little journey will be enough...
Cough, sputter, hack, ahem
"Excuse me, friends, before we decide the fate of that pretty piece of cold iron, might I share a thought or two?" Zafzalurg measures out a single heartbeat before plowing forward.
"Without question, that quasit was formidable. If it wasn't for the intestinal fortitude and grip strength of our oft-enlarged Garrok, we could have been that creature's next fountain adornment craft project." The gnome lets the gravity of the thought sink in, then continues.
"As our collective path carries us invariably, inexorably to Thistletop, I feel in my gut, as I'm sure you all do, that demon won't be the only one we face. That dagger could be the difference between life and waterspout. I say keep it. Give the fiery hordes pause when we step onto the battlefield. Of course, I'd happily wield it on the group's behalf and promise not to sneak off in the middle of the night and sell it for, say, a gilded frigate with 12 pounders and a rudder full of the promise of unknown seas..."
The gnome looks into the distance briefly then wipes the drool from the corner of his mouth with the back of his sleeve.
"I mean, stab stab the baddies! Whadya say?"
"I couldn't agree more, my friend!"Hieronymous looks slightly down at Zaf, "You, your song and your ropes are invaluable, imagine you with a magic dagger!"
He then turns to Savah, "Just out of curiosity, how much for the spear? I doubt I can afford it, but it would be nice to have a general idea."
She pulls the spear off of a display stand behind her, looking it over. "This one here is 2300 gold pieces. It's excellent quality, made in Absolom from the looks of it. It wouldn't let you down. But if price is an issue, I have several beautiful masterwork weapons, masterpieces from the great forgehouses. They're only 302 gold."
Trying not to look shocked, Hieronymous says, "I'll give it some thought, thank you." He then musters up a trademark warm smile and continues to walk around the shop.
As you wander the store an older Varisian man enters and approaches Katarina. The two greet each other and the man whispers something into her ear that you can't quite hear.
Whatever is said, Katarina turns white as the blood drains from her face and she speaks so you all can hear. "My friends, there has been a death in my family. I must leave to Magnimar straightaway, please save Sandpoint from her enemies. I will return to the fight as soon as I am able. Be safe my friends."
With that she follows the man out and they disappear down the lane, leaving you shocked and dismayed.
"But-" Garrokmal is cut short as Katarina disappears out the door. "A capable young lady, that one. I hope she fares well, whatever it is that takes her away... I know this town means a lot to her.
"I must admit relief at not having her dark arts nearby, however... I don't understand her type and while she was a capable combatant, would just as soon depend on wood and steel instead of... of... whatever powers it is she commands.
"Now, let's wrap up our business here and be off to the Rusty Dragon. We have much to thank Cayden for this day!"
With that, Garrok wraps up his business with Savah, distributes the resulting spoils, and adjusts his packs and gear. Standing near the door, he already has his tankard at the ready.
"Unless you good sirs have business elsewhere, let us to the Inn!."
Hieronymous shakes his head in sadness as Katarina leaves, "Wow, she was amazing, it will be difficult to find someone to fill her shoes. The Inn sounds really good right now, lead the way!"
Hieronymous quickly sets his hand on Garrokmal's shoulder, mumbling something, and a faint glow passes between his hand and the half orc.
He then carefully puts his share of the spoils away and follows Garrokmal to the Inn.
You watch as a burly half orc, a cheerful halfling, and a man that's either a short human or a tall dwarf make their way up to the bar and each of them is rewarded with a pint.
You make your way into the Rusty Dragon where a cheer erupts as you enter the room. The busy common room booms with laughter and mirth, more like the town you'd expect, but still a hint of trepidation hangs about the air. As you sit down at the bar, you're each rewarded with a mug of thick brown ale.
Garrokmal spins around at the bar, holding his tankard high, letting the ale slosh over the side and down his arm. Looking down at his diminutive friends, then across the faces of the wary patrons, he bellows... "Rest easy, friends! Today a gruesome evil has been routed from the town, and tomorrow we will tear it from the land, root and stem! Give thanks to the Lucky Drunk, who gave us the strength to fight today. Everyone drinks to Cayden Cailean, with my tribute - and my coin!"
Turning back to his fellow adventurers, he says "Well fought, today... You may not follow the path of the Drunken Hero, but he gives you strength, anyway." And noting the conspicuous absence of their other companions, "Alas, I fear we are too few in number to make the approach to Thistletop. Tomorrow we will have to see if there's anyone else brave and stupid enough to follow us into the heart of this grim predicament.
"And yet, I do not fear - with your blessings and your song, I think we are well armed to confront it. Here's to whatever tomorrow brings." And he drinks again from his tankard.
Feeling once more a real part of the community, he sends a friendly smile (or what passes for a friendly smile what with the fangs and the grey skin and all) to ladies that catch his eye, and a fearsome flex of his muscles at the children brave enough to peek at him from behind their mothers' dresses.
At first, Hieronymous looks around the room with a look of surprise, but his expression quickly changes to one of happiness as he sees the affect their efforts have had on the townsfolk. He puts on his best smile for every he makes eye contact with, and accepts the beer graciously.
"Well spoken Garrokmal, sad that Katarina can't be here to see all of this, I imagine it would make her quite happy." He lifts his beer in front of Garrokmal and Zafzalurg, "I'll drink to your Cayden Cailean, and to good friends!"
He then casually looks around the room for Shayliss, hoping to catch a glimpse of her somewhere in the crowd.
Sitting at a table in the common room, Ithrinniel becomes increasingly annoyed at all the cheering going on around her as she tries to finish writing a letter to her parents. She wonders, did these loud men really save the town from goblins?
She stands up to leave when she hears Garrokmal say "Thistletop" - and this halts her mid-step. Ithrinniel mutters "Thistletop" to herself as she tries to remember why that word sounds so familiar to her, but her mind is foggy from a few glasses of wine.
She hesitates, starts again to leave, but the combination of wine and curiosity gets the best of her inherent trepidation. Ithrinniel tucks her inkpen into her backpack, takes another sip from her glass and makes her way to the bar.
"Ahem...Umm...Excuse me..." Ithrinniel says as she slowly leans toward Garrokmal, whose smile quickly fades as he turns to her.
Clearing her throat, she asks, "Did you say you were going to…to Thistletop? What are you hoping to find there?"
Garrokmal turns and looks down - very slightly down, not nearly so much as usual, to his surprise - into the green eyes of an Elf. Immediately thereafter he notices a raven perched attentively by - his mirth leaves him quickly . A witch? What are the chances? And an Elf as well - maybe I should've kept my mouth shut...
Being in the act of honoring his patron, Garrok is inclined to be polite. "Yes, Thistletop. Clearly you are a visitor here, but you cannot have escaped mention of the recent goblin attacks... We have come to suspect that whatever has driven them to attack us is located at Thistletop, and having been duly deputized by my good friend the Sherriff of the town, we plan to investigate tomorrow. What is your interest, elf? You're not looking for a place to practice your dark arts in secret, are you?"
Keeping his eyes on the witch, he takes another long draw on his tankard.
Hieronymous looks up at Garrokmal with his cloudy eyes, smirks and shakes his head, and then smiles reassuringly at the elf, hoping to convey that he isn't as mean as he seems.
He then takes another drink.
Ithrinniel shakes her head emphatically and exclaims "Dark arts?!?! NO!"
She is offended by Garrokmal's accusation, but a much kinder looking man next to Garrokmal smiles at her, and this makes her think she should at least give Garrokmal a chance. And after traveling alone for so many months, she is eager for some companions to explore the more dangerous ruins.
With her most innocent-but-valiant-looking smile, Ithrinniel continues "I'm a witch, yes, but a GOOD witch! I'm a librarian, a Thassilon historian really, and I'm here to explore the ruins of the Old Light." She glances up to her Raven companion "But..now that you mention it, Nuala and I do know some spells that could be helpful to you in your journey."
Hieronymous turns to the half drunk half orc, "Sounds like providence to me, my friend, we need help and she is willing to help. Perhaps your Cayden Cailean has set something in motion that you should not ignore, here, with this good drink and good friends, and possibly more good friends to come!"
He nods his head at the elf respectfully and then turns back to Garrokmal to see his reaction.
Garrokmal weighs the obvious power of the only other witch he has known against the discomfort of having those unfamiliar and unpredictable powers nearby... "Well, even if I thought it was a good idea to invite a stranger along, it's not just my skin at risk - it's the whole town's. If you're so interested in coming to Thistletop with us, you'll have to make your case to the Mayor and Father Zantus. I'd much rather the Sherriff have a chance to speak to you, but as it happens, he's away right now. Which strikes me as a fine moment for someone to take advantage of an opportunity to do some harm."
He drains the last of his tankard and turns to his friends... "Well fought today - you have struck fear into the hearts of evil things, I'm sure. Tomorrow, let us hope to do more. I'll meet you when we discuss our next steps with the Mayor tomorrow."
And with that, he stows his tankard and leaves for some much needed rest.
Hieronymous looks after the grumpy half orc, shakes his head and then smiles at the elf. "Never mind him, he'll warm up to you, we've been traveling with a witch for the past few days, she was an invaluable member of our team. She had to leave our group due to a death in the family. My orcish friend, Garrokmal, just prefers things that are easily explained. Come to think of it, I am not entirely sure why he trusts me, considering some of the unearthly abilities the gods have seen fit to grant me," he smiles again.
He then holds out his hand, "My name's Hieronymous, Hieronymous Strong, and my buddy here is Zafzalurg Marniklum," he gestures at the gnomish minstrel with his left hand.
"Hieronymous, you might be the first not-gnome to get my name right since I left the shores of my homeland." The gnome raises his mug to his companion and nods.
"And to you, lass, I say welcome to Sandpoint. I'm sure if you haven't been scared off by tonight's tales, or Garrok's smell, you'll make a fine addition to the fine folk protecting this fine city." Zafzalurg slurps back the dregs in his cup then starts waving it around.
"I'm not so familiar with Sandpoint, only having arrived here a few days ago myself... What are these ruins of Old Light? And do they have a tavern since this one seems to be out of service?" He proceeds to bang his mug loudly on the solid oak bar, chanting 'ale, ale' until the barkeep reluctantly makes eye contact and pours the bard a refill.
Ithrinniel takes Hieronymous's hand with a smile "Thank you Hieronymous, very nice to meet you and Zafzalurg. My name is Ithrinniel and this is my friend and familiar Nuala." With this Nuala ruffles her feathers and peers at their new companions with sleepy eyes. Ithrinniel continues, "The ruins of the Old Light are rumored to be an ancient Thassilonian lighthouse, and they contain invaluable writings and markings from that era, so I'm hoping to investigate and confirm if the rumors are true...although I'm sorry to say, I don't think there's any source of food or drink near there and I know we are all in need of rest. I look forward to planning our course tomorrow."
With that, Ithrinniel turns and collects her backpack, beckons Nuala and makes her way to her room, full of hope that her future travels will be with dependable companions, perhaps even friends.
Zafzalurg does, in fact, cavort magnificently for a few more hours and then retires from a long, long day.
Well, technically the bartender asked him to retire after leading the Dragon's bleary-eyed patrons in a rousing version of Grog the Dog - a singalong drinking game where you slam your tankard on the tabletop and shout "Grog" every time a word is sung that rhymes with "og". And there was much slamming and shouting and drinking.
But the hour was late, so the bard took the staff's suggestion and sought his bed.
Hieronymous too stays up for a while, though at some point realizes that Zaf might not stop and excuses himself, suddenly finding it almost impossible to stay awake long enough to remove his gear before he falls asleep in the comfortable bed in his room.
After a long day and tiring but festive night, you all settle down to your beds to have a restful night.
The following morning comes early and fog still blankets the town of Sandpoint when you descend the stairs of the Rusty Dragon into the common room. The spicy smell of sausage, potatoes, and homemade biscuits fills the air inside as well as the fog outside.
A few of the townspeople have come to the Inn this morning but you guess it may be early for many. You know it will be another hour or two before the sun rises and burns away the fog, best to leave the Mayor be until that time.