Rolen uses the rope to finish traversing to the 5 foot passage and he draws his bow to cover the remaining group's retreat.
Leave the bag of loot with me and go back to grab the others. I will cover you in case anymore crocs surface.
"Is everyone ok? What happened? Is it dead?", the wizard calls out quietly to the rest of the party as he waits for the boat to return.
It is dead. The boat should be returning to pick you up!
Eldramin looks at the water for the telltale sign of blood - in an amount that would indicate such a large creature, not just the blood from the raft-riders.
"Well, that was more exciting than I'd hoped. We should have guessed there'd be a live guardian. They must have fed it quite a bit to keep it docile."
Kierdan looks at the raft and then gives the rope a tentative tug.
Well, that raft has seen better days. Ferrying us over one at a time is going to take forever. I am going to try the ledge again. I should be fine.
Kierdan turns to Eldramin and continues with a wry grin, But if I fall in, you get me out of there, ok?
Kierdan steps on to the ledge and briefly prays for Pelor's Guidance before beginning his crossing.
Rolen and Kierdan make their way carefully across the channel using the rope, keeping a wary eye out as the others gather near the battered raft.
Koralyn steps off the raft onto the submerged ledge, allowing Dragomir to re-embark and steer the battered craft through the cloudy water to Alistair, who seems the least likely to make the journey back across the rope.
As the big man poles toward the wizard, Eldramin and Koralyn both stare into the water, where giant crocodile's blood is already starting to dissipate. The massive beast still twitches, but less frequently, and nothing but a few small fish have come to investigate.
Thinking back to the flesh-eating fish outside Dalvan Meir's tomb, Koralyn dips the toe of her boot into the water, but the darting creatures ignore her completely. She pauses, deep in thought, then begins shrugging off her pack, which she hangs along with her sword, bow and cloak on the rope above.
"Be prepared to come to my aid," she says, then slips carefully into the murky water, which quickly rises above her head.
A minute passes, then two, before she suddenly surfaces, gasping for breath. Throwing an arm up onto the submerged ledge, she levers herself out of the channel, pink frothy water streaming from her clothes. In one hand she holds a longsword with a silver hilt. An amethyst is set in the pommel and the blade glows a dim purple, with the strength of a candle. As she turns blade, you see that it is inscribed with elven script on each side: One says "Namarra," the other "Never sleeps."
"A fine blade -- for which I seem to have paid the blood price," Koralyn says, grimacing as she holds up her other hand: Blood streams from a jagged gash on the palm. "The cracked bones of the previous owner lie on the channel bed, and he or she was reluctant to part with it."
The fish seem no more interested in the blood dripping from Koralyn's than they did in the nearly-decapitated crocodile. In short order, the rest of the group manages to climb or pole back to the raised path next to the main channel.
With the treasure from the side passage recovered, there is only path forward ... and a flickering light ahead where the tunnel turns to the right, out of view.
"A fantastic blade... all the more worthwhile in that you didn't pay your life for it."
Nice trinket. Be careful, though. I hear some swords hsvd a mind of their own.
"Thank you for ferrying me across...I do not think I could have succeeded in climbing that rope and swinging across!"
He watches as Koralyn come up with the sword, but seeing her wounded, he breaks out his healer's kit and go to work on her hand.
Healer:
"Be careful there M'Lady. You do not want a cut like this to hamper your use of such a wonderful blade!"
With Koralyn's wound bound, you gather your things. The passage ahead beckons -- how do you advance?
As the group gathers and prepares to advance down the passage ahead, Kierdan ponders the new magic blade Koralyn retrieved. An amethyst in the pommel? A dim purple glow? Do these mean anything? The dim purple light does not seem quite wholesome to the priest. He reads the word "Namarra" to himself. Is it Elvish? Does it mean the same as "Never Sleeps"?
One can never be to careful in the Rushmoors, Kierdan thinks to himself.
"And we are all good to continue? I saw some people get bit. If we wait a bit perhaps we can examine the blade further."
Eldramin, you are correct, that was a vicious fight and before we go any further, we should ensure everyone's wounds are tended.
Kierdan turns to Rolen and continues,
Rolen, you seemed to take the brunt of that creature's attack. Can I render you any aid before we continue on?
Yes, I could use some attention.
Very well, then, Rolen, allow me.
Kierdan places his hand on the elf's shoulder and says a brief prayer in Flan, petitioning the Sun Father to shed his divine grace upon Rolen and make him whole.
The name Namarra has an Elvish sound to it, but it's a proper name, not a word or phrase. By Elvish custom, it's likely the name of the blade itself or of the warrior for whom it was originally forged; the phrase Never sleeps could be meant to describe the wielder or the blade. Neither rings a bell, though nothing about the sword appears unwholesome on a closer look.
With a prayer of healing, Kierdan mends the bruises Rolen suffered when he was struck by the crocodile's tail. With everyone now whole, you prepare to move on.
As usual, Rolen will move slightly ahead of the group with a stealthy approach, while searching for traps.
Alistair keeps to the rear of the group, eyes looking forward and back, trying to ensure nothing sneaks up on the group from the rear.
Kierdan positions himself in the middle of the group, so as to be able to best render aid to any who may need it.
Rolen moves ahead, his feet treading silently on the slick stones next to the channel. Around the corner, he finds a thick, slow-burning tallow candle set in a rusted iron sconce on the wall. On the floor nearby, a ring of smeared blood has dried on the stone, as if someone set a bucket of butcher's slop there -- perhaps someone coming to feed the crocodile?
Beyond the dim light of the candle, the corridor slopes upward, the channel of runoff trickling down one side of the passage on its way to the pump room. After motioning the rest of the group to follow, Rolen begins to ascend, eyes constantly checking the ground and walls for signs of traps.
The worn stonework shows no sign of such dangers, although the way is slippery in places. The passage turns two more times as you ascend at a gradual angle. It widens, as well, and Rolen becomes more and more certain it eventually must join the central passage that connects to the bottom of the stairs you used to enter the dungeon.
The surface is still far above you, however, when you come to a stone archway set in one side of the passage, illuminated by another tallow candle. A door of swollen wood blocks the passage, and a rotten stench wafts from rusty grate set in the door at eye level. Peering through the grate, Rolen sees several rows of iron cages. In the closest cell, corpses - recently dead, by the looks of them -- are stacked like cordwood. Farther, bodies lie on the floors, limbs thrust through the iron bars of the cages. A few twitch and move, and Rolen can hear low moans of pain and despair.
Rolen waives up the others.
Looks like a prison in there behind this door.
"I'd say we should put them out of their misery, unless you think a life worth living could be salvaged from such wretches."
Kierdan turns to Eldramin and quotes from a Pelorite text he studied as a novice, This light brings strength to the weak and health to the injured.
Turning to the others he adds, I cannot in good faith leave this place if there is a chance to save one soul from corruption, or death,or if need be, end its misery. If anyone yet lives in there, they will have no other chance at salvation.
"Well, if you think so, I won't obstruct you. We should proceed cautiously."
"Let us first see what kind of condition they are in before we condemn them. If they are under the thrall of the naga then perhaps her death will release them."
Rolen tries to open the door.
The door is both swollen shut and locked. Rolen doesn't expect the lock will be much trouble , but it will be a challenge to lever open the door without causing a racket .
Rolen takes out his tools and sets to work on the door to gain entrance quietly.
As Rolen skillfully works the lock, Kierdan readies his shield and prepares to investigate this chamber of horrors.
I am ready to look for survivors. Will any one else accompany me?
Rolen makes quick work of the lock and with a little more effort is able to pry loose the swollen wood without making unnecessary noise. He squirts some oil on the rusted hinges just to be sure, then eases the door open.
The room with the cages is dark, but a little light filters in from the candle set outside the door. You can tell that the corpses in the cells nearest you have been treated with sort of preservative; the chemical stench overpowers all but the faintest scent of rot. If anything, the smell from the cages a bit further on is worse -- the prisoners that lay on the stone floor are clearly on death's door.
A voice echoes from the darkness beyond the cages as a spectral light blossoms, revealing several rows of stone tables and a larger altar. Behind the altar, a marble statue a rearing serpent rises twice as tall as a man. A woman's face crowns the head behind the spread hood of a cobra.
"I'm afraid those may be beyond saving," says the voice, which you quickly trace to the tall hooded man standing near the altar. Another figure, clad in mismatched armor, looms behind him, but your eyes are quickly drawn to the half-naked prisoners chained all around the altar. The hooded man pulls gently on a chain, drawing an emaciated woman into an embrace -- or using her for cover.
"These, though -- these are not beyond saving, though your actions in the next few moments will have a great deal of bearing on their immediate fates," the hooded man says. "Now, why don't you all come forward, with your hands in clear view, so we can speak about the future like serious people."
Rolen fires an arrow at yje robed man, ignoring the covet he seeks from his human shields, just like an enemy would hide in the woods between the cover of dense foliage.
Rolen quicly ducks back into thr shadows seekink a location to snipe from.
Kierdan has been with this company for a while now. As soon as he saw the hooded figure grab a hostage and attempt to parley, the priest knew how this scene would play out.
Thinking quickly how to best protect the hostage in the imminent flurry of violence, Kierdan settles on a plan. He intones a rapid prayer to Pelor, asking him to provide sanctuary to the emaciated woman.
Attempting to defuse the situation before it gets too messy, Alistair casts his sleep charm.
Sleep (2nd Level):
Rolen looses an arrow as Alistair and Kierdan begin intoning their spells. The black-fletched missile slashes forward, narrowly missing the prisoner -- before sparking off the chainmail beneath the hooded mans robe. Growling, the hooded man shrinks back as a protective glow forms around the woman in front of him, then she and the other bound prisoners slump against the altar, asleep.
"Fine, resist," the man says, his booming voice echoing through the space. "Your feeble efforts will not save you from our Mistress. You will kneel to her or be consumed. No other fate is left to you."
He nods, and pair of black-clad figures rise from behind the stone tables, loosing their own arrows. One clatters off the stone wall next to Alistair's head, but the other sinks deep into Kierdan's shoulder, just above his collarbone. Both of the snipers then sink back into hiding, in full cover.
More cultists rush from the shadows on either flank. Four of them, nearly naked like those you fought near the entrance, move into the space between the cages. Two jab with their spears, while the other launch rusty lances into your group. Alistair and Kierdan are both struck, but neither of the hurled spears hit their targets.
Behind the cultists, a hulking man with a ragged beard and a scratched breastplate advances with shield and spear. The figure in piecemeal armor that had lurked near the hooded one moves forward, as well. As it comes closer, you see it is no living man, but a shriveled, undead wight. In it's hand is a shattered sword, the slivers of its steel blade held together by some dark magic.
Behind them, the hooded man ducks behind a stone table as he spits out the words of some blasphemous spell.
The priest is casting sanctuary on himself.
~~~~~0~~~0~~~~~
Almost overwhelmed by the excruciating pain in his shoulder, Kierdan quickly regains his bearing and focuses on the closest threat, the two nearly naked savages that stabbed him and Alistair with their rusty lances.
Holding his shield at the ready and wielding his faith in Pelor as his lance, the priest calls upon the Sun Father to incapacitate his enemies.
Eldramin readies his shield and summons a spiritual longsword which he flings at the wight.
Snarling at his mistake, Alistair grunts as his movements pull on the recent spear wound from the cultist.
"This time you sleep!" he says pointing at the spear-wielding cultists bunched up by the door.
Sleep (2nd Level):