As they walk, Astraden pulls out the unidentifiable scroll recovered from Theldrick's body. With the spell from earlier still going, she attempts to decipher it.
[dice=Spellcraft + Detect Magic]1d20+7
Dourstone does as instructed. The guards look confused, but warily oblige.
The group is able to make it down to the Dark Cathedral once more without incident.
Zalamandra nods at the guards as they let the party pass.
The sight of the Dark Cathedral causes her to arch an eyebrow and whistle. "Expensive and time-consuming. Impressive."
"Oh, by the way, I can tell for certain that the breastplate we have? It's magical. Not entirely sure what it does, though." She adds.
Astraden checks the breastplate as well.
She points the western hallway out to Zalamandra and Eben. "That's the temple of Hextor. I think I forgot to check some scrolls in there, but since I need to prepare that spell for the journal, perhaps one of you could check them?"
Zalamandra shrugs. "Very well, then. Eben?" She turns and heads into the temple of Hextor, crossbow readied.
Eben looks around the cathedral with some obvious awe and trepidation. He casts dancing lights and spends a few seconds sending the lantern-lights around the room, taking in the details. "Yup, coming..." he says, following Zalamandra with an arrow ready.
When the scrolls on Theldrick's desk are exposed to a read magic, writing begins to appear in a strange, silvery script. It appears to be encoded.
Admiring the well-crafted breastplate, Tanith begins undoing the straps and buckles holding his own ill-sitting scale armor in place. Built for the dwarf's broad shoulders, the breastplate looked like it might be a decent fit for his own brawny form.
"Let me try that on before we go much further."
Eben tries his best not to look perturbed at the bodies stacked to the side like firewood. Mental note: do not get on this groups bad side...
Astraden finishes praying and grips one of the elevator's supports, pulling herself to her feet. She mutters a hodgepodge of Oeridian, Flan, and Rhennee and folds her hands in several quick motions. Then she reaches into her pack and extricates Ragnolin's journal, flipping briefly through it.
The journal seems to span roughly fifty years. Several pages at the start have been ripped out, and Astraden can't find anything about the Ebon Triad—aside from rare references to Dourstone's worry that the operation is nearing a segment of the Underdark.
The last entry is from about two years ago.
This journal never had any real point. I cannot afford to tell the truth in writing, but I am sick of lying to myself. Thirty-three.
Thirty-three, for what? For a suit of old mail and a sack of bloody metal. Both, and this journal, will go up in the attic. I hope I never see them again. I only wish I could find those missing pages...I'd like to blame rats, but my gut tells me I am in danger.
Astraden heads into the Temple of Hextor and briefly checks the scroll table, then turns to Zalamandra and Eben. "Dourstone was losing memories or something. He started the journal soon after the Greysmere Disaster, and may have been involved in it?" She translates the last page out loud. "He was worried about the Triad breaking into the Underdark, but he doesn't mention much besides that."
Then she returns to the Dark Cathedral and calls the party around. "Okay, Dourstone was saying there's some beast-men in there. The caves are natural, so expect hampered movement and probably darkness. Does anyone have any plans, or should we just charge in and play it by ear?"
Tanith mutters a prayer and touches Farrukh's shield causing it to glow with a bright light. "There's no way to plan for an enemy we've never met. Let's just go in ready for trouble."
"Which way was the caves?"
Eben nods. "We seem to have plenty of light, at least. Aside from that, play it as it goes."
He once again makes four dramatic flourishes and the floating lantern-lights blink out for a moment and then refresh. After another second he passes his hand before his face; where it passes, his countenance is... paler, somewhat more manic-seeming, his hair seeming to twitch of its own accord.
Tanith cocks an eyebrow at the performer's strange appearance and then heads toward the doors Theldrick was fleeing for.
Astraden calls on Olidammara's grace then goes around, tapping each member of the party with a minor spell.
"Who will take the front?"
Tanith prays to the Brawler for strength and leads his companions into the caves.
Zalamandra taps Tanith's weapon with her staff and causes it to shine with light before muttering another incantation on herself, causing a translucent disc of force to flash into existence before fading.
Cuetzpalli thanks Astraden for the spells, and readies his bow, following behind the others. He keeps Spiny at his side to help defend the rear of the group.
Eben glances back and forth between Tanith and Farrukh, as though making up his mind, then lays a hand on Tanith's shoulder. "I believe in you." he says, quietly but fervently. He then takes his place in the line of comrades somewhere after the vanguard.
Tanith's head spins as Eben's spell fills his mind with heroism and renewed confidence. Erip and Carina's deaths no longer felt like such failures. He could overcome anything.
"Thanks!" the hulking Kordite says with a broad grin.
"Let's be cautious going in here. Charging in blindly, into their home territory, strikes me as being more than a bit suicidal." Zalamandra says from behind Tanith.
The eastern door opens to reveal a flight of natural "stairs" leading down. The area is not lit, and the only source of light comes from Tanith's poleaxe. Unlike the other wings of the Black Cathedral, the caves of Erythnul are little more than natural fissures within the rock.
There appears to be a larger chamber
You hear an odd tapping sound, like reeds clinking against each other in a strong wind.
You hear the incredibly faint sound of a bare foot scraping against jagged stone.
There are two humanoids moving down there.
Astraden stumbles down the stairs, peering ahead in the feeble light of Zalamandra's spell.
Erythnul is an extremely old god—he was the god of war before Hextor's birth.
The chaos of battle is the sacred charge of the worshippers of Erythnul. In all the myriad forms of terror and suffering that war creates, there is a strange kind of unity. This is part of the reason that Erythnul is called the Many. Battle is a test of merit and strength, and living and dying by the sword is the definition of the good life.
Many of Erythnul's worshippers believe that blood spilled in battle feeds their god, increasing his madness and bloodlust. Chaotic neutral worshippers believe that non-combatants and weak opponents are meaningless, and that killing them does nothing to satiate their god or prove their ability; killing those unworthy of a warrior's death even angers Erythnul, they believe. Chaotic evil worshippers, who are far more common, disagree, believing that all slaughter is a sacrament, and that the dying screams of innocents are music to Erythnul's ears, hymns in the church of the battlefield.
Farrukh follows just behind Tanith, more cautiously.
Oblivious of any potential danger, Tanith continues forward.
Eben moves along and tries not to stumble too badly.
The group arrives at a much larger chamber.
A forest of stalactites and stalagmites fills this cavern. The rocky formations make it difficult to see far ahead, as they choke most of this natural cave. The steady, rhythmic splash of water dripping into a puddle echoes through the chamber. The ground here is rough and uneven.
Next to the puddle, an immense gathering of reed-like fungi grows.
The ground the fungus is growing on looks softer than the rest of the stone...and appears to be breathing.
Emerging from the 'stairs', Eben gestures and sends the cluster of lights to the center of the cave.
In the increased light, he notices blood on a stalagmite near the rear of the cave, and quickly points it out to the rest.
The room is illuminated, though the stalactites still obscure the majority of what lies within.
Zalamandra's eyes scan the area, trying to help Eben discern oddities in the cave.
Tanith nods, confirming the spotted blood droplets. He gestures at the strange fungi. "Is that the poison kind?"
"Maybe. I don't know much about plants, so not really planning on touching it..."
His eyes follow where Zalamandra's are staring, and stumble upon something as a result.
"Like I said, don't know much about plants, but... they're not usually growing on breathing soil, right?" He points at the unusually soft ground the fungus is growing from, which seems to be inhaling and exhaling.
Tanith cocks an eyebrow. "Breathing?"
Tanith inches forward. "Hello there Mister Breathing Rock?"
Eben winces.
"Careful, there might be... spores, or something..."
"I don't trust the breathing rock. Rocks aren't supposed to breathe."
"Well, it might not be rock. It could be some kind of... living thing that's paralyzed and acting as a host for the fungus. Okay, that makes this no less discomforting."
Zalamandra readies her crossbow, pointing it at the breathing soil.
"Be ready for a fight."
"Eben, keep that imagination to yourself", the big man quips with a laugh.
Tanith walks up and peers at the rock.
The rock blinks.
It shoots out of what was actually a large indentation in the ground. It is in reality a massive monster. Wicked ebony quills run from its head, tail, and back.
The strange creature locks eyes with Tanith, inhales, and lets out an ear-piercing howl as it arches its back to pierce Tanith with its quills.
At the same time, two lanking gray-skinned creatures rush out, brandishing spiky clubs. The muscular humanoids stare with dark, eyeless sockets as they advance.
One of the eyeless creatures advances and swings at Eben with his morningstar.
The other sheathes his morningstar and draws a javelin.
The strange quilled monstrosity continues howling, stopping only to bite Tanith.
After enduring their bloodthirsty raids for generations, other races eventually united to drive them into the underearth. There they managed to survive, though many became enslaved by mind flayers, who bred them like cattle, augmented them with their profane sciences, and sometimes sold them to other slave-holding races of the depths.
Tanith grunts in pain as he's lanced in the side by the monstrous hound-thing's quills and then bitten on the forearm. "Kord's balls! Where did that thing come from?!"
Despite his wounds, the big Kordite rears back and takes a mighty hack at the nearer of the two eyeless brutes with his poleaxe. Inspired by Eben's spell, he quickly recovers and attacks again on the back-swing.