Aurora thanks Lym for her quick thinking, but returns the flask unopened.
Seems by the time I was of a mind to drink it, our small army had vanquished the foe!
She nods in thanks to the various summoned creatures and their magical healing and sends a larger smile towards Tomaru for his assistance too.
That was a little awkward with that creature shrugging off magic like water off a duck's back, it was fortunate you have so many friends from other places to call upon in such times.
She busies herself tidying up her clothing and robes, which have become quite dishevelled and sodden with blood. Within a minute or two, everything is tidy once more and the familiat twinkle is back in her eye.
"Hm," Lym agrees with Aurora's assessment. "We need to get used to hitting spellcasting enemies with a dispel right away if we notice them resisting magic. Better chance of whittling them down."
The sounds of battle fade throughout the stone halls. All is quiet.
Although portions of this cathedral have collapsed, leaving mounds of rubble on the floor and crumbling walls, the chamber retains its sense of menacing awe. Four black stone pillars support the arched roof forty feet above, and on the floor between them the image of a three-eyed jackal seems to glower from striations in the stone itself. This image glows with a soft rusty light that illuminates the entire room from below. Alcoves to the north and south contain statues of a jackal-headed pregnant woman. Each clutches a pair of kukris crossed over her chest, and a reptilian tail winds down around her taloned feet. To the west, what once might have been a stone pulpit featuring other statues seems to have been partially buried under an ancient collapse. The walls of this room are densely decorated with hundreds of scribblings and sprawling runes.
"So how do we go about undedicating this place to Lamashtu?" Praxim asks. Looking from the statues to the rubble and back, he turns to Rexil and says, "Stone giants are pretty good at throwing rocks, aren't they?"
Rexil looks at the statues and the rubble.
"Yep," he replies.
Praxim waits expectedly, prepared for a display of lithic carnage.
Rexil, meanwhile, discovers a chunk of dried wax in his right ear that needs to be removed.
"Let's at least try to find the dead guards and scout this place out further before we start trashing it."
"Yes. We'll return later for the temple. I'm sure Father Zanthus would want to help."
"There's a pair of doors behind the wall I created, but let's let that be for now. There's this door along the north wall there and, I think a passage from the south at the other end of the temple. Any suggestions?
Praxim is still trying to give Rexil instructive glances when the others put a kibosh on the destruction. The elf just sighs and rolls his eyes while his slightly--dense cohort continues to pick at his ears.
Undecided, Thordak strokes his beard as he continuously looks back and forth between the north way and the southern way. "I'm thinkin' we go that way," he points in neither direction and then finds the others looking at him curiously. "What? These decisions are too complicated! Ya cannot expect me ta decide all the time. Why is it always up ta me?" he asks, sounding quite whiny. In an attempt to imitate, "'Which way should we go Thordak?' 'Why haven'y ya decided, Thordak?' 'We don't have all day, Thordak.' I swear, it's always Thordak Thordak Thordak. What am I, a compass?" he asks in frustration. As the group simply stares at him in silence, Thordak finds himself being crushed by the verbal assault. Throwing his hands up in defeat, "Alright already! Ya don't have ta yell. Let's just go south," he finally decides, shaking his head in irritation. "For cryin' out loud, you'd think by now they'd be a bit more sympathetic ta ol' Thordak and not yell so much. Sheesh. I may be a bit old but I'm not deaf ya know," he grumbles.
Praxim and Rexil both pause to stare at the unhinged dwarf, then in unison, shrug their shoulders and prepare to move out.
Now now Master Ironheart, when one is faced with a decision and has little or nothing to go on as to which decision might be best, well then any decision is a good one, and the only poor choice would be not to decide...
Her eyes twinkle in the odd light from the floor mural
...and thus I applaud your decision, as you were the only one of us to actually make one!
She smiles and moves off, staying a few paces behind and tothe left of the rugged dwarf.
"Such a heavy burden can only be carried upon your shoulders, Thordak." Tomaru stays close to Lym as they continue to search the facility.
I presume it's taken at least a minute so my summons are expired?
Heading south takes you into a cavern scene of horror. Blood is this cavern’s decor; swaths of it lie spattered on the wall, and pools have congealed and begun to rot on the ground. Bits of flesh lie scattered as well—whatever happened here, it ended poorly for many. Scraps of cloth bear the colors of the Sandpoint guard.
You reach what can only be the Scribbelr's private sanctum. The walls of this room are decorated with flowing script and runes. To the north slumps a bloody human body, its limbs apparently broken in a dozen places. A low table against the east wall is covered with vials of colored liquid, and sitting in an inkwell is a quill made from a peacock’s feather. The feather radiates a strong magic.
The scribbles on the wall of this room contain more than merely invocations to Lamashtu — they consist of notes the Scribbler has taken regarding the state of the world beyond, as reported to him by the various spirits and outsiders he’s conjured, as well as via commune, divination, and speak with dead spells that he cast on the
dead body he keeps here. The notes impart a feeling of someone from out of time doing what he can to gather intelligence on a world that has moved on.
Runeforge is mentioned several times—the Scribbler very much wants to send agents to the dungeon in order to gather supplies and raid it for magic items and texts, since he has grown convinced that the complex has long since been forgotten and abandoned. In particular, his notes speak of something called runeforged weapons — items that the Scribbler believes could be quite useful against the Runelords and their allies, yet the methods of creation of which seem to have been lost somewhere in Runeforge itself.
The dead body is that of Jaren Basvear, who in life was a corporal in the Sandpoint militia.
Armed with these notes, you begin to search for any clue as to the location of the Runeforge. After some reading and researching each and every line of the scribblings, you come up with several stanzas of what appears to be a poem not related to Lamshtu.
Days you say? I'll ask Brodert Quink to help.
Tomaru pours over the scribbles over the course of days, conferring with Lym, Brodert, and others trying to make sense of it all.
Take 20 with Linguistics 29 total.
Unless I can just Aid Lym, in which case Tomaru will go with
Lym audibly swallows when she sees the carnage, but maintains her dignity.
"We should try to .... to make them presentable, somehow. Or at least place them in a container that will provide the illusion of dignity. This is monstrous. But we have a duty to the guards' survivors."
Slowly, Lym clenches her fists.
"Damn it. We should .... we should have been here, or .... Accursed politics. I could have bound powerful guardian entities to this place. The guards could have -- should have had backup. Korvosa.... Riddleport.... Accursed politics!"
"Poetry," Lym says, her voice flat. "Never exactly my strong suit. Wizardry requires words whose meaning cannot be mistaken or altered. But .... maybe ...."
Hesitant, Lym brings out her flute. She blows into it a few times, not to create music but to dislodge dust and one small, rather startled spider, which she calmly takes in hand and helps to reach the wall.
"Rhythm," Lym says before lifting the flute to her lips, "metre...."
Music starts to fill the air in the dead demon-worshipper's lair.
At the words of Aurora and Tomaru, the dwarf finds himself grinning and nodding his head proudly. "Okay. Okay. Thank you, Aurora," he nods. "Mighty nice of ya ta say. And you're right about that, lad," he says to Tomaru. "SOMEONE's gotta carry it, me friend," he states proudly as he stretches out his arms and back. "Well alright. It appears ol' - and just so I'm clear, I'm really not that old. Probably thirty...," he holds that a moment as his eyes hop back and forth multiple times in thought before finally deciding on, "let's just go with something in human age, m-kay? - ANYWAY, looks like I got it right this time. Well let's get going then," he says, leading the way. Unless I got it wrong. What if I got it wrong?! Aw crap! Why didn't I pick the north door?! Blast it all! I can't believe I didn't pick the north door! What in the blazes was I thinkin'?! Bah. He quietly shakes his head in annoyance at himself. Not gonna let the others know. Gotta keep a straight face. The dwarf immediately puts a grin on his face as he leads the way.
Seeing how the room is quite confusing to Thordak - who has no sense of poetry, zero ability to play any form of instrument, and really unable to understand a language of any kind in a single bound - he watches and waits and listens to Lym's tune until it plays out.
Afterward, to keep himself busy, he finds himself an area to get settled in, checks the blade of his axe, tests out a few combat moves, sits down and twiddles his thumbs for a while, decides to move to a different spot, checks the blade of his axe again, rummages through his gear to see what goodies he's forgotten about, checks the blade of his axe again, and then moves to another spot and finds a place to sit once again. What has felt like an eternity to the dwarf - even though it's only been about three minutes - he sighs in frustration as he rolls his eyes. "Are we goin' ta be here much longer? This is kinda borin'. Just sayin'."
Slowly but surely, the stanzas come together. The final poem looks like this.
Brodert rubs his chin in thought. 'Hrmm," he says sagely. "I think...well I'm not sure what to think." He rubs his head. "The first stanza appears to set the picture of what the poem is about: that this 'Runeforge' a place of wizardly craft."
"The second stanza...hrmmm...the word 'mirror' is often used in Thassilonian poetry as a metaphor for a lake. But what that means..."
"I am not a geographer, but the rest of the poem seems clear enough," Lym says. "I think. These seven statues each contain a key to the gate to the Runeforge. They will yield their key if presented with spells from the Thassilonian schools of sin magic - abjuration, conjuration, enchantment, evocation, illusion, necromancy, transmutation. Once we have the keys, we can open the gate.... which is on a 'frozen mountain'. Presumably one carved in the image of King Xin, so...."
Lym's eyes widen and she snaps her fingers.
"Xin-Shalast in the Kodar Mountains! The 'mountain that sees'! We find the keys, and then the Runeforge is in Xin-Shalast!"
"Hrm. I don't think so, Lym." Brodert says quietly. "But I think you're close. If you recall from the research library, Runeforge was built by the Runelords as a separate entity from themselves, where study could be independent of their influence. It would not be placed in Karzoug's home city."
"Tsah, you're right, Brodert. Maybe we should perform a few divinations later."
"They built it in its own Demiplane. Like Castle Lym. The lake or the stones or someplace very close to them is the gateway to the plane."
"Of course. You must be right. Let us hope they left out some of the protections we put in Castle Lym," Lym says, a note of unease creeping into her voice. "Hrmm. I can imagine several ways they could have turned a demiplane into a death-trap -- ways I was not comfortable using for Castle Lym."
Thordak immediately bursts out laughing. "Good one, lass! For a minute there, I thought ya said 'deathtrap'!" He laughs even louder for a bit longer before finally calming down and wiping a laugh tear from his eye. He then notices how they all appear to be stone cold serious as not a single smile is among them. The dwarf's own smile instantly vanishes as if it never existed. "Ya didn't actually say 'deathtrap', did ya? Because that's not funny. It's just not."
"Yes. I did. And no. It is not funny."
Brodert nods his head in agreement with Lym and Tomaru until Thordak interjects. His look is one of complete confusion...until he notices no one else appears to think the dwarf is crazy - at least on the surface.
"Well...I...uh...hrm." He starts uncertainly with a wary eye on Thordak. "I think you have hit the rest very accurately, Lym. The third stanza would indicate the seven heads have a relationship to the seven schools of Thassilonian magic. And I believe you are also correct in your summation of how to get the keys. In the fourth - simply enough - you are instructed to climb to Rimeskull and use the keys."
"I have taken the liberty to continue my research on the Runeforge while you all were...uh...sleeping. Having a specific topic made it somewhat easier to find what I needed. Runeforge was created as a place where agents of the seven Runelords could gather to study magic, this we know. The Runelords wove wards around Runeforge that barred entrance into the complex to any Runelord or his direct agents, in order to keep the research within free from sabotage at the hands of an enemy. In addition, Runeforge’s magical enhancements sustained those within without the need to eat, drink, or even sleep. The final project the Runelords set Runeforge on was the development of ways the Runelords could escape the imminent fall of their empire. Each faction developed a unique answer for its Runelord, based upon the underlying principles of that faction’s magical traditions."
There is a pause.
"So, when do you leave? And...um...if possible...could I have access to the library while you are gone?"
Without food, water or sleep? I wonder... if such things are suspended within those walls, might we chance to encounter ancient things sustained by rune magic and driven mad by the inability to dream..?
Aurora muses.
"Some of them might be sleepless," Lym says in a dark tone. "Remember, some of the researchers would have focused on Conjuration, others on Necromancy.
First things first: we need to clear this filthy pit out and locate the seven statues.
When we have found the statues, we need at least seven spells from the schools of sin-magic; I can provide these, thanks to Mokmurian's books. Prayers are also mentioned.... I am not sure what to do about that, given that none of us worship the gods of Thassilon. Burn that bridge when we come to it.
There are likely to be guardians, however, and Karzoug is still out there. He would be a fool not to try and ward off a place that offers the seeds of his own doom, so we must be ready for opposition. Heavy opposition."
The Wizard clasps her hands behind her back and paces.
"On another note.... Our purpose - one of our purposes, anyway - in the Runeforge would be to imbue weapons with the power to harm our enemy. I should like to recommend we each acquire a masterwork weapon of a type with which we are familiar and comfortable. We all have our favourite weapons now, but I do not think we should imbue those; this is Sin-magic we are dealing with, dark art for anyone's money, and we do not know what its side-effects will be, either on us or on our weapons.
Aurora, Tomaru; just in case we need to depart from the Runeforge in a hurry, we should all three of us keep our scrolls of Plane Shift handy. I am not sure it is possible to depart directly from the Runeforge, rather than by a fixed egress, but let us keep our options open."
Almost offhandedly, Lym mutters a single Word of Power and glances at the peacock feather quill.
Whilst I can't help with the sin magic, you've got that covered as you say Lym!
The gnome's eyes twinkle with mischief as she glances between Lym and Tomaru.
So these statues, they'll be representations of the sins? Or the runelords that embodied the sins?
"Given the .... egomaniacal nature of the Runelords, as presented by the grandiose scale of their monuments, I would expect the latter," Lym says with an offhanded gesture. "But I suppose it matters little."
Tomaru really doesn't use weapons so he'll forgo the masterwork item.
Who do we know that knows maps? We can ask them for help. Is Father Zanthus a priest of Desna? He might know something.
Tomaru will visit Ameiko and ask to be released from her service. He was never really in her service himself, but his family has been sworn to hers for many generations. As an alternative, since he is not a glassblower, he'll offer to serve by bringing her tales of the places he visits and the people he meets and the adventures he has. Even if released, he'll promise to do so.
Brodert asked for access to the library at the stone giant keep. I don't feel good about leaving him there alone. Maybe we can organize or suggest an expedition to go there. If not from Sandpoint, then from Magnimar.
Aurora has yet to use a weapon, she does however produce a wicked-looking stiletto from the seemingly normal hairpin holding back her hair.
Picked up a trick, or two...from that halfling lass...
She grins at remembered memories then returns her mind to the present.
I mean, I could go the whole 'staff of power' route, but that's not really my style...
Presumably we can teleport to Magnimar to do this bit of shopping, which leaves locating our destination. Cartographer's guild, perhaps?
Praxim will ask Rexil if the description of this frozen lake sounds familiar to him, perhaps it's within the ancestral lands of the stone giant clans, or a forbidden place filled with bad memories of centuries of enslavement, or some such thing.
"We could take a look at some books, and cast Contact other plane to find the right location," Lym suggests.
Within a day or so, Brodert meets you at the Rusty Dragon holding a scroll and wearing a large grin. He wastes no time in moving plates of rosemary spiced haddock and mugs of ale out of the way to lay out a large map.
"Here." He points down to a spot in northern Varisia, along the southern spine of the Kodar Mountains. "I found a reference to Rimeskull and the circle of stones. I'm afraid I don't have specifics of where it is, but this gets you close enough I would think."
Armed with that information, you consult a plethora of planar allies and sources to lock down the location of the the exact valley where Lake Stormunder - and the hill with the stones - would be. Now it's up to you.
So, those statues... begins Aurora, one finger tapping on her lips.
Tomaru, is the location provided by Master Brodert enough for you to transport us there magically?
Fanged falchion: 22,375 gp
+1 breastplate: 1,350 gp
+1 cold iron returning dagger: 10,302 gp
headband of Wisdom +2: 4,000 gp
Total: 38,027
Selling value (60%): 22,816.2
Shares (div 5): 4,563.24
They might as well do some shopping in Magnimar. Praxim will be using his share to equip Rexil a bit better with a +2 cloak of resistance, selling his old +1 cloak, and buying him a MW greatclub and himself a MW composite longbow.
Total purchases for Praxim:
4,000 +2 cloak
-600 for selling +1 cloak
305 GP for MW greatclub
500 GP for MW comp longbow +1
Cracked deep red sphere ioun stone
4405 GP total
Remaining 158.24
"I wish I could help pinpoint the location better, but scrying only works on living creatures, not on locations," Lym sighs. "Still. With this much information we should be able to get there. I need to go study the appropriate spells so we can unlock the wretched things, but ....
Look, friends: we really need to be ready to defend ourselves against an attack the very instant our boots hit the ground. I have a bad feeling about this."
"Beautiful, perhaps Aurora and I can shoulder some of the burden of casting spells at the rocks? Or maybe we can just scribe or purchase a few scrolls so we don't weaken ourselves more than needed? How can we help?" Tomaru tries to remind Lym that she has allies to lean on.
Whenever we're ready, Air Tomaru is ready to fulfill our transport needs. He'll use Greater Teleport to get us at least close and Find the Path to lead us to our goal.
"I know, lover," Lym says, drawing Tomaru close against her without even thinking about it. "But the Thassilonians were wizards. We don't know that they didn't set up failsafes to keep everyone except wizards from opening those things. Better safe than sorry, you know? Alright. Let's get going."
"Gather around everyone."
**BAMF**
<bamf!>
From the rocky eastern shoreline of Lake Stormunder, the ground rises into the craggy snow-dappled roots of Rimeskull, casting its long shadow over this area. Yet not all of the ground here is rugged and mountainous. Several hundred feet from the lake’s edge, the land suddenly levels off to create a circular hill. Rocks and tenacious shrubs poke through the scattered clumps of snow here, but they are dwarfed by the ring of seven ten-foot-tall stone heads that circle the hill’s edge, their faces angled inward at each other, mouths agape.
To the east, the sheer mountainside of Rimeskull rises, icy and windblasted—two hundred feet above leers a carving of an ancient face, its gaping mouth forming a large cave entrance in the mountainside. A ten-foot-wide stairway of stone descends from this cave to a ledge only fifty feet to the east of the circle of stone faces.
As he looks all around and then up, he groans at the sight. "Let me guess... that's where we're needin' ta go, isn't it?" he asks, pointing to the face high above.
Praxim immediately begins scanning for evil, and pretty much doesn't stop for quite awhile, which will make for some slow going.