Edit: I've altered my previous post.
Katra reaches in and pulls the lever of the face opposite the one that was questioned.
A clicking sound followed by a grinding noise announces that Katra has chosen the correct lever. You enter a large cavern where a winding ramp leads up to another doorway with writing, faces, and levers you can’t quite make out from here.
There are four hunting traps hidden under a thin layer of dirt in front of your.
You see writing here again with two faces and a lever below each face. The writing says ”One of these faces always lies. The other always tells the truth. Pull the lever of the face which always tells the truth. You can ask one of the faces one question. But there is a trick. The faces understand you but will reply ‘da’ or ‘ka.’ One of those means ‘yes.’ The other means ‘no.’ But you do not know which is which.”
[B]"Oh, you've got to be kidding me. Another riddle? I'm going to break these guys in half. Look, assuming the answer never changes, then everyone who walks in here should be hitting the same face. So check them for hand smudges or dust. That should tell us which one is constantly being used. [/ooc]
Halgrin's stroke of brilliance is temporary and he's not able to tell which handle sees more use. They've both been used before! There are also scorch marks on the floor you're standing on...
"That is a good idea Halgrin."
As he speaks, Horat examines the faces himself.
Katra will check for traps on both doors.
Katra determine that both doors are equipped with fire traps above them to hurt whomever tried the incorrect lever. Horat can't tell which lever has been used more but he does think to himself that, to cancel out the unknown words, the words themselvesust be included in the question.
After a minute, Halgrin grows impatient and decides to take matters into his own hands. He backs every one away and pulls the left handle.
Gouts of flame erupt from the sealing, searing Halgrin's flesh.
<--
Halgrin turns to the rest of the group. "I think it's the one on the right."
"So it would seem."
"That cut through the riddle swiftly, if riskily.", says Horat, as he reaches for the right lever.
Halgrin gathers himself together and prepares for the battles ahead.
The door opens revealing a final, dark chamber. Inside, you hear snarling and other sounds just as ominous, though stranger.
Still hale, Horat advances, lighting a torch.
You enter a chamber with Horat holding a torch. This seems to be a base of operations for the cult with bedrolls, provisions, and weapons lying about. It seems these wilderness cultists have all shared one big room.
Monster cages can be pushed around. Medium monster cages can be lifted to a higher level. Large cages can only be pushed around on their level or shoved to a lower level.
Some of those cages are full or empty, depending on what monsters you pick. A monster must be released from an appropriate-sized cage. This means you can only move medium-sized monsters to be released in the previous room, if that's what you want.
Bedrolls are difficult terrain. Put them wherever you want.
Armor racks act like medium monster cages. Enemies can shove them as an action with a strength check.
"Before we set things up, we should take a look around and make sure that there are no other exits."
"A sweep then."
Horat seeks such exits.
Horat does find a secret tunnel that leads out of the cavern. It looks like it can only be opened from inaide the cavern where you are.
"Our escape route.", states Horat.
"We should draw enemies away from this entrance with the boxes and cages."
"Let's just pile up a bunch of junk to make it look like a refuse corner, but leave ourselves a very specific route through."
"I suggest light junk, perhaps wedged. So that we can easily remove it should we need to flee, but others coming in that route will have a difficult time forcing a path in. We also need to block direct charge routes and give ourselves cover from enemy ranged fire and magic."
"I could wedge an iron spike in there. I brought twenty of the damned things. I also have caltrops. Never go anywhere without 'em. Won't stop an army. But it it'll slow 'em down and give ' em something to think about."
"An iron spike in the front door would slow them and perhaps infuriate them into making mistakes. Caltrops around corners so they shall run into them."
"Yeah, and it's not as if you can remove an iron spike quietly. So we should have plenty of warning."
The group begins to arrange the various obstacles and beasts...
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While moving around cages and beasts, Horat and Halgrin notice that one of the cages had an illusion cast on it. Upon close inspection, they are able to see through the illusion. Huddled inside the cage are a gnome, a male human, and a female human.
The Gnome squints at the pair. "Now, I could be wrong, but you two gentleman don't look like any of the cultists here." He paused, considering this. "Well...I suppose you could be, all things considered. Cults have to have at least a few people that look normal, don't they? Without any robes and chanting and whatnot. Otherwise, they'd never be able to go down to the market and buy, say, bread. Even the most crazed cult has to eat, or they stop being a problem pretty sharpish. Although I suppose there might be a farm somewhere, I didn't really get a tour..."
Looking at the pile of stuff that has been shoved up against the door, the man added, "Of course, most cultists don't barricade themselves in a room where they don't know prisoners are being kept in a cage hidden by magic. Not that it's not possible, you understand. I recall once reading about a cult that set up a situation where it seemed like it's prisoners could escape, only to recapture and sacrifice them right at the 'exit'. The Rite of False Hope, I think it was called? Although it might have been a novel I read once."
Pausing a for a moment - and more breath - the man continued, "Well, still, it seems most likely you've gotten yourself into a bit of bother. Less bother than us, of course. The cage gives that away. But more bother than, say, five people might have. If three of them were free of a cage, for example. That would be a lot less trouble all round. If you could find my tools - they must be around here somewhere, I should think - or could just hit the lock very, very hard I would really appreciate it. I'm sure the others would too, but I don't like speaking for others. My name is Enizver, by the way. I'm a seeker of knowledge, although some knowledge is riskier than other bits to get." He looked around the cage again, and shrugged.
A young adult human sits curled up at a corner of the cage remaining quite motionless. He has brown, well kept, shoulder length hair and wears a dirtied white robe with the symbol of a circle of seven stars in a ring, with a red mist rising toward (or flowing from) the top star on both the front and back. Slow, shaky, measured breathing can be heard coming from this young man as if he were doing some sort of breathing exercises.
He jolts at the words of the gnome, looking up at the onlooker with fear, "Oh gods! Oh Mystra! Please sirs do not flense or defenestrate me! I would provide insubstantial nutrition or nourishment! I could likely assist any ritual you might be doing! I am a quick learner! Please do not let your irritation or ire toward this gnome deflect toward me! He talks in great volumes." He sounds frantic and very stressed. For a split second his nervousness abates while saying "Oh, and the 'book' you are referencing was a nonfiction anecdote called 'The Ritual of Hope'," to the gnome very matter-of-factly.
From within the cage, the occupants heard among other things the steady pace of a military step.
A tall, slim figure approaches the cage, clad in bronze-gilded steel mail and wielding a recently-silvered halberd, both of exotic make. An Untherite, far from his homeland.
A helm covers much of his head, but sallow skin with nicks and scars from prior battles becoming visible as he nears. His deep brown eyes coolly assess the situation in front of him. What is noticeable is that his eyebrows and eyelashes are shaved completely. And the spell-book at his side.
His movements are precise, methodical, and just a fraction slow.
And his words are much the same, in accented common.
"I am Horat, once known as 'The Bulwark'. And I am no cultist. I would see you free - and aiding us fend off cultists that are coming."
He casts his eyes around for the keys, but is ready to slice through the lock with his halberd if they cannot be found swiftly.
"Thank you, Master Horat. Your aid will be most appreciated." Enizver looked around as well. "Hopefully, our equipment is around here somewhere as well. I just finished repairing a rather fine set of new armour I found in some ruins, and it would be a shame to lose it. And my Thunder Cannon should be rather useful for keeping these fellows from entering in."
Glancing over at man, he added, "I'm afraid my friend is rather nervous about being eaten. I keep telling him that most cult sacrifices are quite swift and relatively painless - heart extraction, or bleeding from a long cut - but he seems to think being eaten is a thing. I mean, it does happen, but cults themselves aren't as common as some think, and the ones that get all bitey tend net to do it while you're alive."
Considering, he added, "Are you sure that it's 'Ritual of Hope'? I'm sure it was 'False Hope'. The whole idea was to let the sacrifice feel the swelling of hope, and then sacrifice both the person and crush that hope..." Tilting his head, he added, "Or maybe it was the 'Rite of True Despair'?
The lock is soon broken and a quick search reveals the belongings of the prisoners stuffed in various crates and boxes.
The leader of the cult is a gnoll who can transform into beasts. He spoke to Albert Norwich, his second in command, about trying to draw the Lodestone of Waterdeep to them.
The young man shakes his head a bit excessively, "No. It was most definitely only hope because I recall reading it and pondering the same thought about how it should have been titled false hope. But I believe it was intentional from the author as a nod to the overarching theme of the piece of deception and half-"
He suddenly freezes as if something Horat said just registered. "W-what?" he stutter exclaims. "Aiding you in fending off cultists? I...uhh...I am just a scholar! W-w-what?...Mystra..." he trails off as he rushes to gather his things. Once he grabs a symbol with a necklace draping from it he seems to calm significantly. The symbol is the same as that on his robes. He sets everything else down and almost ritualistically places it around his neck. Afterward, he roots through his other belongings and pulls out a leather, hard-cover book and begins flipping through the pages, clearly making sure that everything is still in place. He breathes a quick sigh of relief that seems to relax him even more before carefully gathering (with much organization) his things. With a few repeated incantations and hand gestures his robes are made clean and he hefts his organized pack onto his back.
"While I was imprisoned here I overheard some things. Firstly, the leader of the cult is a gnoll who can transform into beasts. Second, he interacted with an individual named Albert Norwich, whom I believe to be his second in command, about attempting to draw the Lodestone of Waterdeep to themselves," the young man says with seemingly newfound courage.
Wrinil's extensive readings hint at the existence of Lodestones, vaguely described artifacts that, when used in conjuction, would be able to thin the boundaries between planes.
Suddenly, you hear a pounding on the front door where Halgrin placed an iron spike.
In the corner of the cage Olivia had curled herself into as small of a ball as she could conceivably make herself. Her head was throbbing painfully, and she was pretty sure she had been drugged. Or what it knocked out? She pushed away the knot of anxiety over not remembering as she slowly unfurled herself when the cage was opened. Her limbs tingled sharply in complaint over being denied important blood flow, but even that wasn't enough to distract her from her headache. A headache which was by no means helped by the gnome ceaseless jabbering.
She stepped out of the cage last, pale blue eyes darting around nervously. Her movements were a little slow and awkward from her sleeping limbs -- a condition that some part of her had warned her about before she had taken that position. Her skin was pale, almost to an unhealthy extent though she showed no signs of any physical ailments, and her long platinum blonde hair was loosely tied back.
She did not look like the type that would do particularly well in a fight, she slight build speaking of a lack of strength and her young face of a lack of experience. This was only enhanced when their belongings had been found and she seemed somewhat lacking in her possession of weapons. Though she did own a nice chain shirt that didn't look completely brand new, and she checked that her herbalism kits were intact with a practiced ease.
When talk of 'fending off' comes up, she quietly begins to mumble "I-I can do some healing...". Her words are interrupted by the loud banging, visibly making her jump, but when she lands, she stands noticeably more upright with shoulders squared. Dark energy appears by her right hand as a heavy crossbow materializes in it.
She then moves to take up a position behind one of the sandbags overlooking the entrance to this room. Speaking clearly now, she declares, "I can provide some ranged support." Looking at Horat and Halgrin, she adds, "You two look capable. This should help." She makes a few arcane gestures and an invisible field of force wraps itself about the two to provide some extra protection.
Yanking on a silvered set of surprisingly heavy looking armour in a fashion that looked more reminiscent of donning a shirt and pants, Enizver paused as he found a small bag and pulled out what seemed to be a long crossbow stock with a metal pipe along the top of it and what seemed to be a large drumn beneath it. Which was far too long to have been in the bag. "Hah, now the armour I can see - I bet they didn't have anyone small enough for it - but if they'd had some idea as to what this is, then I bet they wouldn't have left it. Or maybe they would. I mean, cultists are not known far and wide for the mental agility of there minds, but for blind dedication to something, often self destructively so. Or maybe they just didn't check my bag of holding..."
Cheerfully oblivious to the suffering his continuous, but highly informative, chatter had on the party, he added, "Alas, I suppose we should answer that incessant knocking. It doesn't sound like they'll be much longer." With a short mutter that didn't seem to do much, Enizver took a position that let him see the door without, in turn, being seen.
The young man grabs ahold of the symbol now suspended around his neck and begins praying and chanting. After a few moments, he disappears.
Horat offers aid to the trio in exiting the cage.
"We shall speak in more detail afterwards. For now, do what you can to help us achieve that."
Horat positions himself behind the barricade, and begins to assemble a trio of impediments to the foe.
Round 1: Grease in south
Round 2: Grease in north
Round 3: Snare in marked position
Round 4+: Chill Touch ready to blast at visible foes
He readies himself for battle.
Halgrin stares at the newcomers with confusion, and not a little despair. Things were going to get rowdy and he wasn't in the mood to protect some civilians.
But soon enough he noticed that they weren't exactly a helpless bunch, more than likely they were some in-over-their-heads rat-catchers. But he would take what he could get.
He began wordlessly spreading caltrops where he thought they'd do the most damage.
Once he was done he settled in to wait next to Horat.
"Remember, let them come to us," he told everyone. "And let them pay for every inch."
A moment of silence passes, and then he adds, "By the way, 'The Ritual of Hope' was the true story. The 'Rite of Lost Hope' was the novel based on the real story. And 'The Rite of True Despair' was the play that was sort of based on both. It was okay. Romance was a little forced. The songs were pretty good though."
Halgrin didn't bother to mention that in the story the hero didn't make it.
As Liv held her crossbow at the ready, she rolled her eyes at the continued talk. They were about to be attacked by gnolls and possibly more trolls, and they wanted to talk about literature? I mean, sure, she loved a good story as much as the next gal, but there was a time and a place. Though knowing that fool Olivia, she's probably want to pause to start a book club. Maybe even invite these cultist fellows to join. 'Please sah, wouldn't you much rather sit down and discuss the merits of the different forms a story can take over a nice cup of tea?' Really, it was a miracle she had managed to keep the girl alive thus far.
But hey, at least if the others are being noisy they're more likely to draw the enemy's fire...
You hear a crash as the door is broken down then whooping, howling, snarling, and pounding feet. You hear a shrieking cry reverberate throughout the cavern and barely manage to keep your feet but Gram and Katra fall lifeless.
They are unconscious and will be difficult to revive but their breathing is steady.
The sound continues for a while until the first enemies burst through the door!
Remaining surprisingly quiet for the chatty Gnome, Enizver slowly moved the barrel of the long, strange weapon out from behind cover and took a careful aim at the Hyena towards the back of the attack. His weapon was a long-range one, and he might as well take out the one the others might not be able to reach.
Taking a slow breath, he let it out and as his lungs emptied, Enizver pulled the trigger. The sharp crack! would get some attention, so this was his best chance at getting a good shot in...for now.
Moving his attention to the next Hyena, Enizver tried to get a good read on the next one.