Please dot and delete; we will begin soon.
A week ago, while between assignments, you each were contacted by an agent of Venture-Captain Ambrus Valsin, who handed them a small rune-carved stone disc (a labyrinth token) and a hastily scrawled letter penned in Valsin’s own hand.
Contents of the letter:
Pathfinders,
A year has passed since a band of villains laid siege to Absalom. The Pathfinder Society has taken a keen interest in bringing two of these to justice in particular: Muhlia al-Jakri, once the Society’s liaison to the Qadira’s government before she left on very poor terms, and Thurl, the former venture-captain of Nerosyan before he betrayed the city to the Worldwound’s demon armies and revealed himself as a servant of the demon lord Baphomet. Understandably, we Pathfinders have a personal interest in seeing this matter closed.
A team of Pathfinders captured Muhlia and shattered her spy network earlier this year, and we made a calculated gamble in leaving her an opportunity to escape and locate Thurl for us. We’ve since flushed them out of hiding with some strategic misinformation and have tracked them to the Five Kings Mountains, where the two have already caused more trouble, sealed themselves in the ossuary Taal Mornat, and thoroughly vexed the church of Magrim. Travel there and speak with my friend Kolm Durrendar. His army’s pinned down the villains but is stymied by an enchanted labyrinth of Thurl’s design.
Included with this letter is a token provided to us by one of Muhlia’s former spies, and it should help you bypass the maze once you’ve spent the next several days attuning to it. The Decemvirate isn’t alone in wanting Thurl dead; his crimes are well known and unforgiveable—an especially sore point for Absalom’s leaders. Despite Muhlia being a seasoned killer who the Decemvirate has also marked for death, a few of the Decemvirate (and I) believe she might not be as corrupt as her demon-worshipping accomplice.
Her slide into evil began with the death of her younger sister: Khismia, a devotee of Sarenrae, who had acted as her older sister’s moral compass. The seven years since have not been kind to Muhlia. Officially, I tell you this only to provide some insight into your opponent. Use this information as you may.
Depart at once. Taal Mornat’s kept well hidden, so even if you use magic to travel to nearby Larrad, you’ll want a guide to lead you the rest of the way. Good luck!
Venture-Captain Ambrus Valsin
The journey to Larrad and then to the isolated alpine valley containing Taal Mornat takes roughly a week and is uneventful. The dwarf guiding you to Taal Mornat is quiet and respectful, but she knows little about the ossuary. An expert guide, she leads you through several days of hard travel along perilous mountain paths and subterranean tunnels, until you reach a narrow valley dominated by a thick forest of evergreens split by meandering streams. A winding, well-marked path leads through the woods leading toward the far side of the valley where the sheer granite cliff face is pierced by a cave entrance that leads to Taal Mornat. Encamped a hundred yards from the mouth of the cave is Kolm Durrendar’s small army of dwarf warriors and warrior-priests, their tents and banners marking them as devotees of Magrim. Upon reaching the camp, you are ushered into Kolm Durrendar’s tent.
Please introduce your characters to each other and describe your entrance to the tent.
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An average sized elf in richly tailored clothes that are a mix of the elven style favored among the Kyonin nobility and the Absalom style of the rich nobility sits in a chair and closes the tome he was reading. ”Just catching up on some light Azlanti history during the Age of Darkness.’ He stands up and straightens his clothes out with a simple spell. His dark robe and tunic are obviously made from olvar silk and finely embroidered. He carries an oddly shaped and ornate wooden staff as well as a beautiful looking sickle strapped to his waist. ”Well met new friends. I am Galandaro of the Tinalmathian family of the Sythaeryn Branch of Clan Qinsandoral from the Brymwood House from the Council of Sylvarbalar Greenvale… oh and also a representative of the human Blakros family.” adding that last part with a slight detached tone. ”You may call me Galan if it helps. I surmise like the rest of you that we have been summoned to take part in a special mission which would be the death of lesser pathfinders.” He looks over the others in attendance and adds ”Now lets see who my new party members are… hmmmm a Nephilim cambion I presume… from the looks of you I would wager pitfiend. Funny that your kind, because of your demon blooded nature, possess an insatiable appetite for destruction which can be useful if focused on the mission. No disrespect intended of course.” he says to the female tiefling. ”And a Hellknight as well. Which order? Pyre? Nail? I’ve come across some from the Order of the Pike in the Whisperwoods. Very dedicated chaps. It seems as if every Hellknight I’ve ever met is trying to outdo the destruction Daidain wrought.” He then looks over the woodsman and his pet ”Another Aiudeen like myself.” and bows his head as a respectful greeting. ” This is good. It seems you have adopted the Andoran Society side. I hope that will not cause any issues with our Hellknight colleague. I wager your archery skills are more accomplished than mine.” he says as he gestures to his staff. ”Which Clan, House, Family do you claim? It would be interesting to know. Regardless- I have a few spells that will make your furry friend here more formidable.” He then looks over the obvious holy warrior. ” An aiuvarin is with us. They always make good adventurers since it is easy for them to blend in between two races and create a space where they feel comfortable. It is an honor to serve with you my Iomedain friend.” Galandaro then adds ”You are equipped with two blades… and one of them is the heavy two handed type that humans and dromaar favor. Do you dual wield them and if so – how?” he asks genuinely curious. Galandao looks over the human and seems puzzled. ”I am at a loss of words for you dear friend. Other than your divine aura I can discern nothing else about you.” As the last member shows up apparently delayed, the elf says ”By Yuelral! A Tengu. How wonderful!” he says with honest glee. "I believe we have been summoned to meet the dwarven leader. Are we all ready...?"
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The door creaks open, and a tall, slender elf enters, his steps nearly soundless despite the weight of the weapons and gear he carries. Cloaked in forest hues—browns, greens, and the pale tans of bark and bone—he moves like a breeze through leaves, eyes sharp and still. Scraggly brown hair frames a weathered, bronze-toned face. His emerald gaze sweeps the room not with curiosity, but with caution born of wilderness survival.
Beside him pads a white wolf, lean and silent, its fur like new snow under moonlight. The beast’s eyes are pale, intelligent, and alert. It does not growl, but it watches.
The elf speaks, his voice low and calm, like distant thunder before the rain.
"Jaervahn Swiftbrook. From the deep forests of Andoran. I’ve hunted slavers in the shadows of trees older than your kingdoms."
He nods toward the wolf.
"This is Isenfäng. He bites less than I do... most of the time."
The longbow at his back is rimed with frost, decorated with feathers and the tiny bones of woodland creatures—each one placed with quiet reverence. At his hip rests an elven curve blade, its green-glimmering edge whispering of acid and vengeance.
"I stand with Liberty’s Edge," he continues, gaze unwavering. "I fight for those who can’t, and I walk paths others fear to tread. If you respect the wild and the will to be free, we’ll get along just fine."
With that, he moves to the far wall, the wolf falling into step beside him. Together, they stand—calm, watching, waiting.
"I wager your archery skills are more accomplished than mine.”
"We shall see, friend."
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After days of stone paths and tight tunnels, the alpine valley opens before them—and Jaervahn breathes easier.
The evergreens stand tall and still, their scent sharp in the air. Meandering streams catch the light. The earth is soft beneath his boots, and the weight of stone and civilization slips from his shoulders.
His posture relaxes. His gaze lifts from constant watchfulness to quiet observation. Isenfäng ranges ahead, tail high, more wolf than sentinel now.
Jaervahn says nothing, but the change is clear—this forest, wild and unspoiled, feels more like home than anything else they've seen in a week.
Jaervahn greets the dwarf with a slight, yet respectful nod and a warm smile.
Jaervahn wonders if he knows of the deity, Magrim.
"Ah. Of course. The Taskmaster."
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As the heavy flap of the command tent is pulled aside, a gust of evening wind carries in the scent of dust, oil, and a hint of perfume. The herald steps in first — a man in crisp Chelish attire, his voice precise and formal.
“Presenting Svetlana of Citadel Enferac — emissary of the Order of the Gate.”
A moment of silence follows before Svetlana enters, framed for a heartbeat against the dusk. The dying light catches on the red-and-black silk of her robes, which move with stately precision around her pale, statuesque frame. Her skin bears the faint sheen of travel but not the grime — as though even the road had known not to dirty her. The ombré blue of her hair is bound into its customary flawless bun, not a strand out of place.
She scans the interior of the tent with a cool, appraising glance, her eyes settling on her fellow Pathfnders - obvious as they aren't dwarves. A flicker of curiosity dances behind her pleasant — but practiced — smile.
“I bring greetings from Citadel Enferac, Vicarius Giordano Torchia, and the Hellknights of the Order of the Gate." Her voice is smooth, diplomatic — but something about her intonation suggests she’s already cataloguing everything: the troop disposition, the order of the tents, the way the guards hold their weapons.
She casually removes a leather-bound tome from beneath her cloak — The Measure and the Chain — and sets it down on the nearby map table with a quiet but deliberate thump. As she speaks further, she absently turns a silver-inlaid wayfinder in her hand, its silver dragon emblem catching the candlelight like a watching eye.
***
Svetlana offers Galandros a faint smile — not warm, but precisely measured. She inclines her head, her voice calm and deliberate:
“I serve the Order of the Gate.” A pause, just long enough to let that distinction settle.“While the Pike hunts monstrosities, and the Nail obsesses over structure and settlement, we concern ourselves with a different domain — heresy, prophecy, the arcane echoes of law and chaos that ripple through this world and the next.”
Her wayfinder clicks shut in her hand like a judge’s gavel.
“We do not outdo destruction, Galandros. We outlast it.”
She then turns to consider Jaervhan and the others.
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A tengu with flat black feathers and beak but luminous golden eyes follows Svetlana into the tent. Not particularly large for his kind, he is small compared to the others present and it is easy to miss him behind the imposing figure of Svetlana. A fact he evidently does not mind as he moves unobtrusively to the side and watches the exchange. His head cocks sharply from one side to the other, his gaze darting around the room with quick, sure movements.
His clothing is as unprepossessing as his appearance and demeanor. What first appears to be a robe is actually a shabby brown sea coat that is far too large for him. His tricorn hat has seen better days, though there is one extravagant plume nestled in the headband. It overshadows a smaller, gray feather next to it.
His sword is of the same design and form as Jaervahn's, though the bluish white sheen at its edge suggests sudden strikes of lightning rather than poison. And, he wears it strapped to his back, the weapon almost as long as he is tall.
An odd pistol is holstered at his waist and he fiddles with it occasionally, rearranging its positioning in a way that suggests that, unlike the rest of his gear, he is not familiar with it, yet.
He waits after Svetlana speaks, the silence going almost long enough for someone to fill it before his feathers ruffle, a soft, breezy sound that is the loudest one he's made so far.
"I am Kahwen. It is a pleasure to meet you, Companions," he says, giving each of them a low bow that leaves his torso parallel to the floor, his hat pressed against his chest with one hand, his other arm straight out from his side.
"I am ready," he answers Galandaro's question.
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Jaervahn offers Svetlana a rare, welcoming grin, his eyes lingering appreciatively on her longbow. He gives Kahwen a similar look, raising an eyebrow as he nods toward the tengu’s elven curve blade. A faint grin follows—he clearly approves of what he sees.
The same goes for Galan's longbow. Clearly, this group is very well armed.
"I remember Muhlia al-Jakri and Thurl quite well." he says quietly to his teammates. "It's interesting they want them dead rather than alive. Years in a prison can usually cause a person to give up information."
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"Welcome, Kahwen, a seafarer I take it - honest merchantman no doubt" a slightly sardonic smile crossing her face, but her eyes show a moment of genuine gentle kindness that offers a sense of respite and welcome.
Svetlana listens to Jaerrvhan with the stillness of a statue, and as she listens to his points, she expresses a degree of agreement, though a slight tightening at the corner of her mouth betrays her equal disapproval of the demand for death — not sentimental, but philosophical.
“Dead? Mmm. Effective, yes — but regrettably final.”
“There is much to be gained from a living subject. Reflection. Revelation. Penance. A chance to make order of one’s deeds before submitting to final judgment.” She looks to Jaervhan with a faint, knowing smile. “You’re quite right — a little time in the oubliette under our particular brand of hospitality has a way of encouraging remarkable honesty.”
“The dead may satisfy vengeance… but they do little for precedent. And precedent, as you well know, builds civilisation.”
She folds her hands neatly over The Measure and the Chain, as though seeking guidance through the very covers themselves.
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A tall and youthful man of fair complexion and dark hair enters the tent. He is quite lean and small boned and it is a small wonder how he is managing to support all of his armour and equipment so easily.
The senior Cleric turns and nods to the others.
"It is a pleasure to meet you all in person. I am Helgar."
An odd looking scorpion peers out from a fold of his master's cloak before retreating to his safe hiding spot in his personal satchel.
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As everyone settles in Galandaro joins in friendly conversation with the others in the tent, often in their native tongue just as a way to show off how educated, knowledgeable and intelligent he is...
"你好，朋友。你属于哪个部落群体? 你的任务专长是什么？抱歉，我还不会说天狗语..."
"ನಾನು ಒಪ್ಪಿಕೊಳ್ಳಬೇಕು, ನಾನು ಐದು ರಾಜರ ರಾಜ್ಯಕ್ಕೆವಾಗಿ ಹೆಚ್ಚು ಹೋಗೋದಿಲ್ಲ ಮತ್ತು ಇಲ್ಲಿನ ಸಾಮಾಜಿಕ ನಿದರ್ಶನಗಳನ್ನು ನನಗೆ ತಿಳಿದಿಲ್ಲ. ನೀವು ತಿಳಿದಿನ್ನೇ?
"მხოლოდ ცნობისმოყვარეობის გამო, როგორ შეიძება ცრემლიანი სისხლი, რომელიც ბუნებრივად ქაოტიურია, გახდეს ჯოჯოხეთური რაინდი, რომელიც კანონიერ ცხოვრების გზაზეა?"
"ຂ້າ ພະ ເຈົ້າ ຍັງ ຮູ້ ບຸນ ຄຸນ ສໍາ ລັບ ຄາຖາ ທີ່ ດີ"
And Galandaro appears oblivious that Kahwen does not understand him.
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As everyone settles in Galandaro joins in friendly conversation with the others in the tent, often in their native tongue just as a way to show off how educated, knowledgeable and intelligent he is...
"ನಾನು ಒಪ್ಪಿಕೊಳ್ಳಬೇಕು, ನಾನು ಐದು ರಾಜರ ರಾಜ್ಯಕ್ಕೆವಾಗಿ ಹೆಚ್ಚು ಹೋಗೋದಿಲ್ಲ ಮತ್ತು ಇಲ್ಲಿನ ಸಾಮಾಜಿಕ ನಿದರ್ಶನಗಳನ್ನು ನನಗೆ ತಿಳಿದಿಲ್ಲ. ನೀವು ತಿಳಿದಿನ್ನೇ?
** spoiler omitted **
"They're a somber lot—stone-faced, like the god they serve. You’ll find them tending tombs, scribing ancestral records, or judging disputes with all the warmth of a granite slab. But don’t mistake that for cruelty—they believe in order, in honoring the dead, and in preserving dwarven legacy without letting sentiment get in the way.”
“They’re the ones who see to proper burial rites, guard the old crypts, and ensure no restless spirit goes unanswered. Some even train to fight undeath—though not all of them see it as evil, just... unnatural if not done with purpose. Duty before comfort, legacy before self. That’s the way of Magrim’s faithful.”
He gives a faint, respectful nod toward the mountains.
“Stubborn, yes—but unshakable as the stone they call home.”
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A heavily armored knight enters the tent following the others
He appears as a tall, fair haired knight of with obvious elven heritage. He removes his winged helm as he enters the tent.
Under his red cloak, he wears a new suit of polished fullplate along with a shield bearing the crest of Iomedae on his arm.
His longsword is well kept and shows signs of recent battles.
Strapped to his back is a longbow and greatsword.
”Greetings. Servant of the Inheritor, I am Omrax at thy service.“ he bows formally as he scans the agents assembled for any familiar faces.
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Svetlana meets Galandaro’s gaze for a long moment before holding forth the silver wayfinder. With a soft click, she opens it to reveal a tiny, hand-painted cameo of a gallant paladin in shining armour bearing the symbol of Iomedae. Beneath the portrait is a single word: Oti.
She closes it slowly, her fingers lingering on the casing, and speaks the common tongue in reply, in a voice tinged with both sorrow and reverence. “Because the fire doesn’t go out. Not with grief. Not with time. It just changes shape.”
Her eyes flicker with the echo of something deeply felt - “He saw something in me, something worth tempering. And when he vanished, I chose not to break… but to forge myself into something that wouldn’t vanish too.”
She glances down once more at the wayfinder, “My blood is chaos, but my oath is order. And I’ll carry him with me until the end.”
***
As the paladin enters, Svetlana straightens with fluid grace, her tone shifting back into the polished cadence - the warmth in her words is precise, measured and courtly, “Welcome, champion of the Inheritor. The counsel of Iomedae is always a boon — the virtues of the goddess of righteous valour, justice, and honour will inspire us all.”
She inclines her head slightly, the gesture one of formal respect rather than subservience, and then fixes the paladin with an inquisitive, searching gaze, “Tell me, then… how does bringing Thurl back dead, not alive, align with your teachings?” Her voice is smooth, but there is a deliberate undertone — as if weighing the paladin’s soul, not just his answer.
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"Yes. Honest. Yes," Kahwen replies in his croaking voice, his head cocking from one side to the other with each word. It is hard to tell if he is nervous or just speaking matter-of-factly.
"I was shanghaied by pirates but have been a simple sailor since I escaped them. Until I won my own ship, that is."
He does look around at all the patently forthright and upright people around him and ruffle and smooth his feathers again, his hands moving over his weapons and hat and reaching into his pockets as though checking and double checking that he has everything.
"The Corvacious is at your service should the Hellknights or Pathfinders need it," he offers.
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Omrax nods and pauses at the question before responding.
”Lady Svetlana, thou pose a formidable question and one I had not yet considered.“
He continues
”As a servant of the Inheritor, we strive to serve as examples to others, and our code demands we protect the weak and innocent by eliminating sources
of oppression, rather than the symptoms. “
Another pause as he briefly recalls a tenet of his faith.
”When in doubt, I may force my enemies to surrender, but I am responsible for their lives. In the Siege of the Diamond City I first heard of Thurl but not since.“
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"I am fairly positive that the honored Hellknight will have no issue with eliminating a servant of the demon lord Baphomet, info that was given to me in my initial instructions for this mission. I will let you others ponder the moral and ethical qualms about ending the life of Societal enemies which I am not against since we elves have Treerazor to deal with from time to time. I am more concerned with how we shall attune this token for the maze. Do we know more about the maze? Do we know if the two in question... what were their names again...Muhlia al-Jakri and Thurl- did I pronounce those right? Do we know if they have forces themselves assisting them and if so what those forces are and their capabilities?" Galandaro says to the others as he pours a cup of very expensive Gnomish brandy and sips it slowly savoring the taste.
Lit by a brazier of hot coals and several hanging oil lamps, the warm interior of Kolm Durrendar’s tent is a welcome break from the cold wind coming off the mountains outside. The scarred, middle-aged dwarf has a full, square-cut beard that hangs just past his belly. His pale-blue eyes are friendly, though worry lines and signs of fatigue mar his otherwise handsome features. He wears a suit of battle-worn plate armor under robes that identify him as a priest of Magrim.
“Thank you for coming,” Kolm says. “Ambrus said we could rely on you and I’d trust that man with the lives of my children.” The dwarf gestures toward the tent’s south wall, in the direction of the cave mouth. “That cave marks the entrance to Taal Mornat, an ossuary sacred to the followers of the Taskmaster. Your enemies have sealed themselves inside and conjured up a magical labyrinth that has my forces confounded. The labyrinth was here when we arrived a week ago. Since then, I’ve sent five well-armed squads inside—that’s fifty veteran soldiers—and only one squad returned, and they lost more than half of their number. The survivors reported that a labyrinth of tunnels and halls now blocks the way between us and the ossuary complex. They were trapped in the maze for hours and eventually ambushed by a band of demonic minotaurs. After witnessing the slaughter and capture of their comrades, the survivors fled. Once again, they wandered the labyrinth for hours before they staggered out of the cave entrance. But that’s not the worst of it. An hour after the survivors emerged from the ossuary, these horrors appeared.”
Kolm gestures to a large pile of blood-smeared, oddly calcified bones lying nearby. “Three of these things—towering skeletal giants constructed from petrified bones and draped with bloody ribbons of flesh—fell upon my army. They slew twenty of us before we finally brought them down.” The angry dwarf’s body trembles with the memory of the slaughter. After a long moment, he unclenches his fists, clears his throat, and regains his composure. “Ambrus tells me you can breach this infernal labyrinth. I implore you to do so immediately and put an end to this threat. I shudder to think what would happen to my people if an army of these things emerged from that damnable place, much less what your foes are doing to the bodies of my predecessors.”
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Svetlana nods thoughtfully, her gaze sharp “Before we enter, I’ll need specifics.”
She begins counting off on her fingers, each question crisp and deliberate.
“Do we have any maps or diagrams of Taal Mornat, even partial or outdated ones?”
“Have any wards, symbols, or magical residues been identified — arcane, divine, or infernal?”
“What do we know of the demonic minotaurs? Any information about vulnerabilities or powers?”
“The skeletal giants, same question"
“Are there any known dwarven passphrases, prayers, or rites that might bypass traps or open paths? Thurl's traps are one thing, I'd prefer to avoid being dealt the odd tragedy by avoidable Dwarven master craftsmanship”
“And finally, what exactly is Thurl after here? Is there some significance to his aims?”
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Jaervahn's eyes dart back and forth nervously. This mission sounds quite dangerous and challenging. He was almost crushed to death in the mouth of a gigantic dragon then swallowed whole during his last adventure and barely lived to tell the tale.
He listens to Svetlana's questions and waits for the answers. He glances around at his fellow teammates and wonders if they, too, are willing too take on such a dangerous mission.
No. I will not back down. I will help keep my teammates alive and I trust they will do the same for me.
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Galandaro examines the large pile of blood-smeared, oddly calcified bones lying nearby and exclaims "Interesting to say the least... other than being very large skeletal creatures do you know of any other special abilities of these creatures? If we are to face the here in the near future I would rather prefer to be prepared for whatever they can do." The academic elf continues poking around the pile of bones with a stick looking for any clues while listening to the others. "Very good questions you pose Lady Svetlana. It seems we should prepare for any possible danger and contingency. If there are any other learned folk among us that are spellcasters we should discuss spell preparation to maximize effectiveness."
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Oddly, once the briefing begins, Kahwen grows calm. His head and gaze still tilt and dart around, but with more obvious purpose as he follows Kolm's gestures.
He crosses his arms over his chest, listening intently and awaiting the answers to Svetlana's questions.
"We're Pathfinders. We can do it," he reassures the dwarf confidently.
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Omrax listens intently to the questions posed by the team.
• I will never abandon a companion, though I will honor
sacrifice freely given.
• I will guard the honor of my fellows, both in thought
and deed, and I will have faith in them.
”Worthy Lord Kolm. Of the poor lost teammates sent be fore us? Were they all seasoned warriors or skilled casters or a balanced team of both? “
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“My own spellcasting is limited — tactical, not flashy. I typically call upon trios of Erinyes or Axiomites. The devils lend steel and strategy; the axiomites, precision and potent support. Teams of three — it works so well. If we need haste, reinforcement, or battlefield control, I can deliver. Just don’t expect fireballs.”
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“I summon only those who understand law, Axiomites and Erinyes alike. Both are agents of Order. The distinction lies not in their discipline, but in their motives.” She folds her hands behind her back, her voice calm and precise. “Yes, the Erinyes are evil by nature — but they are bound to serve my command, and they do so gladly, for the hunt is in their blood. And when the quarry is evil, our goals align.”
A slight glance toward Omrax or another like-minded ally. “Omrax and I, more importantly, the orders we represent, are not so different. We believe that Order is not only necessary, but good. It allows for justice, for stability, for the building blocks of civilisation - precedent, planning, predictability.”
A pause, eyes narrowing slightly.“People stumble on the scale of benevolence. But chaos has no such scale — only destruction. From Order, at least, comes safety. And from safety, something better can be forged.” - She almost absentmindedly touches the cover of The Measure and the Chain.
Svetlana provides a brief overview of the forces she typically summons - for #reasons she always gets the maximum nunber, so 3 of either
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Under his breath Galandaro mutters 'I wonder if any of the monsters you summon are Blakros cousins of my wife... they seem annoying enough...'
"Since we are discussing team dynamics be advised I can use my arcane magiks to cast Mass Fly, Life Bubble, Communal Energy Protection and Teleport. I also learned some druidic magic and can cast Greater Magic Fang on a pet, strong jaw and even raise them should they perish. With your pets here I doubt I will use those spells on my companion Thistlewhip. He prefers not to be in combat anyway."
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Under his breath Galandaro mutters 'I wonder if any of the monsters you summon are Blakros cousins of my wife... they seem annoying enough...'
"Since we are discussing team dynamics be advised I can use my arcane magiks to cast Mass Fly, Life Bubble, Communal Energy Protection and Teleport. I also learned some druidic magic and can cast Greater Magic Fang on a pet, strong jaw and even raise them should they perish. With your pets here I doubt I will use those spells on my companion Thistlewhip. He prefers not to be in combat anyway."
"Woof."
"I think Isenfäng likes that you have those spells that enhance animal companions." Jaervahn says.
Kolm shakes his head regretfully when Svetlana asks about a map. "Unfortunately, no. Most Magrimite sites are living structures, like their workshops, but this ossuary is rarely used and only for interring the honored dead. I know that the Cave of Heroes is among the first areas you’ll find, and the deeper areas contain those dwarves who built the tombs centuries ago. The attending priest would know the way, but she likely met her end when Thurl attacked."
"I don't know of any passphrases or anything like that would help you, but I can warn you about the following: The magma deep below the earth still pushes upward in places, and I know that Taal Mornat boasts a magma chamber with a deadly trap of some form. I believe a family of lava drakes has made that place their home there and occasionally leave through a fumarole in the mountainside high above."
"I cannot tell you any more about these creatures, unfortunately."
You are welcome to make any knowledge checks in history or arcana/religion at this point to see what you already know.
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Galandaro listens to the others speak and then runs his fingers through his neatly groomed goatee while he thinks about arcane tomes he read... and listens to Thistlewhip for the other info...
"I think I remember something I read in an old tome. I read a lot when my wife's family gathers together since they dislike academic pursuits. Please give me a moment to gather my thoughts to better provide the information."
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Helgar nods as Galandaro seems to know his stuff. He has a quick confab with his familiar and adds what he can to the party's store of knowledge.
Knowledge-Arcana 30 on a take 10 (with an auto-aid from Tom)
Knowledge-Religion 32 on a take 10 (with an auto-aid from Tom)
"Let me see what I know as well."
Putting your heads together, the team knows the following:
The dwarves built Taal Mornat 600 years ago to entomb the faithful of Magrim, especially those who served the Cathedral of Magrim in Larrad. Over the centuries, the site became the final resting place for scores of celebrated dwarf heroes and is thus considered both a holy place and an important cultural site to the dwarves. Taal Mornat has no permanent staff. Caretakers from the church of Magrim visit the ossuary three times each year for maintenance. In lieu of guards, the priests of Magrim inscribed powerful wards to hide the site. The powerful wards that protect the site were inscribed onto four runeplates that are embedded into the walls in strategic locations within the ossuary
Runeplates are rune-carved stone discs imbued with powerful divine magic often found embedded into the walls of sites sacred to the followers of Magrim. Most runeplates are unique and provide some specific magical boon—either when imbedded or carried. The runeplates sometimes found in Magrimite sites are homages to the true runes that Magrim carries for his own use. The most famous of these are Aeruk, which guides the souls of the dead to the River of Souls; Chasarad, which can magically weigh and measure the worth of a dwarven soul; Hurenarr, which hides dwarven burial sites from magical scrying; and Urdrekk, which provides divine protection to the spirits of dwarven petitioners and safeguards them from corruption. Magrim sometimes lends his personal runes to his followers. Runeplates are highly focused conduits that link to a vast reservoir of divine magical energy. Highly capable spellcasters could redirect this magic to perform dangerous rituals, especially those tied to necromancy or transmutation.
You now have a chance for any basic shopping you need before you begin.
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Svetlana repeats the words slowly, her tone laced with biting judgment, “Highly capable spellcasters could redirect this magic to perform dangerous rituals… necromancy, transmutation…”
She clicks her tongue softly, her lip twisting into a disdainful curl as if the very thought leaves a foul taste “And we already know they consort with chaos. Do the perversions never end?” She has the look of someone already drafting a list of questions for an interrogation.
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"I should be able to assist in some of the environmental hazards we will face. Finding some of the Magrim runes should help as well if we can harness their energies. My only concern is of the physical threats we may face... which I shall leave up to rest of you to deal with. Are their any records of traps or dangers we may come across or perhaps a map or sketching we can bring with us?"
Galendaro, your questions were already asked and answered above.
You make your way in to the cave entrance.
A few feet beyond the cave’s mouth, the cave’s natural features are abruptly replaced by a hallway formed by countless bleached white bones—skulls, femurs, rib cages, and more—harvested from all manner of humanoids and beasts, creating a thick solidified mass. A dozen paces farther, the macabre hallway is bisected by an archway resembling the maw of an enormous fiend. Roughly gouged into the bone-work above the archway are the following words in Common: “May your bones join those of a million others.”
the archway and the cave entrance are both gone.
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At the entrance of the cave Galandaro will cast Life Bubble (spending an arcane point to cast it at 16th level for 32 hours distributed to the party), Resist Energy Communal (spending an arcane point to boost the CL and using my extend rod to double that duration; Fire Res 30), Hunter's Blessing (14 hours of targeting evil outsiders-the demonic minotaurs from the briefing- and underground terrain as per the Rangers favored enemy and terrain abilities; cost of 2 arcane points) and Endure Elements-Communal for the group and the following on him: Overland Flight, Greater Darkvision (120ft), Greater Magic Weapon (his bow), Mage Armor and Ant Haul.
Once he does all that, he smiles to himself grabs his staff and begins the journey.
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As they cross the threshold, Kahwen draws his sword. He is clearly less than pleased by the decor in this place.
"This place is going to be just like the Gloomspires, I can already tell," he says, at least half to himself, still traumatized by his visits to the place where he found more than half his wealth, including his coat and boat.
Nonetheless, he takes the lead, assuming he is better suited to avoid or deal with any traps that are left behind.
He checks the entryway for traps,
Then looks back to report and sees the trick that's been played on them. He comes very close to squawking out his surprise, but attracting attention can be a lethal mistake so he just points.
"Just like the Gloomspires," he mutters to himself.