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I'm alive. Just going through a very busy patch of life as I try to juggle a job, school, life in general, and an internship. Hopefully I'll get some more free time to scoot you guys along soon. Sorry for the abrupt disappearance.
Now that you have a moment to look around in the room that the cultists were guarding, it strikes you as a touch odd. The worked stone walls hold a number of shelves, each of which display the preserved bodies of dire rats, bats, rock vipers, cave lizards, and other creatures that pose in eerie stillness. A pair of bedrolls have been laid out to the southeast, presumably belonging to the pair of cultists. To the north, a rusted old ladder leads downward into inky blackness. Those with darkvision can tell that it is only another twenty feet down to the floor below, which appears fairly unremarkable. To the east is a closed door, through which the muted roar of a great deal of moving water can be heard. On the bodies, you find two potions, four scrolls, two flasks of murky water, two very finely crafted chain shirts, the pair's finely made glaives, two daggers, a spell component pouch each, 20g, and two symbols of Baphomet. Upon finding the last item, it occurs to Sadron that he does not recall hearing the more long-lived of the pair cast a spell. In fact, it would not be too far of a stretch to assume that the odd feeling Therrik endured might have been a brief boon granted to her by her god. Anevia, Aravashnial, Horgus, and Abrielle are all content to gather in the now-deceased mongrelmen's sleeping quarters, for the time being. "Better here than out in the tunnel where anything could happen upon us," Horgus reasons sheepishly.
Between Gwyn and Sadron's well-aimed strikes, the wicked cackling draws to an abrupt close in favor of a gurgling death rattle. The cultist slumps to the floor, very much dead, and the settlement is eerily silent again.
Naali nimbly manages to duck under the clumsy swing the cultist takes in her direction, ending up "safely" on the other side of the woman.
Despite the group's best efforts, the cultist remains standing and even lets out a delighted cackle at your failings. She gives her glaive a confident twirl before slashing it at Therrik, who seems to have earned her ire.
The cultist, seeing her friend topple to the dirt floor, tries a different tactic. Namely, one that involves reaching out to try to poke Therrik in the chest with a finger that crackles with black formless energy. He feels his hackles rise and a great deal of forboding, but no actual pain.
So you all know, when the combat with these cultists ends, you are level 2. Prepare yourselves accordingly.
Rather than follow her back into the once-abode of the mongrelmen, the cultist murmurs words of power under her breath. The wound that Gwyn left on her torso slowly begins to knit itself back together and the flow of blood stops. Regardless of the effects of the spells these cultists are using though, the paladin is able to detect that these two are the worst kind of evil.
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The hushed murmuring draws to a halt when the door opens before Gwyn and Therrik, but the pair sees little more than an empty room. Fortunately, the silence does not last as a pair of battle cries ring out from either side of the opposite side of the door. A pair of glaives sweep forward to try to skewer Gwyn!
Fortunately, only one seems to find its mark on the paladin.
Anevia and Aravashnial nod silently, but Horgus pipes up a bit uncertainly. "Do you think we might be able to join you inside? Who knows what else might be roaming these tunnels..." While Gwyn's detection sadly detects little of value, Therrik's keen ears do better. Through the northern door that he listens at, he can hear the sounds of shuffling and hissed whispers on occasion. It is difficult to determine what is being said, but it seems to be coming from two distinct voices.
Gwyneth's longsword catches the mongrelman under the arm with a sickening crunching sound that trails off into a weak gurgle as he falls to the ground. Despite the fairly obvious warning that your now-dead assailants gave prior to their attack, silence reigns in the tunnel. The only sound that can be heard through the half-open door is dripping water and faint shuffling. A peek inside shows a large, mostly empty room whose center is dominated by a fire pit surrounded by furs and animal skins. As well lived-in as the room clearly is, there looks to be no one within.
After dodging beneath Naali's glaive, the mongrelman turns to bring his strength to bear on Gwyn again, seeing the bruise already forming on her jaw. Fortunately, his strike goes very wide most likely due to the fact that he is only able to use one arm.
Therrik's hammer sends his foe crumpling into a lifeless heap like a sack of bricks. When there are no further immediate threats, the sound of scrambling past the barricade is clearly audible. So, naturally, Gwyn goes to investigate. Gwyneth gets her wish when yet another mongrelman bursts through the slightly ajar door she has elected to stand beside. Her sword swings true, nearly cleaving the poor man's arm clean off to the tune of snarls of pain.
Gwyneth - UP
Twin yelps of agony slip from the mongrelmen as the two original guards fall twitching to the stone floor. The third simply bellows his pain and rage as he lunges forward to try to beat at Gwyn with his bare fists.
"Hey! " Howls the mongrelman that had stuck his head out the door when he spots Naali after she has tripped overly a poorly placed, unattended drum set. Must have been one of the many things that fell through the chasms down to these tunnels. The roars of the mongrelmen and the oddly timed rimshot echo into the larger cavern, as well as back up the tunnel. At least now everyone knows what has happened.
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Naali is able to sneak closer and make out a few details that could not be seen at a distance. Namely that there appears to be no lock on the door through the barricades walling off this tunnel. It seems the pair of guards are the only actual defenses here. The guards appear to be bearing a club each that is little more than a length of broken, twisted wood. For the time being, they seem to simply be chatting about this and that to pass the time. "He took his suitcase? Stol, babe, I don't think he's comin' back." The pair continue to ramble on about relationship troubles and whatnot, offering nothing of real value. After a moment or two of watching carefully, the door between the pair opens and another mongrelman sticks his head out to offer both a haunch of some sort of meat. From the smell, it might be ham. But then again, from what you have heard of this tribe, it could very well be human.
Yeah, just trying to get settled in for the re-start of classes, which is always a hectic time. Sorry for the abrupt radio silence, let's see about getting you guys rolling again.
Your shopping and rest are uneventful, even with the addition of a search for the corpulent nobleman. Curiously, he can be found speaking with a few of the less vile-looking mongrelmen about all manner of things from worship to proper business practices. Upon your appearance, he gladly excuses himself and follows you back to Lann's family home to rest. The next morning, Lann makes certain that all of you eat a light breakfast of blind cave fish and root tubers, all seasoned deliciously. Afterward, his family thanks you for your help in the tunnels again and wishes you well on your journey. Your guide leads you out of Neathholm, without the help of Crel and Dyra this time, down yet another tunnel of identical stone. How his people know their way around this subterranean labyrinth, you have no idea, but you are glad to have the help. For nearly a half hour, you travel southeast until the passageway narrows to a mere five feet wide. From the look of things, it has been carved out with the use of chisels and picks. Lann pauses at this point and offers an apologetic smile as he says, "I fear this is as far as I am able to go. The path ahead is yours to trek alone, friends. Fear not though, for we shall see one another again if you are able to deliver your message to the city above. I will be one of the first to come join you there when the time is right. Simply follow this tunnel forward and you will find yourselves at the entrance to the traitors' settlement. May luck be with you, this day." He exchanges a few brief words with each of you and a hug or two, before heading back the way you came. As you continue down the passage, those of you that have darkvision can soon make out barricades made of heaped loose rocks and wooden boards. They bisect the cavern that the tunnel opens up into, but beyond the barricades little can be seen past a wooden screen. Two mongrelmen, looking even more grotesque as the last you have seen if that is at all possible, stand with weapons drawn before the barricade.
I live! Mostly. Holidays, vacations, family time, and moving all rolled into one makes for a stressful, busy time. Will be getting you all a post up here shortly.
Not a problem! I know the feeling. Best of luck with finals and all that.
"Good. Good," Chief Sull says wearily as he moves to sit back down into his chair, clutching the brooch to his chest. "And thank you, again, for lending us all the aid you have." Lann clears his throat quietly to get all of your attention once the chief finishes, offering a nod of thanks as well. "You may stay with my family, of course. Whatever you require, we can provide for you, be it beds, food, clothing..." He trails off, glancing Therrik over with a wry smirk and finishes, "Or a proper bath." Your mongrelman guide ushers you out of the room quietly as a woman comes into the room to comfort the chieftan just as the door closes behind you. Lann leads you further down into the village to an equally cozy little house where he introduces you to his sister and father. Both look equally as grotesque as the rest of the denizens, but are just as welcoming as anyone else you have met thus far. At least, of those who have not drawn weapons on you, of course. They provide you with everything you ask for and, while it is far from the highest quality, it seems they would give you the shirt off of their back if you wished it.
Chief Sull chuckles and shakes his head in reply to Naali. "No, no. We have enough to spare; I suspect you will need it far more than we will..." he trails off as he glances over to Gwyn and the brooch that she holds out. For a moment, he stays silent though his eyes seem to grow a touch misty. Or rather, his one good, non-milky eye does.He reaches out to gently take the pin from her, if she will allow him to do so, cradling it in his hand as though it were the most precious thing in the world. "This was my son's; a gift from his mother," he begins before breaking off to clear his throat carefully when his voice begins to waver, "We had an argument, he and I, and he left Neathholm not so very long ago. Nearly a month now. When he did not return, I thought him dead, but I suppose this confirms my fears." Falling silent again for a brief moment to reconcile the death with his mind and his conscience before he starts again. "Thank you for this. For returning my son's brooch to me and for bringing me a bit of closure in such a trying time." He draws a hand back to his belt and plucks up a startlingly well-made morningstar, offering it out to Gwyn. "Please, take this in trade. And promise me one more thing, if you would? That you will split at least one traitor's skull before you ascend to the surface." Detect Magic & Spellcraft/Alchemy DC18: The potions are six potions of cure light wounds and three potions of lesser restoration. The morningstar is a +1 morningstar.
"Outstanding. It would be heartless of us not to lend aid to the city of our ancestors, especially in such a trying time." Chief Sull nods sagely as he considers his next words carefully, before continuing. "The nearest route to the surface lies to the south, though I must urge caution should you elect to take that path. While those of us that live here are peaceful, the traitors to the south," he says contemptuously, as though the very mention of them brings a bad taste to his mouth, "do not hold the same opinions as our tribe. They have regularly consorted with cultists of the most vile quality." "If you will do me yet another favor by paving the way for those we mean to send to the surface to help, I have a few things that I could offer in return." He pushes his corpulent form up out of his chair to wander into the next room, coming back moments later with a crate of mismatched wooden planks. Setting it on the table, he opens the top with one hand and gestures within with the other. Nine potions are arrayed within, resting on a bed of what looks to be moss, though it could be any manner of green subterranean flora. "Varied potions of healing that might be of more use to you in your foray, should you accept, than they will be for us." "Much as I wish we could send some of our own along with you, I fear I cannot spare the manpower. My soldiers must be sent further into the tunnels, so that we might better gather the assorted tribes of our people," he offers apologetically, with a slight frown touching his face. [b]"Even so, you may stay as long as you like. We will gladly provide for all that you may require and you can purchase any supplies you have need of in the stores we have.
Yes, I am also a student with a really messed up sleep schedule right now, which is always good. Sorry if my posting rate is slow at the moment, I should have a ton of time very soon. Hopefully. Maybe. We'll see.
At the mention of demons and Templars, Sull's brows furrow in concern and he nods along with your stories. Once you have finished with your respective tales, he takes a moment to sip from his glass and wet his throat. Then, he begins speaking in a calm, authoritative voice that almost seems reminiscent of the quiet guidance of a father. "I and my kind may be considered outcasts and freaks in the eyes of uplanders like yourselves," he says with not the slightest bit of animosity in his tone, [/b]"but our ancestors helped drive back the demons in the First Crusade. We harbor a great deal of hatred for their kin, as well; perhaps as much as you do. They have brought more harm to both of our homelands than nearly any other foe. I would be glad to lend you aid, but must ask one favor of you."[/b] He pauses again to glance across to Lann thoughtfully, before he moves to take another sip. "I will ask only that you bring a message to your Crusaders; tell them that we will stand with Kenabres to defend the city." Anevia's face lights up immediately, looking more than thrilled at the notion that you might be getting the city aid. "Of course we will! We'd be glad to--" Abruptly, she stops in mid-sentence and sheepishly glances across to the rest of you. "Err. Sorry. I would be glad to and I imagine you all will, as well. But I'll let you speak for yourselves."
Lann nods his thanks to all of you and opens the door to lead you inside the stone building. Within is a fairly roomy home that looks very lived in, with all manner of wooden tables and stone chairs strewn around. In what looks to be a makeshift hearth glows a large pile of the very same fungus that is present around the cavern outside. Sitting at the head of the table as he partakes of a steaming meal of tubers and some sort of mystery meat is a rather grotesque man. Bloated and rat-faced, his body holds more folds and rolls than should really be possible for someone living underground. Tiny, needle-like teeth are clearly visible between his thick, flabby lips just below a series of literal whiskers. His upturned nose is startlingly reminiscent of that of some manner of vermin, while his beady little eye peers up at all of you. The other eye is cloudy and white; he can quite clearly see nothing through it. Greasy gray hair sprouts from the top of his head in matted tufts and sparse braids. Despite his appearance, he offers a warm smile to Lann and all of you, beckoning you in. Anevia gives a weak smile and draws up her free hand to wave to Chief Sull while Aravashnial peers around blindly. Horgus, on the other hand, looks thoroughly disgusted and stares aghast at their host-to-be with his jaw hanging open. He utters some incomprehensible murmurs and blanches white, shaking his head gently to excuse himself. It seems that, for the moment, he would rather be on his own in the small village rather than sit with the chief. Lann greets his chief warmly and moves to sit down at the table beside him, gesturing for all of you to do the same. He quickly launches into a summary of what has happened to their outpost and the tower, sparing no detail about your assistance in saving Crel. Once he finishes, he looks over to the lot of you expectantly and says, "That is my tale, though I suspect our new friends have their own. Please, if you could share it with us? We would be most appreciative."
Might be that I forgot to mention, but both of the dead Templars also had glaives. So, if you didn't take those, disregard. If you did take them, feel free to add them to the loot list.
Heads up! Info about Neathholm is up in the Campaign Info tab. Depending upon how much time you all want to spend here, you can sell things and pick up basic items. If you want to buy anything worth more than 50g, do the usual percentile roll and let me know if you're shooting for high or low. The chance of it being there is 75%, so hopefully you won't be failing too often. Also, feel free to keep RPing! When one or two more people are ready to keep rolling, say so and we'll head inside to meet the Chief.
Aravashnial frowns back to Abrielle - or rather, where he thinks she is as his blind gaze is a few feet off the mark - when she declines to bring the bodies. He does not protest, but the displeased curl to his lips makes his feelings on the subject quite obvious. Anevia nods in agreement though, as does Horgus for a moment until he belatedly catches the "for once" portion of the aasimar's statement. With an idle, annoyed roll of his eyes, he moves to settle himself down against the opposite wall of the cavern as the rest of the group gets to looting. As far as he can get from the bizarre spore creature and the dead bodies, it seems. The other human and elf do much the same, if only to stay out of the way. Lann and company look a bit reluctant to stay for much longer, but apparently their debt to you is stronger than their impatience. They wait for the time being and answer what questions they can as Naali shrugs into her new armor and Gwyn doodles. "No offense taken, friend," Lann replies in response to Sadron with a weary smile, "I understood your meaning. The Templars have simply taken up temporary residence within one of the other villages of a tribe of our people, though. And fear not, those of our kin that they reside with are just as vile as you imply, I assure you." For her part, Gwyn plays the role of the sketch-artist fairly well, considering. Both depictions scarcely need the notes on the back side of the page to tell who they are meant to represent; for someone that would know the faces, at least. Anyone who looks on can easily see the resemblance. All that finished, you set off through the darkened halls of subterranean Kenabras again with the mongrelmen guides in the lead. The tunnel winds north for upwards of fifteen more minutes before reaching a circular cavern that is twenty feet wide from wall to wall. Four mongrelmen of various bizarre appearances, none of which seem to be quite the same as the last, stand guard before a large stone door. They hail Lann and his companions warmly and turn suspicious looks on the rest of you, but your host's word is good enough for them. For now, in any case. They open the door for you and usher you in, but their curious stares never quite leave you all. It may feel a bit odd for some of you to be on the receiving end of such looks, given the appearance of those giving them. Within the door, a small dark lake ripples in the center of a two hundred foot wide cavern. The walls and ceiling glow merrily with thick sheets of the same luminescent fungi you saw before near the basidirond, lighting the entire cavern well enough for all to see well enough, for the time being. In the center of the underground lake, over two dozen low stone buildings cluster on a rocky, hundred foot wide island. Lights glow within nearly every window of the buildings, giving the settlement an almost welcoming look. Rafts made of mismatched planks of timber bob along the length of a crooked pier at the lake's closest shore. Shadows of all shapes and sizes flicker to and fro through the cozy little village; likely the denizens going about their daily routines. "Welcome to Neathholm, friends," Lann says theatrically, a relieved quality in his voice when he sees his home in one piece. You hear the heavy stone gate grind close behind you and realize a bit late that this is where you will be staying for the next short while, whether you like it or not. Regardless of whether or not you mention this to any of your fellows, he sets to guiding you through the village with the ease of long practice. Here and there, he says hello to someone or waves to another person, each as fantastical or grotesque as the last. When he finally stops his tour through the small town, you have arrived at the largest building atop the island's low, central peak. "This is the home of Chief Sull, our leader. I will need to inform him of what has transpired, but would certainly appreciate if you could lend your words to my account. I imagine you experienced much that we could not have." And with that, he steps into the relatively large building of all manner of stone and half-rotten planks of wood.
"Ah, no," Crel begins, but Lann picks up the conversation when he falters for a moment. "They are not common; we were unaware of the name of this beast. Our people have always called it a 'spore belcher,' so do excuse the confusion. While I have not attempted to fight one myself, I do know that they are easily bested by a group such as ours. It is when faced individually or in pairs that they can be deadly." The logic behind his statement is fairly sound, given the pair of bodies lying on the floor before the lot of you. At Sadron's question, Crel and Lann both exchange looks with one another before turning to peer back toward the bard. "We have. There have been others like them in the tunnels here before, though lately their numbers seem to have increased. They have some manner of vile alliance," Crel turns his head to spit on the cave floor at the mention of an alliance, as though to clean a bad taste from his mouth, "with one of the other tribes of our kind. A rather unsavory bunch, to be certain. Their village lies to the south and east of Neathholm, our destination." Mentioning cultists draws a dark scowl to Anevia's face while the exact opposite slithers into Aravashnial's broad grin. While the former keeps quiet for the moment aside from mirroring Crel's gesture of spitting, the latter pipes up. "How extraordinary! I knew - I knew that there was an infiltration in progress! There is talk of an order called the Templars of the Ivory Labyrinth who work to infiltrate mercenary groups within Kenabras. But..." He pauses for just a moment, pursing his lips uncertainly as he has a thought. The thought that such an order might have infiltrated any branch of those who call themselves crusaders is dire news, indeed. "Well, no matter. We should bring the bodies! That way they can be identified by the church, of course." Horgus merely scoffs with a derisive snort and shakes his head, "I hardly think that we want to stretch our finite resources even more thin by carting around a pair of bodies."
Regardless of how much you all attempt to figure out what is behind the corner from where you stand, the wielder of the glaive makes no effort to present itself. Fortunately, Naali is quick to leap forward and try to help whoever or whatever is hiding there. Rather than finding more friends or enemies though, she actually finds a pair of bodies and a great deal of fungus. The dim lighting of this small alcove is lit by thick sheets of bioluminescent fungus that coats the walls and ceiling. Two dead bodies lie just around the corner with a strange heap of ropy green fungus between them. This pile of fungus does not glow, but it also does not move any more than the bodies. The bodies are garbed in masterwork chain shirts, but rather than the trademark longsword that goes with their armor's Iomedaean heraldry, glaives sit beside both men. A small vial, a scroll, and a pair of coin purses can be found between the two of them. In addition, the body with the scroll looks to be clutching something tightly in his spiked gauntlet-clad fist. From the way he is laying, you are unable to tell what it is. DC15 Knowledge(religion):
The small symbol of a brass bull's head is clearly iconography that corresponds with the god Baphomet. Curiously, glaives are also his weapon of choice. DC15 Dungeoneering or Nature: The fungus between the two men looks to be a basidirond. A dead one, for that matter. It seems that both men have slain the beast, but died of their wounds not long afterward.
Sorry about the delay, folks. I am finally out of homework hell (for now), so I'll be able to start posting regularly again. Thanks for the patience!
All three of the group's noncombatants gladly accept Therrik's help down into the chasm and, despite their varying levels of competence at climbing, manage to make it down fine. Horgus is by far the most difficult to lower down, with Gwyn coming at a close second thanks to all her armor, but even his complaints do not slow down the process too much. You all make your way one at a time across to the other side of the chasm and wait for Therrik to carry you to victory-- Err. To haul you all back to the top on the other side. Again, it seems that Horgus's grunts and groans and requests that you pull harder only serve to soothe his wounded pride. They are certainly not doing much for the half-orc's overworked muscles. After nearly an hour of backbreaking labor that even Lann and company lend a hand with, you all find yourselves on the far side of the chasm. It is only once you all get here and dust yourselves off does Therrik notice a small alcove off to the side of the tunnel ahead. From where he is standing, the man seems to note the clear outline of the head of a glaive sitting on the ground with his darkvision. Whatever else may lie beyond the corner is left up to his imagination for now, though, as that is all he can make out. For now, no one else has noticed it.
The long-eared mongrelman shakes his head, those ears flopping about in the process like the ends of an enormous scarf. Oddly, they do not stick up in the air as one would expect, instead hanging down his back limply. "Thank you, no. Bumps and bruises, but nothing broken. I'll be fine once I get a bit of food in me and can wash all this dust out of my fur," he replies cheerfully, all buck-toothed smiles. With Therrik's agreement and no verbal reluctance from the rest of the group, as Horgus's reluctance is very clearly written on his face, Lann beckons them onward. He turns without another word and leads you all off through one of the nearby tunnels. It occurs to you all a bit belatedly that if these three had not been here to guide you, it would have been very easy to get lost. The chamber you are leaving has numerous tunnels that lead outward in every direction, none of which are even remotely marked. The mouth of the tunnel closest to the base of the crumbled tower even seems to have collapsed in on itself. Who knows what mysteries the other paths hold? During the walk through ever more torch-lit cave, Aravashnial passes the time by asking the mongrelmen about themselves. Or rather, about their lineage, how they came to be down here, and how they survive. While it is at first educational, the incessant deluge of questions quickly grow tiresome for everyone present and Anevia suggests he conserve his energy. The rest of the trip goes uneventfully, for at least another twenty five minutes, until a significant obstacle presents itself. Ahead, a wide chasm has split the tunnel floor. The floating rock dust in the air and the groans as the tunnel walls settle indicate that the split happened very recently. All three express dismay, though Dyra's reaction is less verbal and much more conveyed by her body language. "We must make haste," Lann murmurs, mostly to himself and his companions, "If the tremors have claimed our home, there may be survivors trapped as Crel was." The other two nod in agreement and make to cross the chasm. Crel backs up a few steps and simply bounds across in one great leap, while the other two pick their way carefully down one side. By your estimation, it is ten feet from your side to Crel's, seventy feet wide, and thirty feet deep. It is possible to climb along the edges of the chasm, but this method may end up being just as difficult as climbing down and back up again. To say nothing of the pair of injured party members that will need to be ferried across somehow.
As the entire group bands together to try to get Crel free, things seem to be going remarkably well. It seems that Sadron is very learned in the ways of digging people out from beneath collapsed guard towers. Or perhaps he just understands the fine arts of engineering a bit better than the rest of the group. Whichever the case may be, it does not take long to dig out a hole large enough for a remarkably furry mongrelman to climb through. After a bit of wiggling and squirming, Crel pops free with his long, rabbit-like ears flopping out above his head with the effort. Similar to both Lann and Dyra, his features are just the slightest bit misshapen such that his nose stretches out almost like a beak from his face and his lips are cleft in the center. He almost looks like a ratfolk had mated with a human, if one ignored the ears and the enormous size of his feet. All three of the humanoids thank the group profusely, unable to express how grateful they are for the help. "You are from the surface, no? And I imagine you wish to find a way back up, of course," Lann ventures as he eyes the bloodied, dirt-covered group thoughtfully. "There is a village not far from here, Neathholm, that we live in. You are welcome to come with us back there, if you wish it. Perhaps our chief yet knows of a way to ascend once more."
"Lann," the horned, scaled man responds quickly as he nods along with Sadron and moves immediately as directed. "This is Dyra and within is Crel. Are you certain we can simply dig beneath to get him free? Shifting the stones further may cause the boulder atop to fall." He leaves out the implied rest of the sentence, "onto Crel." It is obvious to any who look that Lann is right; the large rock that is the only thing standing between Crel and freedom is fairly precarious. Failure might mean squashing him flat.
DC11 Knowledge(nature): These are Mongrelmen. You know the following: Despite their monstrous appearances, mongrelmen are generally hardworking and peaceful creatures. A mongrelman can produce offspring with any humanoid, mixing bloodlines in strange ways to create hardier crossbreeds. No two mongrelmen look the same. One may have a face that is half hobgoblin, half lizardfolk, with one human-like foot and one cloven hoof, while his sister may have elven ears, a dwarven beard, orc tusks, and clawed hands. Each mongrelman usually has characteristics from at least a half-dozen different races. This strange mixture enforces mongrelmen’s place in the edges of the world, for they are shunned by all who fear their twisted appearance. Mistaken as enemies by all, mongrelmen prefer to be left alone. Most mongrelmen live below the surface of the world in hidden caves far from civilization. These creatures pride themselves on their survival skills, for the bowels of the earth are no place for weaklings. Other foul and intelligent races who claim dominion in the underworld take mongrelmen as slaves (particularly morlocks), finding this deformed race’s docile nature and hardworking attitude makes them extremely useful as tools of labor. In this role, mongrelmen still fall back on their pride of survival, slow to rebel and patiently waiting for the overthrow of their masters.
Fortunately for everyone, probably, Gwyneth's detection reveals no evil in the area despite the group of individuals clawing at the dirt. As the group approaches, both of the humanoids abruptly straighten up at the sound of footsteps and drop into a defensive position. Now that you are closer, you can see that the pair of creatures before you look extraordinarily bizarre. One is a hunchbacked woman whose face is so warped by tumors that it will be a miracle if she can form words. The other is a tall, thin man with a face that melts the features of an attractive elven man, a goat, and a lizardfolk. The left half of his body seems to be dominated by green scales, while the right bears smooth skin. Atop his head, a single curled ram's horn protrudes from the right side of his hairline. Naturally, the less disfigured of the two (though this may be a matter of opinion) does the speaking. "Uhh! Who are you? Friend," he rasps quickly, his voice a strangely accented but quite eloquent Common. "If your intentions are ill, we ask that you move on and leave us in peace. If they are good, then perhaps you can help. As you can see, misfortune has befallen us." Horgus makes a rather disgusted face at the sight of the pair, but miraculously manages to keep his mouth shut. For the moment. Anevia, on the other hand, merely looks on the two in pity and glances across to Aravashnial to explain what is going on. The lot of you can tell quite a bit easier from this short distance what is going on now. The pair of humanoids have been digging at the base of the destroyed guard tower, presumably to get at their trapped comrade. Who is promptly shouting out to them to ask what is going on and who they are talking to. It seems that only one enormous rock remains wedged in place above the small space in which their friend is trapped. While the pair of individuals alone likely cannot move it, maybe all of you together can? Then again, maybe it would be best to simply dig their friend out from underneath his prison?
Sorry about the lack of post the past two days, guys. I am entering into finals hell here. I'll get one up for you guys tomorrow, for sure.
Horgus accepts the crossbow a bit uncertainly, peering the weapon over as though he is dubious about...well, something. Seeing as he clearly knows how to hold it, it is not as though he is unfamiliar with how the weapon works. Maybe he just cannot hit the broadside of a barn. Regardless, he nods his thanks to Therrik and collects the bolts that the dwarf had, as well. Once you manage to take stock of the new loot, there appears to still be only one path forward. Fortunately, this time it takes a vertical turn. A steeply inclined tunnel leads upward, its walls lined with all manner of nooks and handholds to help with climbing. In the occasional place where there is no good crack in the stone to grip, iron pitons have been hammered in to substitute. In the dank, earthy air of the caverns, they have begun to rust just a bit but are still perfectly solid. The climb is short and relatively easy, even with the crippled Anevia and Aravashnial, though the latter takes a bit more babysitting than the former to get to the top. At the top of the shaft, the ground levels out again and leads in a winding tunnel for another thirty minutes of wandering. By now, most of you are probably growing very tired of the same darkness and rock with little more than your own footsteps to keep you company. The monotony of spelunking does not last forever; eventually, the tunnel opens into a large cavern about seventy feet across. Cylindrical rock formations along the walls arch up to make a domeline chamber, but the walls and floor are riddled with cracks. At the center of the cave, a stone tower that may have once reached the fifty-foot-high ceiling has collapsed onto its side. DC15 Perception: You notice a pair of bizarre looking humanoids slowly and carefully digging through the tower's rubble. Occasionally, they call out and you can hear a muffled voice answer back. Presumably, the voice is coming from within the rubble. From this distance, you cannot hear what they are saying or tell if their odd appearance is due to a trick of the light.
Therrik manages to find quite a few things on the beheaded corpse; two potions, two scrolls, a dagger, a light crossbow, ten bolts, a very finely made cloak, and a small handful of coinage. DC18 Spellcraft or Craft: Alchemy:
The potions are cure light wounds and invisibility. The scrolls are shocking grasp and resist energy. As your three non-combatants move forward to join you after the fighting has ended, Aravashnial makes all manner of commentary about what the beasts might have been and how the dwarf came to be here. Most of his theories have something or other to do with the demons and each one is more fantastical than the last. Anevia just seems quietly appreciative that she has not had to try to fight with a broken leg. Horgus steps forward to clap Therrik on the back with an approving nod and the friendliest smile you all have seen on his face. "Well done! Quite the show of force. I am glad you are on our side," he jokes good naturedly before moving to nod his thanks to Abrielle. After the sudden channeling from the aasimar, it seems that all three of them are looking far less worse for the wear. A great deal of color has flooded back to their cheeks where they were frighteningly pale before, and they look to have a bit more spring in their step. Despite the gruesome deed that you had to commit, things seem to be looking up. For now. The next room over where the dwarf had come from is nearly identical to the one you left, just without the carved statues. Instead, one corner of the room holds a small campsite with all manner of appropriate gear around it. Taking quick stock of the items at hand, you can find a small pack with dried meat, preserved fruit, and moldy cheese that could equate to about six days of rations. Within the pack is also a spellbook that presumably belonged to the dwarf and a six-inch chipped marble statuette of a humanoid throwing a spear. Within the book are the spells detect secret doors, fog cloud, grease, invisibility, resist energy, shocking grasp, silent image, blur, levitate, color spray, mage armor, magic missile, acid splash, detect magic, ghost sound, and read magic. DC10 Appraise:
You think the book is worthless, but the statuette is a priceless artifact! It could fetch thousands from the right buyer back in Kenabras. DC20 Appraise:
You are dead certain that the statuette is worth about 75g and the book, 160g. Even more peculiarly, there looks to be a man-sized bundle beside the ratty bedroll and small fire. Every so often it squirms and the slightest grunts can be heard from within. It seems to be wrapped in a frighteningly large amount of spider's silk, but there is no spider anywhere nearby. Upon opening it, out spills an elf nearly as dusty and disheveled as you all. Sadron: After falling through the earth when the demons attacked and carved massive chasms, you woke up here. Inside this bizarre cocoon that some spider tucked you inside. You have been absolutely terrified ever since you awoke here, especially when the sounds of fighting outside of the cocoon rang out. Sadly, you never got a chance to see your "savior" as he or she simply dragged the entire cocoon away without opening it. It has been a full twenty four hours since you have eaten or drank anything, so you are famished.
With everyone shouting all manner of nonsense at him, the dwarf only feels that it is right he returns the favor. "You won't take me back! I've only just begun my work here!" Eyes wide and wild, he cackles madly and begins murmuring magical words of power under his breath.
Without any further ado, he hurls a pair of bolts of force from one hand in Naali's direction, though her retaliation narrowly misses the mark. Fortunately, Therrik is there to pick up the slack and promptly takes the dwarf's head clean off. The ensuing silence is deafening as all falls still to the tune of a decapitated body slumping over weakly.
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