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Location: Hex R9 (River, Lake, Lizardfolk encampment)
The next day dawns foggy and overcast, with early morning mist obscuring the swamplands. Haven lies a two day's walk to the northeast.
"We eat mostly meat, although fruits and nuts of the forest can sustain us if need be. We do indeed know the smoking of meat, and that which we cannot eat is dried. Our young eat the same food as us, just less of it. When they have grown to this size," - Ssitha holds a hand about two feet off the ground - "They are expected to hunt for themselves. Frogs, fish, birds, lizards. This clutch will hatch before two lives of the night-sky-light. Do not fear for our bellies, Barrronesss, for there is plenty of meat to be had here." Ssitha stumbles slightly over the unfamiliar syllables of Seraphina's title, and doesn't seem concerned about eating the flesh of the slain alligators... or other slain creatures. Meat is meat, after all...
Milo's tracking shows a complete lack of beasts of burden in the immediate vicinity of the Lizardfolk encampment. Not terribly surprising, considering the voracious appetites of the tribe. Five miles out or so, some hoofprints appear, and Milo traces them to a family of wild horses. A stallion, two mares, and two foals form this herd. The stallion is an imposing, tightly-muscled specimen who rushes to the defense of his kin, interposing himself between Milo and the herd. Milo's soothing words calm the fiery-tempered beast, and an apple and handful of oats do wonders for the stallion's esteem for Milo. The stallion accepts a rope bridle, and the mares and foals dutifully follow behind as Milo rides the stallion back to rejoin the party. All of the stolen gear is recovered. The lizardfolk were far more intent upon devouring your previous mounts than sorting through your stuff. It's in a jumble indeed, but a few hours' work sorts it out nicely. By the time Milo returns with a small group of horses, the gear is packed and ready. The Lizardfolks' walls and reputation provide a resilient defense against threats, and a much-needed rest is had free from interruption.
The lizardfolk listen attentively to Idris' musings. The female who protested before considers your words carefully. "A test... yes, that would show who is strongest. When a challenger fights the King, it is a test in a way. If the males were tested to see who is most fit, the strongest young would be made, even with a smooth-skin female King. That is acceptable. I am called Ssitha, human of red fur." The two captured males eye each other warily. When Seraphina questions them, the males both shake their heads. "No, we do not travel very far in search of food. The swamps are a land of plenty. There are no others besides us here. You were victorious against the whole tribe, it would be foolish to attack you when we are but two... and one of you is now our King. We will not attack you." Ssitha does not seem enthused, but accepts the need to inspect the egg clutch. "It is well. If you wished us harm you would not be talking to us now." With a soft clacking of leather-bound stones, Ssitha leads you to the egg clutch. The tunnel is unpleasantly moist, with a sharp musk. At its lowest point, the fetid green water reaches almost to your waist. The harem room itself has two or three inches of standing water on the floor, providing constant moisture to the underside of five nests. The nests are woven from reeds and swamp grasses and slathered with mud like a wattle and daub house. The walls are decorated with geometric patterns of the same stones which the females wear braided into their garments. A smokeless campfire keeps the room swelteringly hot. Combined with the high humidity, the warmth of this chamber has your sweat dripping within moments. There are a total of fifteen eggs in the nests, stacked gently against each other and swaddled with swamp grass. "There they are - the future of our tribe."
Seraphina's voice thumps dully down the damp, earthen tunnel. There is a long pause, followed by shuffling. One after another, five lizardfolk squeeze out of the opening, scales clicking as their skin shivers to dislodge the muck of the tunnel. Physically, they look identical to the captured males, but their dress is markedly different. They are garbed in hundreds of braided leather thongs, each incorporating colorful stones and feathers woven into the leather straps. None of them bear weaponry, but all posses dagger-like claws and fearsome teeth. They don't seem particularly pleased by the turn of events. The harem members look around at the camp in disarray and the fallen lizardfolk. Their eyes take your group in, then settle on the two captured males. "Where is this King?" hisses one of the females. "I see only smooth-skins. What falsehoods are you peddling?" "They speak truth, O feathered one," replies Sirat. The captured lizardman points to Idris. "This smooth-skin challenged the King and killed him in single combat. By rights she is King." This produces a bout of concerned hissing and sideways looks among the females. They look to the dead king, to Idris, and back. Slowly and uncertainly, they face Idris and perform a sort of half-bow, tails drooping instead of held proudly as before. The female who spoke before pipes up again, somewhat plaintively. "What is to become of us? How is a smooth-skin female to give us live eggs?"
Sirat and Takar, your captured lizardfolk, blink and flick their tongues as Idris questions them. These are novel ideas for the reptilian beings, who's animal cunning far outstrips their raw intellect. "Why would the harem have live eggs with a weaker one? The King is the strongest, so his spawn are the strongest. Thus the tribe is kept strong." "You challenged the King and slew him... I do not see why you would not be King?"
"How is the power to rule determined among your kind?" "The strongest rules. Challengers kill or die." "What are your names?" "Sirat". "Takar" "Who is Stisshak?" "The ghost who speaks to our ancestors. Stisshak favored our King and gave him advice in all matters." "King of the Forest" "He is a flying lizard-kin, who breathes acid fog and has unending hunger. He will surely devour you if he sees you." "Hut with no entrance - will you call out the females" "The King's harem dwells in that hut and lays eggs there and in the tunnel. There are surely eggs, but we do not know how many. Only the King may gaze upon the harem, and only the King is allowed the right of live eggs. We may not speak to the harem, for they will kill the unworthy." "How big is the large man?" "Like four of you standing on each other, and as wide as three of you standing beside each other, but only as one man." "Where will you go?" "We would stay here, unless you claim this land. You are too strong for us to challenge, so we would find another tribe and beg entrance."
None of the lizardfolk posses an evil aura when Maja turns the judgement of Erastil upon them. "What's in the tunnel?" "The King's harem." "are there any more lizardfolk tribes nearby?" "No, it is just us." "What do you expect us to do with you now?" "You will probably eat us, for that is the cycle and meat is meat." Milo finds no trace of eggs or young in any of the huts, although one hut is a little troublesome - apparently it has no entrances.
Knowledge(Nature) DC 15:
Lizardfolk reproduce like other reptilians - laying eggs after breeding season and incubating them until they hatch. In the warm, humid, fetid depths of the swamp, very little actual incubation is required as the surroundings are nearly the perfect temperature for gestation. None of the fallen (or captured) lizardfolk appear to be smaller or less well developed, giving the appearance that no young have been found.
"What's on the haunted island? "Madness lies beneath the ground. There are many fish around the shallows. Stisshak comes and goes from the island at times." "What do they know about the lands south?" "We have not gone too far away from the rivers which are our home. There is a river from the lake which continues forever. The Large Man wanders the flat lands while crying. The King of the Forest hunts the whole forest. Deep in the forest is the land of trolls." "Have you had any contact with the Assassins of Daggermark?" "We do not know of these things you speak of." "What do you know about the nymph?" "The Nymph rules these lands, but only when she is here. Sometimes she is not here. She is not here right now."
In the Lizard King's chamber, you pull aside a skin on the floor to reveal a tunnel dug into the swampy ground. Moist and half-flooded, it is large enough to accommodate a human-sized creature, reeks of lizard musk, and is filled with pitch-black darkness. The tunnel heads downward for ten feet or so, then bends sharply horizontal and disappears heading northeast.
After a final furious assault by the party, you kill the remaining alligator. While binding the unconscious lizardfolk, you also find the following items on the chieftan's body: +1 keen trident, potion of cure serious wounds, +2 leather armor, 5 javelins, 2 gold armbands worth 100 gp each, ceremonial ruby-encrusted dagger worth 800 gp. Each of the nine lizardfolk had a masterwork morningstar and 5 javelins. Carrying all of these items yourselves is something to consider since the lizardfolk ate your horses.
Nix manages to kill the alligator! Everyone turns to rescue Milo from the other gator, and between Idris's speedy attack, and Seraphina's ferocious claws, you quickly finish it off! Kivan's magic missiles and Pretty's attacks wound the remaining alligator. Not backing down despite its dire situation, the gator goes after Pretty, the only creature within its reach! But its whipping tail and snapping jaws are no match for her fleet feet.
GM dice:
Idris proves her point! In a spray of blood, she slices the lizard chieftain's leg off at the hip. He pitches to the ground, hissing in agony before dying. Maja's arrows fly true, ripping into the alligator's face and killing it. One of Milo's arrows hits the remaining alligator, piercing its body, and Nix tears at its tough hide, but it is too large for the wolf to grab in her jaws. Kivan's magic missile files true, blasting the gator. The alligator chomps at Nix and lashes its tail at her, but misses. The alligator follows Pretty and gashes her with its glimmering teeth, but the rogue moves quickly enough not to be caught between its jaws. Finally realizing that it can't win against this strange foe, the alligator outside the palisade wall charges inside, attacking the nearest warm-blooded prey - Milo. It easily grabs the hunter in its teeth. Perhaps a moment too late, Milo recalls that alligators prefer to grab one of their prey's limbs and attempt to rip it from their body in a maneuver known as a death roll. They can also sprint at high speeds after resting for a few minutes.
gm dice:
One of Pretty's strikes draws blood from the alligator, which only seems to anger it! Even though it can see through Pretty's magical darkness, its teeth don't come close to biting her. Kivan's grease gives Maja the slipperiness to escape the alligator's jaws! She slips free, covered in spit and oil. As its prey tries to escape, it snaps at Maja again and lashes its tail! It bites here again, but the grease prevents it from grabbing her a second time too. Seraphina's claws and Milo's arrows each damage the other two gators. It twists around to attack Seraphina but misses. Meanwhile, the chieftan taunts Idris in Draconic as she strikes him yet again, this time across the top of a scaly leg. "I am just warming up, little champion. Are you tired already?" His trident overpowers Idris's blade, piercing deep into her arm once, then twice. If anyone happens to glance in the direction of the alligator outside the compound, they notice that it still is attempting to attack a giant turtle. gm dice:
"Let us duel, Champion!" The lizard king rasps, stamping the butt of his trident on the floor, then charges towards Idris. But her patience pays off and she drives her sword between his scales, drawing thick black blood. Sensing his attack, she dodges and strikes again, cutting deep into his scaly hide. At the chieftain's signal, all three of the enormous alligators lumber away from the champion's fight. The sticks and mud of the hut do little to stop their progress as they begin their hunt. Two find Maja just outside the hut. Enormous jaws snap shut, and Maja finds herself trapped between its teeth! Another gator lumbers in Pretty's direction, not bothered by the unnatural darkness. Yet the nimble rogue easily dodges the gator's ferocious bite.
gm dice:
Pretty's precise strikes gut the lizardman before he can even call out to his allies to warn them about the deathly darkness! Simultaneously, arcs of flame leap from Seraphina's fingers, incinerating her first target and blackening the scales of another. The final one caught in the leaping flames jumps back in time to avoid some of the fire. But his move puts him directly in the path of Maja's arrow. Her two arrows and one from Milo slay the remaining conscious lizardfolk outside of the huts! The two that were dazzled by Seraphina's colorful spray remain on the ground, unmoving for now. Kivan enters the compound with Nix at his heels. Milo dashes in their direction and catches a glimpse of the combat between the (illusory) turtle and the alligator.
gm dice:
The lizard king smiles, showing his numerous teeth, and replies to Idris in deep, raspy Draconic. "Ha! You are the champion of the humans? Pitiful." In a fighting stance, he makes several very practiced lunges, showing off his own prowess. He is clearly very skilled, fast, and strong. "Let's fight!" The three alligators inside the hut open their mouths, and Idris can smell their awful breath - it reminds her of rotting meat. But they seem to be waiting for something, for now.
Seraphina's spray of colorful magic adds to the dancing light of the campfire and two of the lizardfolk fall over unconscious at the overwhelming sight. Noting that Seraphina's magic is affecting some of the closest lizardfolk, Maja and Milo aim their arrows at the group emerging from the hut Pretty just entered. Maja's first arrow hits the lizardfolk close to Seraphina in the arm, but the second bounces off of his scale armor. Milo's shot follows close behind, piercing through the lizardman's eye and killing him. His second shot strikes the lizardfolk just behind him squarely in the chest, though he is still standing. Pretty's prey notices the sudden deepening darkness and flails in her general direction with a wooden club. Somehow, the lizardfolk manages to make contact in the darkness, smashing her in the ribs. Preferring to fight in the light of the campfire, rather than the darkness of the hut, the two lizardfolk rush Seraphina. The one that wasn't affected by the colorful spray joins the fray as well. All three swing their crude maces at her. But none of them manages to make contact with the sorceress. Outside the compound, the alligator swings its head to look at the illusory turtle lumbering towards it, then lashes its tail and snaps at the turtle. It roars at the new, larger enemy, ignoring Nix and Kivan for the moment.
gm dice:
Pretty's parting shot slices across her target's chest, and the lizardman topples onto the ground to join its slain kin as the deadly tiefling slips back out into the night. Maja's arrow flies true and buries itself in the back of the fleeing lizardman, who stumbles through the curtained entrance of the central hut as he falls. Hot on his heels is Idris, sword and bow in hand. A forbidding reception awaits her - three large alligators rasp and hiss at her from nests of reeds and mud. Unlike the rest of the huts, this central residence is lit by glowing rocks embedded into the mud walls in geometric patterns. Their multicolored glow washes across the yellow-green scales of the alligators and reflects bizarrely in their slit-pupil eyes, and the entire room is tinged with the sharp musk of reptile scent. Lording behind the alligator nests is a well-muscled lizardman clad in boiled leather hides. The crown of glowing stones on his head indicates his importance in the lizardfolk clan. The trident grasped in his hand indicates he's ready for a fight. The lizard king looks on apathetically as his dying minion expires on the floor with an arrow through him, and settles into a combat-ready stance as Idris crashes through the door. The challenge in his eyes is clear. In response to the disturbance and combat around the campfire, the occupants of the other huts pile out into the night. Some are armored, some are wearing flax robes, and others are clad only in their scales. All of them, however, grasp some sort of weapon: Spears, knives, clubs, or whatever else is at hand. The fight is joined in earnest!
Milo's arrow streaks through the night, burying itself in the shoulder of one of the lizardfolk by the campfire. A moment later, Idris' arrow spears through the eye of the neighboring reptilian, breaking out of the rear of its skull with a shower of blood and grey matter. Seeing the pair by the campfire under heavy attack, Seraphina instead targets the guards by the gate with her fire.
The first guard sees you working your spellcraft, and figures that he'd rather be somewhere else. Unfortunately, your magic works faster than his legs, and the guard is consumed by fire. Scales pop and fall off as the lizardman falls, clutching feebly at his face and trying to scream with seared lungs. The second guard looks on dumbstruck as the fiery blast wreathes around him as well, scorching him severely and causing his leather armor to smoulder. In a panic, the guard throws aside the log blocking the gates shut, pushes one heavy wooden door open, and stumbles towards the promise of relief from the cool mud outside. In the supernatural darkness of the hut interior, Pretty continues her offensive. One dagger plunges downward into the neck muscles of a lizardman, drawing a gout of blood. With a raspy moan, it sinks to the floor of the hut - alive, but unmoving. Pretty's other dagger stabs deep into the chest of the last lizardman, the tip of the blade pricking its heart. Roaring in pain, it tears itself free of her blade, worsening the wound, then claws and bites at the tiefling in a blind fury - coming up empty.
The lizardman with Milo's arrow in it beats a hasty retreat into the center hut.
Pretty's question about the darkvision capabilities of the lizardfolk is answered as her darkness snuffs out the light of the cooking fire and the inhabitants of the hut fumble around in the darkness. The lizardman by the door is easy prey, completely unawares of his assailant. Pretty's blade rasps across bone as she slits its throat. An arterial spray of hot, stinking blood spatters across the mud hut interior. The stricken reptilian falls to its knees, clutching the ruin of its throat and trying unsuccessfully to gurgle a scream. Seraphina feels the bracing tendrils of force from her spell wrap around her fist and project into a protective barrier. Unfortunately, her spellcraft surpasses her stealth. A clay pot escapes her notice in the dark and her boot sends it crashing several feet ahead of her in a shattered mess. The sharp noise of clattering pottery stands out distinctly from the background noise of the swamp at night, and all four lizardfolk in the open twist around to see its source. The two that had been looking into the fire squint as their eyes adjust, but the guards take note of Seraphina's presence and rasp out an alarm in their crude language. Maja struggles to get up the wall, but after a false start manages to struggle up with the aid of the rope, just in time to witness the alarm being raised. initiative clean up:
GM dice:
With no alarm being raised, you have all the time you need to carefully pick your way around the encampment and over obstacles. First Idris, then Seraphina, gently touch down inside the wall. Milo's steadying arm provides an extra bit of balance - your landings are nearly silent. Pretty ghosts across the open territory, a shadow against the night. Without drawing any attention, you find yourself pressed up against the wall of a second mud hut. Like the one you just left, this is a rude construction of reeds and swamp muck with a blanket hanging over the doorway. Also like the first hut, it is occupied. Unlike the first hut, the inhabitants are not asleep. Your mind flicks backwards to the events of a moment ago. Gorged on horseflesh and sprawled on reed mats, the first two lizardmen were easy prey. The occupants of this dwelling won't be so vulnerable. One of the lizard folk is hard at work scraping a hide on the floor with a rough chunk of flinty rock. From the distinctive dappled colors on the hide, you can tell that this was your horse. Two more lizardfolk are in this hut as well, lounging on their nest-like mats. Three spears lay piled against the wall, and all three lizardfolk have a bone knife either on them or within close reach. The light in the hut is somewhat dim, and the energetic dance of the campfire within throws erratic shadows that lurch about in the smokey haze. The stink of reptile and tanning fills the air.
DM dice:
Idris doesn't see any lizardfolk save the four plainly visible - two unarmed, cracking bone for marrow in the middle of the camp, and two bored-looking guards leaning on spears near the gate. None of them seem alarmed. Pretty winks at those perched on the top of the palisade. On deft feet, she lowers herself down the inside of the wall, the faintest lick of firelight playing across her dark clothing as she descends. The light-footed tiefling drops to the ground with almost no noise at all, and slowly draws a blade as she stalks towards one of the huts. Firelight emanates from the doorways of the huts, shining around the blankets hung as curtains over the arched openings in the rude mud walls. Tiny wisps of smoke trickle out of holes in the top. Pretty angles silently to the one furthest away from the guards at the gate, knife in hand. She peeks around a curtain for a brief moment, then slips inside. A few moments later, the door curtain rustles aside and Pretty strides back out of the opening. She wipes her wet blade against the cloth and signals you with two fingers held aloft and one drawn across her throat. The first blood of the night has been drawn.
Seraphina clambers up the palisade with the help of the rope. She slips at one point, her one foot losing purchase. She hangs on to the rope and does not fall, but her flailing boot thunks against the wet, decaying wood with an all too loud sound. There's a tense moment where eyes flash to the lizardfolk in the open, but you're far enough away that the sound didn't attract attention over the background noise. Aside from that mishap, Seraphina gains the top of the wall. From your vantage point, no new lizardfolk are revealed. The guards continue to laze against the gate, and the pair by the fire are absorbed in their cracking of horse bone - long tongues slither into the jagged remains to snake out morsels of marrow.
Pretty slides up the wall making nary a sound. The croaking and singing wildlife of the marshes shield quite a bit of noise... not that the nimble-footed tiefling needs the help. Flattening herself on the top of the palisade, Pretty extends a helping hand to the slightly less stealthy Idris, helping her up. Milo is next up the wall, finding the rough-hewn timber not unlike the trees he's been climbing his whole life. Sadly, it seems that Nix would have trouble with the affair, so she obediently waits at her designated spot. None of the lizardfolk have taken notice.
GM rolls:
As the savory scent of roasting horseflesh wafts over the delicate notes of swamp and mud, you withdraw to mount your attack later. The marshy territory shows tracks clearly, but is also a loose enough slurry that covering them is trivial, and you have the assurance that the slow-moving water will soon wash away traces. You pitch a hasty camp in the darkness on a somewhat dry mound with the bits and pieces of your bedrolls and tents left at the massacre scene. It's a step down from what you're used to, to say the least. After some hours have passed, and night has well and truly fallen, you once again creep towards the lizardfolk settlement. Quietly, you edge up to the southwest corner of the palisade wall. Peering through small gaps in the mud filler, you confirm no lizardfolk are near your chosen insertion spot. Two of the primitive beings still sit around the campfire, picking at bones. They're looking at the fire, and not in your direction. With their night vision ruined by the firelight, it's extremely doubtful they could make you out if they happened to glance in your direction. The two guards are disappointingly still at their post by the main gate. They lean against the walls with obvious carelessness, and though they have spears they are laying on the ground near their owners. Obviously, the lizardfolk are not expecting an attack.
The red glow of sunset lingers for some time after the sun itself has sunk below the tree-flecked horizon. The sound of the marsh changes gradually from the buzzing of dragonflies and sharp chirps of swifts to the low drone of cicadas and grasshoppers punctuated by guttural bullfrog calls. Under the cover of darkness and the background of these sounds, Pretty slips from the bank to scout out the encampment. The walls of the lizardfolk camp are rough-hewn logs, sharpened at the top to crude points and shoved a few feet into the ground. A ballista or catapult would make short work of these walls, but unfortunately you did not bring any siege engines with you from Haven. The logs are fairly tightly spaced, and the gaps between patched up with a mixture of swamp mud and reeds in a wattle-and-daub construction. The patching job was not completely thorough, however, and Pretty can avail herself of several peepholes. A central fire burns in the settlement, casting flickering light against the pallisade. Large haunches of meat, impaled on spits, roast over this fire. A pair of lizardfolk turn the spits, ensuring that the meat is cooked evenly. Several other lizardfolk sit around the fire, performing odd tasks like scraping hides or knapping stone points for their spears. Two lizardfolk lean against the inside of the gate. It has no provision for a lock, but a heavy plank hewn from a large oak tree bars the doors from opening. The doors themselves are crude and heavy, but the hinges don't seem too sturdy. Lacking metal or metalworking, the lizardfolk have resorted to wooden hinges that could be attacked far more effectively than the door itself. Five modest dwellings ring a larger, central building in the middle of the compound. The buildings are of the same mud and reed construction as the wall reinforcement, and each one has a hole in the roof from which smoke curls. Leather door curtains block the view into the dwellings. No dangers are apparent to those who survey the swamp. The mosquitoes are becoming quite numerous, however.
The tracks are easy enough to follow. It's hard to conceal dragged carcasses the size of a bunch of horses, after all. The tracks lead west and slightly north, towards the forest which looms on the horizon, and roughly parallel to the lake shore. As you progress, you notice the water of the lake growing darker and shallower close to shore. The rocky shoreline transitions slowly into a marshy bank with increasingly higher concentrations of dank peat moss, while reeds, cattails, and rushes grow more frequently and to greater heights, replacing the low scrub bushes of the plains After an hour of walking, you find yourself gazing at a river which flows into the lake. The water of this river is extremely slow moving, the sluggish current dark and thick with sediment. The air hangs thick and heavy, and the sky becomes a battleground where swifts and swallows flit and swoop to feed upon winged insects. The tracks turn west to follow this river, briefly. After a couple hundred feet they abruptly turn north again and disappear into the river. It seems that the lizardfolk decided to drag the carcasses through the swampy water instead of hauling them overland. Following the river to the west, you enter a predominantly marshy area. The river is wide, shallow, and slow. Sounding its depths with a stick reveals an average depth of about three feet. The central channel is some forty feet wide, but the marshy, muddy wet zone extends some hundred feet out on each side of the main channel. As the sun sets in the west, you see a curl of dark smoke stretching out of the middle of the river into the sunset. A low, muddy hummock protrudes from the middle of the widening river, surrounded by a palisade of outward-facing, sharpened wooden stakes. Inside, tendrils of smoke rise from a handful of mounds clustered around a single larger mound. A simple wooden gate on the eastern side of the hummock seems to be the only entrance to the fortified island. Through gaps in the palisade, you see faint light from campfires inside the mounds. You cannot see any lizardfolk on guard duty, although the palisade may shelter unseen guards. As you size up the situation, the last light of the sun fades and night descends.
Pretty isn't able to re-lock the doors, per se. However, she can jimmy the lock to obstruct opening the door. No key will unlock the portal, but the careful application of tools can remove the obstruction. The Immovable Rods are pressed against the doors and re-activated. One by one, you ascend the steep shaft towards the surface on the rope you lowered yourselves down by. Once at the top, you retrieve the rope and remove the gemstones from their receptacles. As each gem is removed, the stone column moves upwards to incrementally block the cellar door. The strange, mind-churning symbol remains burned onto the mantle, but devoid of gemstones it seems only a dark, greasy stain. The gems themselves seem to resist removal from the tower, a faint force pulling them back towards the cellar door. As you exit the tower, they cease their twitching and rest easy once more. It is a simple matter to retrace your steps back to the raft which got you out here. No gibbering undead or wisps rise to challenge you, but the sense of malevolence continues to gnaw at the pit of your stomachs. As you embark on the raft and shove off, the sensation is replaced by a visceral relief, like sunlight on your face after a long, dark winter.
The good mood doesn't last too long, however. As you draw near the mainland, you notice that your horses are nowhere to be seen. The landing spot reveals significantly more information. The damp soil of the lake shore has been churned into sucking mud by many hoof- and foot-prints. Splotches of blood spill across the ground. Several broken spears and two dozen arrows litter the ground - crude affairs of wooden staves and knapped flint heads. Your saddlebags lay rent and torn across the ground, with the possessions formerly contained within scattered and trampled. Any edibles or weapons left with the horses are gone. Drag marks flanked by footprints trail off to the southwest. Survival or Perception DC 15:
The footprints are made by webbed feet that end in small claws. The drag marks are almost certainly the corpses of your horses being hauled off Knowledge (Geography) DC 15: This is the perfect territory for Lizardfolk. They tend to live in primitive tribes and are hostile and extremely xenophobic.
Kivan wracks his brain, sorting through neatly categorized memories of his studies. Oh, the long hours of paging through heavy, aged tomes made even weightier by the dense knowledge they contained, the preserved knowledge of so many scholars' lives laid out like a succulent feast that could barely dent the ravenous hunger for knowledge. Yet, no mention of this sign comes to mind. Whatever it portends lies fully outside the knowledge collected in Brevoy. Seraphina's detect magic does not reveal any auras coming from the door. However, such a weighty portal would likely block such detection - iron in sufficient thickness is known to stop divination, and a layer of lead ensconced within could also block your arcane perception. No sound whatsoever is apparent through the door. Maja's investigation turns up no signs that something fled the hidden chambers while the illusions played with your senses. The only footprints match the boots of your party and the paws of one wolf.
The evil influence grasping your minds recedes. Slowly, the nightmares that gripped you pan, tilt, and solarize out of phase with reality and the bleak, dreary tower ruins surround you with normality once more. Still, there’s an itch at the back of your throats that isn’t quite right. The blinding yellow glare from the gemstone-studded mantle subsides, revealing a sigil burned into the stone. The column blocking the cellar door has receded nearly completely into an alcove, allowing access down a steep shaft. A bore-hole has been carved deep into the island’s flesh, stretching many feet down into the darkness. The walls are rough-hewn from earth that quickly transitions to red clay. Veins of rich red iron oxide run through the clay like capillaries, and the walls are slick with moisture. Lowering yourself into the tunnel feels like being enveloped in an otherworldly maw. Rough iron bars have been hammered into the clay to provide hand- and footholds, but the dampness of the tunnel decreases the purchase your hands can get on them. The hole’s depth looks to be about 100 feet – a heady fall, should you lose your grip. The hole ends in a chamber deep under the island.
The moldering remnants of a wooden chest lay thrown into a corner, rusted iron bands revealing the chest’s former shape. A series of iron cubbyholes built into the chest’s interior provide spaces for 23 fist-sized objects, but show damage caused by prying and hammering at the chest. Bolts set in the wall indicate where heavy shelves once stood around the edges of the chamber, now long rotted. Scrape marks back and forth across the floor show the movement of large objects in times long past. The sole exit from the room is a heavy, rectangular iron door set in the north wall. The massive portal must weigh eight hundred pounds or so, and is crusted with flaking rust. Visible hinges indicate that the door opens into this cavern. A metal rod bars the door and prevents it from opening, although seemingly without any brackets or method of support to hold it in place. An ornate lock, with scrollwork forming the same symbol as displayed on the mantle, once also secured the door. Age and moisture have reduced it to crumbling powder, however, and a solid rap with a hilt or such clears out the lock. perception DC15:
There’s a small button on one end of the rod. detect magic:
The rod radiates an aura of moderate transmutation. It’s an Immovable Rod when the door is pulled:
Without the rod in the way, the door swings open to your pull. Despite the run-down condition of everything else in here, the hinges move smoothly and bear the weight without protest.
The room revealed past the massive iron door contrasts sharply with the red clay you’ve been descending through. Sixty feet long and forty wide, this room is carefully lined with immaculate white marble blocks, skillfully joined such that only a close inspection reveals seams between them. The room is utterly featureless aside from its occupants and another massive iron door set on the far end. Six human skeletons occupy this chamber, slumped against the walls. All six are clad in leather-backed banded mail of an obsolete design that hangs loosely in the absence of flesh. A plumed helmet, steel kite shield, and longsword lay arranged neatly in front of each of the deceased, as do small piles of personal effects – a bone whistle, a bronze medallion, a pitted flask, and various other small items. The deaths of these six do not seem to have been violent; no skeleton exhibits trauma, and from their positions each lay or sat down near their final resting place and slumped in death. One of the skeletons, clad in armor decorated with engravings, clutches a long-desiccated ink pen in one hand and a crumbling book in the other. Most of the entries in the book are decayed and unreadable, but with care you’re able to find one last legible page, written in an archaic form of Taldan. Thus far have we come; we shall go no further. Ne’er again shall I feel the kiss of fresh air upon mine cheeks; I have found my grave whilst still drawing breath. T’was a fool’s errand that sent my squadron down this cultist’s rat-hole. We should have collapsed the entrance, razed the tower, and left with duty complete. I have always been too thorough in the prosecution of my duties, and I could not bear to leave a threat festering in this hall that is now my tomb. What I have seen I will not commit to paper; even now it tears at my mind. I have slain creatures which should not exist, and seen my men killed by same, only to rise again horribly transformed. I shut the book and doused the light, sacrificing the flesh of my sword-hand. Some of us made it from the chamber – perhaps half. I shut the door and barred it. Anyone left behind was doomed to perish anyhap, and far more important that the waters be contained. We were not the first out, and in the fog of our minds many minutes passed before our heads were clear and eyes freed from bedeviling visions. When we awoke from nightmare, this chamber was sealed as irrevocably as I had sealed the previous. I pray some of my men made it out, to tell the world of what has transpired here. Ourselves, we are the walking dead – fated to perish here as surely as the sun rises on a world we no longer can see. Tanath, the medic, possesses enough pain-killing herb to sleep us into dreamless sleep. I have ordered such an unkind dose prepared for each of us. I choose not to succumb to hunger and thirst, or to honor the madness beyond with cannibalism and painful starvation. It is small comfort, this, but a bittersweet vengeance can be gleaned by denying the King any further fruit of madness. I pray my family is told I perished bravely in battle, and after grieving can move on. If some madman finds this – flee. Flee now, and seal the chamber, and never speak a word of what you’ve seen, to anyone. For the Sahir Scouts – First to fight! The door to the north is blocked by another rod like the door into this chamber, and is otherwise unlocked.
Not all puzzles are meant to be difficult to solve. Some, perhaps most, guard and ward a restricted area against those who do not know the key to its completion. This one, however, serves mainly to lure the unwary into unwittingly scribing a certain sigil... You spend many minutes methodically placing gemstones into holes. As you find the proper spot for each one, the sickly yellow radiance spreads. When the last gem is slotted into its proper place, disaster strikes. The color of the gems are abruptly washed out by a blinding flash of yellow energy that burns a sickening glyph across your retinas. The skeleton on the floor twitches and flinches, and starts to mutter words out of its damaged skull. The jaw, still grasped in the skeleton's hand, pivots up and down as if still attached to the head from whence it was ripped. Strange is the night where black stars rise,
Lost Carcosa With a shuddering groan, the column blocking the cellar door free-falls down the chute, crashing with immense noise into some obstacle far below in darkness. Maggots and worms stream forth from the opening, spreading across the floor in a wet, twitching sprawl. Something horrible rises from the cellar opening.
”Slip from free, surly bonds doused in mud. Been a son, stranger still. Stranger still, stranger stranger. Thrice I’ve died, twice I’ve seen. Straight as an arrow, defect defect. Once I’ve seen, Twice I’ve died. Could I please, touch touch touch…” The allip continues to spew madness from its ghostly mouth. The subject seems to change frequently, with recurring themes running through the stream of consciousness babble. Nothing you hear gives a concrete clue as to how the poor soul died. The incessant monologue makes your head hurt.
Leaving the shoreline behind, you approach the ruined tower. The uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach grows more intense as you approach the building, but your cleansing of the unnatural forces at the island’s surface seems to have dulled the confusion effect which previously assailed you. The tower has been laid in ruins by uncounted ages. A debris field gives evidence as to where the top levels of the tower fell; fragments of mortared stone stand in sharp contrast to the wind and wave worn rocks of the island. The wind whistles through the remaining stones with a shrill sound that somehow reminds you of a chorus of choir singers performing a wordless melody. You edge into the ruins carefully, yet no foe rises to greet you. Whatever furnishings the rectangular building had are long decayed. The stone walls stand barren and stripped like the bones of a great sea creature, beached by the tide and picked clean by winged or crawling scavengers. Recessed slots show where eaves and joists once rose to a roof, and the level-scraped floor once must have been clad in timber. Surprisingly, no plants grow within the boundaries of the building – not even the hardy scrub grass and lichen that clings to any bare patch of the rocks outside. A double door once guarded access to the tower itself, but now only a faint trace of brass patina on the stonework gives evidence of the hinges. The tower is also bare and unfurnished, with a broken spiral staircase ascending past the crumbling perimeter wall and grasping at the starless night sky above. You become aware of a sharp temperature drop – the air in here is easily ten degrees cooler than the surroundings. A double hatch mounted at an angle against the tower wall provides access to a lower level. Unlike all the rest of the wood of the tower, the rough wooden doors remain intact, although badly bleached and weathered. A rusty latch is all that secures the doors in place. A heavy marble panel has been fitted into the wall above the cellar hatch, with irregularly spaced sockets cratering its otherwise smooth and polished surface. A human skeleton sprawls face-up on the floor next to the cellar hatch. Multi-colored gemstones glitter from within its ribs. The skeleton’s jaw has been removed from its skull, and is grasped tightly in the outflung right hand of the remains. The pose suggests that this unfortunate individual consumed the gemstones before tearing off its own jaw and expiring. The gemstones look to be the correct size to fill the sockets of the heavy marble panel. when the latch is opened:
The wooden doors are not the true guardians of this passageway. After a drop of mere inches, the tunnel is blocked by a solid prism of stone that fits in the cellar gap perfectly. It does not move when pushed or struck.
Between Seraphina's slashing claws and Maja's command of Erastil's presence, the remaining hostile allips are sent to the peace of their final rest. One allip remains, shackled by Kivan's control over what's left of its mind. It paces in a circle with an unceasing stream of babble from its ghostly face. "Bell on door clank, come on in. Sit down chair don't be afraid. steam hot towel, steam hot face. Shamed, chained, ashamed. I was shamed, steam hot face, can't see really scared. Bell on door clank, bell on door clank, bell on door clank!"
Milo's arrows find purchase in his foe, but the action of drawing and loosing his bow leaves him vulnerable to another maddening touch. Idris' furious attacks sweep cleanly through the allip in front of her, dispersing its essence and freeing the tormented soul from its mad existence. Pretty finds the rapier to be more suitable for these foes, but cannot find a vulnerable spot on the allip's ghostly body as she would a tangible foe.
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