Adventure #4: A Dismal Den of Dragon Droppings PART TWO
The wyrmpriest abandons his refuge behind the curtain and steps to the forefront, attempting to belch flames across Brandis and Helga! A frothy mix of hot flame and stinking breath washes over them.
But with the death of Irontooth, the conclusion to this battle grows likely. A dragonshield is beheaded, the skirmisher erupts into a ball of eldritch purple flames, screaming his dying words at the warlock, and the final dragonshield is immolated by the sphere of magical flame as it tries to extinguish itself in the waterfall. The battle finally focuses on the lone and uninjured…
…wyrmpriest.
But Helga is not feeling particularly merciful after seeing her friend Ash murdered, and a cascade of steel hacks through the kobold’s staff, even as if futilely raises the shaft to block the blow. Her blade sunders the staff and subsequently sunders its face in a splash of blood, joining the grisly viscera across her body.
Lungs heaving, the group stands in silence for a few moments, listening to the cacophonous falls and the drumming of their hearts. Nothing else is moving.
Not even the curtain.
Fearing more enemies and surprises, they ready their weapons and creep forward. Only silence waits behind the curtain. Grasping the coarse cloth in one hand, Brandis Padraig pulls it aside and looks in…
…and if this were a Cthulhu adventure, he would have suffered MASSIVE Sanity loss.
Two things lurk behind the curtain. The first is a golden-plated goat-skull, inlaid with a few precious gems; the second and exceptionally more hideous item is the rotting skull of Brandis’s younger brother KEL PADRAIG.
The twelve-year old boy’s head has been tattooed with draconic symbols, resting and rotting amidst a ring of fat black burning candles.
Brandis staggers from the small, stinking chamber, a hand to his mouth, stifling vomit. Erevan and the others peek in, likewise disgusted by the scene. But they attempt Arcana and Religion checks regardless, trying to glean clues from this horrible revelation.
It seems to Erevan the Wizard that the kobold shaman has been trying to place a curse on the Padraig family, using the head of Kel Padgraig as a focus. Furthermore, the golden goat skull is a recognized symbol of a particular Lord of Undeath, a demonic entity that Erevan has heard called by the name of “Orcus.” This does not bode well.
They take the items, and then carefully search the rest of the lair. There are no more foes to dispatch, so they check for secret doors or passages in most of the rooms. They find the treasure chamber which contains a locked chest. Irontooth has the key, but they don’t open it quite yet. This would have been an excellent job for their resident rogue, had he not just been killed. But Irontooth has something else on his person that is more interesting than the key:
A letter.
Addressed directly to the goblin leader from someone (or something) named KALAREL, the letter clearly says that there is a spy in Winterhaven, and that a rift is soon to open, and that the forces of Lord Orcus will soon be released upon the citizens of Winterhaven. This news is tucked away for later as the PCs realize that the kobold threat was only the beginning of Winterhaven’s problems.
Still mourning the loss of their companion, the group gathers as much loot as they can find, including the heads of the kobolds and Irontooth’s hands for the Frog Queen, and load much of it Tenser’s Floating Disk for the trip back to Winterhaven. It is a long, sad walk.
On the way they discuss their reentry to town. Should they mention the spy and this person Kalarel? They think that might not be prudent, not yet, as anyone could be a spy and easily observe their comings and goings. They debate whether to return under cover of night, but ultimately decide there is not much to gain from it. They’ll have to pass the locked front gates regardless; there’s no way to fully “sneak” into town, not all of them.
Corby and Rond Kelfern are manning the gates when they arrive at Winterhaven that evening, and the cheerful young Regular hails them from a distance.
“Mr. Brandis! Padraig, Sir, I mean. You’re back! How fares your venture?”
Their answers are a mix of gloom and success. The kobolds are dead, yes, but so is there friend, and there is something worse than kobolds looming in the near future of Winterhaven, but they don’t come out and say that.
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