Story HourPost your ongoing tales from your campaigns, and read those from others for inspiration. Lots of other RPG boards post "Story Hours", but this is where it started!
Vlad returned soon after from the field, completing his original mission of helping thwart the goblin attacks. Huddled at The Splintered Oak, they all partook of a sorely needed drink.
“So that’s what happened to my father…” Vlad shook his head in disbelief. “I had heard he’d been killed, but I thought it happened in the line of duty.”
“My father left us when I was very young.” Sebastian drained his mug and ordered a refill. “I never knew what happened to him. I didn’t even know I had an uncle.”
“Venzon Zasfar named Kuros as the immediate controller of all the wealth and holdings of his family,” said Beldin.
“What a shock,” added Kham.
“And what of Anulee?” asked Vlad.
“The entire ordeal has been incredibly trying for Anulee,” said Sebastian sardonically. “She has decided to leave town, not mentioning when or if she will return.”
“That’s probably for the best,” said Vlad. “What are we going to tell Ilmarė?”
“That justice was served.” Sebastian turned the pin Anulee had handed to him over in his hands. It had a motif of a gliding bird on it.
“Has it?” asked Beldin.
“Milandisian law isn’t perfect,” said Vlad. “But it’s all we have.”
Sebastian looked down into the contents of his mug. “Justice wears many masks,” he said. “Vengeance is but one of them.”
“I think I understand why Ilmarė is so ambivalent about Quintus now,” said Vlad. “If Anulee was willing to have someone killed to protect her secret, it must really be a terrible thing for elorii and humans to mingle.”
“Speaking of Ilmarė,” Kham slurped from his mug, “why was she meeting Anulee’s lover in an alley?”
They were silent for a moment.
“Well,” said Vlad suddenly. “I’ve been summoned to Treslau to report back to Duke Adolphos. Anyone want to come with me?”
This is a Year Two Living Arcanis adventure, “Unpaid Debts” by Eric Wiener, set in the Arcanis setting. You can read more about Arcanis at Onara Online. Please note: This adventure contains spoilers!
Our cast of characters includes:
• Dungeon Master: Michael Tresca (http://michael.tresca.net)
• Kham Val’Abebi (val rogue/psychic warrior) played by Jeremy Ortiz (http://www.ninjarobotstudios.com)
• Beldin Soulforge (dwarf fighter) played by Joe Lalumia
• Sebastian Arnyal (dark-kin sorcerer) played by George Webster
This adventure is very important in the big scheme of things, as it details the pursuit of a sword that could ignite a civil war. Unfortunately, the adventure is a bit haphazard; I’m leery of “dream sequence” battles (which seem to be a staple of Arcanis for some reason). Fortunately, we’ve already established some strange dream sequence combat before so it wasn’t too hard to introduce it again.
The identity of the bad guys and the force behind them are not revealed in this adventure at all, even to the Game Master, so I changed it around. This is the beginning of an invasion, the invasion that “stirred up the goblins” in the last adventure, and it harkens back to one of the first adventures. Unfortunately, the adventure involved Vlad, Quintus, and Ilmarė, so no one was around to really be horrified by the revelation.
Finally, this adventure features the return of a certain pivotal character. It was anticlimactic because the PCs weren’t all that interested in talking and mostly focused on the goal: getting the sword to its destination. This adds up to two battles, one of which is brutal and over quickly, the other which is a non-event.
Still, Beldin got a kick-ass axe, and that counts for something!
P.S. Sebastian got a new spell. Guess which one it is!
Johan Bauer was a simple Moratavian farmer. His old well had dried up after an earthquake, so he took to digging a new one. He dug a hole deeper and deeper, and as he dug the morning became afternoon, shining overhead. Eventually, the sun moved past its zenith, leaving him with little light to continue.
Exhausted and covered in dirt, Johan leaned against the wall. He was a good ten feet below the surface. It would take awhile to reach the water table, but he knew it would happen eventually.
A small trail of pebbles skittered down one side of the well. Johan looked up. He had a terrible thought: if another earthquake hit, he would be buried alive.
Johan started to climb his way up the side of the well when he slipped. One hand clawed desperately for purchase at the top of the half-dug well when he lost his grip.
The farmer flailed helplessly as he fell, certain the well would be his tomb. The soft earth hesitated for only a moment after his impact before it gave way completely. He plunged into darkness and landed somewhere hard.
Johan dusted himself off. He was still alive, if badly bruised. He waited for his eyes to adjust to what little light shone from above. Something was sitting, watching him from the darkness.
“Hello?”
Johan crept cautiously forward. He could barely make out a legionnaire’s armor and headdress. It was a style he’d never seen before. The farmer recoiled when he realized what he was looking at.
It was a corpse. The corpse grasped a golden sword that showed no hint of decay, despite the decomposed state of its owner. It could have been there for millennia.
On impulse, Johan took up the sword. He could probably sell it for a pretty penny to make up for the cost of the well he could no longer dig.
A glorious light filled the cavern. A heavenly chorus sang all around Johan. The sound was accompanied by the appearance of a handsome warrior in golden armor, a style that matched the corpse at his feet.
Johan fell back in terror.
“I am Gilgaaran val’Assante,” said the apparition. “For eternity I have awaited one to fulfill my duty and deliver this, the seventh blade of Dar val’Assante to the master of the val’Tensen. You shall perform this deed so that I may forever rest in the next life at the hand of my lord, Illiir. Rise and accept your duty.”
Unpaid Debts: Part 1 – The Truth is a Three-Edged Sword
The rumblings of war again stirred the young men of Moratavia to action as Menisis val’Tensen, Defender of the Coryani Empire, roused his legions to battle.
“As if war between Ssethregore and Altheria wasn’t enough, or Canceri and the Nierites, now Milandir and Coryan are going at it?” Kham rubbed his forehead.
“It seems that Duke Adolphos’ declaration that Precision, the ancient blade of power, was delivered to him as the rightful master of all val’Tensen has raised the Coryani General’s ire,” said Sebastian.
The Duke’s palace occupied the highest elevation in the city and looked out upon both the city itself and the plain that made up the body of Northern Maravia. Upon arriving at the gates, they were shown to a grand ballroom with balconies that afforded a full view of the impressive vista.
“How long are they going to make us wait here?” Sebastian said in irritation.
“Well,” said Beldin, stuffing a pastry in his mouth, “at least they’re feeding us.”
There was no shortage of comfortable seating. Kham flopped into a chair and ordered a bottle of fine wine. The servants moved quickly to do his bidding.
Grand double doors swung open and a procession of personages entered the room. Standing at their center was a young man, not more than thirty-one years of age, dressed in a richly appointed and embroidered leather tunic.
“Dressing a little warm today aren’t we?” Sebastian muttered out of the side of his mouth to Beldin.
Despite the warm weather, the man’s tunic was thickly lined with ermine. He wore fur-lined winter gloves as well, but did not seem discomforted in the least.
“I thank you for coming at my request,” said Duke Adolphos. “Your reputations speak well of you. All me to introduce these here.” He nodded to his left. “On my left is the Lady Teodora val’Borda. To my right is Vlad Martell. We would ask of you a small task for the benefit of my house.”
“What can we do for you?” asked Beldin.
“Something that belongs to the val’Tensen—all val’Tensen, regardless of nation—has been lost. I want it recovered.”
“What was stolen?” asked Sebastian.
“We do not know if it was stolen, but it is an ancient blade, forged thousands of years ago as a gift to my ancestor from the val’Assante. It was lost until recently, when a loyal Milandisian freeman recovered it.”
Kham asked the obvious. “If you recovered it, what do you need us for?”
“There was a bargain made with my cousin to the south. As a result, the blade was to be entrusted to an impartial body. The Arch-Prelate of Tralia provided an escort drawn from his finest guards to deliver it, but they never arrived.”
“Why choose us?” asked Sebastian. “Why not Vlad?”
“You have no stake in this matter,” said Adolphos. “I cannot afford to have one of my countrymen slandered by bias.”
Vlad looked distinctly uncomfortable. He stepped forward. “The blade was lost somewhere during the journey between here and the Citadel of Storms, three days into the Paerthians. The honor guard, numbering ten knights, was on horseback when they disappeared. They were last seen in the mountain hamlet of Grunlau, the last village on the way to the Citadel.”
Kham opened his mouth, but Adolphos cut him off with a gesture.
“Vlad has made it clear to me that you are mercenaries. Beyond the gratitude of the val’Tensen family throughout Onara, I am prepared to offer each of you seven hundred and fifty crowns. A tidy sum indeed.”
Kham closed his mouth. “We’ll find your sword,” was all he said.
Unpaid Debts: Part 2 – Hello Darkness My Old Friend
After a hard day’s travel, they came to the sleepy hamlet of Grunlau. The way house there offered the last shelter and comfort for weary travelers before the arduous ascent into the high smoking peaks of the volcanic Paerthians.
When they arrived, it was near nightfall. They found lodging at a grungy but serviceable inn.
Kham awoke to a horrific scream. He sat upright and looked around.
He was on a hillock overlooking the town. Poplars of olive and fig trees surrounded him. Creatures from twisted imaginations flew through the air. The terrain formed and reshaped itself, flowing like water, while streams of water twisted and loop through the air itself, flowing upwards then back down again.
Sebastian and Beldin sat up out of the mist nearby.
“Where are we?” asked Sebastian uncertainly.
“The Dreamheart,” he muttered. “Again.”
“Again?” Sebastian looked around. “I’ve never been here before.”
“I have,” said Beldin. “Only this time no ritual put us here.”
“So that’s really you then?” Kham looked up at Beldin uncertainly. He huge, muscular, handsome, and virile. His eyes blazed with silvery fire and his skin was golden. He was a god among men, an ancient titan of old, before the curse of Illiir brought the dwarves low.
“Would I look like this if it weren’t?” asked Beldin.
“Good point, I always think of you as short and hairy.”
Sebastian looked down at his hands. “How do I look?”
Kham stared at him for a long moment. “Like a human.”
Sebastian felt behind him for his wings and tail. They were gone.
Kham faced them. “Okay, be honest with me: do I look like a ghoul?”
They shook their heads.
“That’s good to know.” Kham was visibly relieved. “I guess I really did kick the ghoul juice for good.”
Creatures appeared beyond the hillock. They were encased in burnished bronze, with arms edged with sharp razors and the rest of its body covered in spines of different shapes and sizes. Most striking of all was their complete lack of facial features: no eyes, nose, or mouth. Three held strange tubes with bulbous sacs dangling from them. Three wielded double-bladed weapons, their heads fanning out like a mockery of a centurion’s crest. The leader rode an eerily featureless horse and carried an axe with a strange bluish-black blade.
“I don’t suppose those are friendly,” Sebastian said morosely.
“They’re called k’n-yan. They’re the original inhabitants of Carcosa.” Kham cut off further questions with a shake of his head. “Don’t ask me how I know that. I just do.”
Beldin concentrated. His axe and armor shimmered into existence. “So that means they’re not friendly.”
The air around them was peppered with shots from the strange tubes the things carried.
Sebastian pointed and groping yellow tentacles sprang up out of the darkness, entwining the bronze creatures.
“Where did you learn that?” asked Kham in surprise.
“I…I don’t know,” said Sebastian. He stared down at his hands.
“My turn.”
Kham concentrated and a beam of energy sliced from his forehead into the k’n-yan leader, who blocked it with a slice of its hand.
“Well that wasn’t quite what I had in mind.”
The k’n-yan leader extended one palm in their direction, unleashing a cone of ice and sleet. When Beldin looked back, Kham and Sebastian were frozen solid.
“No!” shouted Beldin. “I will not allow you to harm them, even here…” the dwarf paused as he realized the power he wielded in the dreamscape. “And I don’t have to ...”
Beams of energy splashed against Beldin as he hunched over. His body shuddered as it grew larger and larger. When Beldin drew himself up to his full height, he was over sixty feet tall.
He was once again the titan of old, before the weight of the curse. Released of his tiny, twisted form, he roared a challenge. With great sweeps of his axe, he cleared the battlefield, smashing the little bronze figures like matchsticks. The leader was engulfed in the shadow of Beldin’s upraised foot before it came down, flattening horse and rider alike…
Kham awoke in a pool of his own sweat. He looked over at the bedrolls in the room. Sebastian and Beldin were also awake, blinking in uncertainty.
“So it really was just a…” Sebastian began. Then he stopped to focus on the something in the center of the room.
It was a bluish-black blade, the same axe that the bronze creature had wielded in their collective nightmare.
Unpaid Debts: Part 3 – A Gruesome Fate Awaits the Wicked
Kham climbed above the town into the groves and poplar that covered the hillock.
“Yep, just what I was afraid of,” he said.
Sebastian looked around. “It matches the dream exactly.”
“I think a rift to Carcosa opened.” Kham surveyed his surroundings. “And I think my connection to that place brought us into the Dreamheart.”
Beldin pointed beyond the hillock. “There’s a campsite on the reverse slope here.”
They came across a dire scene. The campsite was sprayed with gore from brutally dismembered corpses.
Kham frowned. “Six bedrolls, but only five corpses.”
“Here’s the owner of the sixth,” said Beldin. A hulking man, of obvious infernal taint, was curled up in a fetal position, crying like a frightened child.
Sebastian crouched down to speak with the dark-kin. “What happened here?”
“They are coming,” the dark-kin whispered. “They are coming for me. I’m as good as dead! The bronze demons will find me…”
“Bronze demons,” said Kham. “Like in our dreams.”
Sebastian straightened up. “Bijoux described similar beings that overran her home world.”
“What would they want with Precision?” asked Beldin.
“It’s in the Unspeakable One’s best interests to start a war between Milandir and Coryan,” said Kham. “Just like how he tried to use Fleshripper against me. Speaking of which…” he nodded at Beldin’s new waraxe. “Be careful with that thing. Power like that comes with a price.”
Beldin snorted. “Don’t worry about me. I can handle Windcutter.”
Sebastian peered sideways at Beldin. “Since when does your axe have a name?”
“I don’t know.” Beldin took a few experimental swings with it. ”But that’s its name: Windcutter.”
As they climbed ever higher into the mountain, they passed many scenic and impressive natural formations. The road passed by precipitous drops and crevasses. Eventually, they reached a bend in the road that abutted a great gorge that rent the earth.
Sebastian studied the ground. “The tracks seem to have disappeared here.” He stood up, exasperated. “I’m sorry, I’m not an expert tracker.”
“We’re on the right path,” said Beldin. “We might have better luck at the Citadel of Storms.”
The Citadel of Storms stood in an unlikely position for such an august fortification. Though unassailable due to its position in the heights of the Paerthian Peaks, its strategic value was of dubious merit. Towering into the sky, the fortress commanded the only path to it. Archery, artillery, spell casting platforms and sluices for boiling substances were certain to imperil an attacking army.
They were welcomed as representatives of the Duke of Moratavia and escorted into an inner chamber. A handful of Blades of Hurrian, four in all, met them there.
“What have you found on the path?” asked the eldest and obvious authority, Divelo Norvitecus. “Is Precision in your care?”
“Not yet,” said Sebastian. “We found some tracks but lost them near the gorge.”
“Interesting. When the Arch-Prelate’s guard was overdue, we sent Claduius here to seek out signs of their passage. He was a scout in the legions before he joined us here.”
“Great.” Kham addressed Claudius. “You’re coming with us.”
“It is done. Tomorrow, Claudius will go with you to see if he can find the trail of those who took Precision. But for tonight, let us dine tighter. I apologize that the meals here are not as extravagant as you may be accustomed in the homes of princes and generals, but we fare well nonetheless.”
True to his word, they were provided with a hearty if simple fare in the keep’s great hall. Monks surrounded them, asking them news of the outside world.
Kham peered at one of the monks. “I know you…”
It was Oderic val’Tensen, the disgraced former Vicar of the Knights of Saint Lambertus. “I was blinded from Hurrian’s will by my hatred of all things Nerothian and Cancer.” He avoided looking at Sebastian. “Hopefully, I will not be deaf when I am tested again.”
“Hopefully,” added Beldin, “our enemies will not be silent.”
Unpaid Debts: Part 5 – What, You Didn’t See This Coming?
“The track resumes here,” said Claudius Cressius-Tensen. “It goes into the gorge.”
They slowly and carefully climbed their way down to the bottom of the gorge. Suddenly, Claudius shouted. “I found it!” He scooped something covered in mud out of the dried riverbed.
“Put that down!” shouted a familiar booming voice. “Drop the sword and step away from it!”
Kham closed his eyes and slowly turned around. “I know that voice…”
“I, Quintus Aurelius Ignatius of the Legion of the Triumphant Rays of the Invisible Sun, hereby claim Precision in the name of the Emperor!”
Quintus stood in the sunlight, resplendent in his lorica segmentata and scutum. A banner flapped from his longspear.
“Coryani legionnaires!” shouted Sebastian.
The rest of Quintus’ contubernium joined him on the ridge: Hervius Flavinius Tranio, the legionnaire sorcerer with hair that fanned out behind like a centurion’s helmet; Oppius Camelius Rusticus, the best scout in the legions; Tertius Caprenius Augustalis, the horn blower responsible for drawing the attention of the men and issuing the audible commands of the officers; and four other milites gregarious, the foot soldiers who were vital to the contubernium.
On the other side of the ridge, something else sparkled in the sunlight, but it was not the glint of metal. Burnished bronze, faceless beings made their way down the slopes, similar to the nightmarish creatures with the exception of the leader. He was a dreadful thing, with one arm tapering in a wicked scimitar-like blade, the other covered in strange overlapping scales so that it function as a shield of sorts. The k’n-yan warlord’s body was easily as elaborate as Quintus’, and its form gave the impression that it had been grown rather than sculpted.
Sebastian didn’t hesitate. He pointed at the k’n-yan and clenched his fist. “Atrum pampinea!”
A forest of squirming yellow tentacles sprung up beneath the k’n-yan, grasping them and whipping them about.
Claudius looked between the two forces. Then he turned to run.
“Hey!” shouted Kham. “Get back here!”
Temporarily preoccupied, Quintus’ pointed at Claudius. “I said HOLD!”
Claudius froze in place.
A fusillade from the k’n-yan peppered the legionnaires, forcing them to hide behind their shields.
Then the k’n-yan warlord was upon them. Beldin blocked the thing’s blade-arm with Windcutter, deflecting it just in time.
Sebastian raised a hand to cast a spell, but the k’n-yan pointed at him first. A beam of yellow energy struck him. The dark-kin fell to his knees.
Kham yanked Precision out of the scabbard in Claudius’ hands...and was immediately engulfed in flames.
“Yaaah!” shrieked Kham.
The legionnaires hurled spears at the k’n-yan, who responded with sparkling yellow beams. Both sides slowly advanced down the ridge.
Kham shoved Precision back in its scabbard, still in Claudius’ frozen grip. The flames went out.
“Skiz!” Kham wrenched the scabbard out of Claudius’ hands. He took off at a sprint through the riverbed, unhindered by the muck.
The rat popped out of Kham’s satchel. “Yeah boss?”
More rays and spears arced back and forth across the ridge. Beldin backed away as Quintus charged the k’n-yan warlord.
“You know that collar I gave you?”
“The one that smells like angry dog?” Kham had taken the collar from Raze’s corpse, Aglamar’s hell hound pet. “I’m wearing it right now.”
Beldin picked up Sebastian. The beams had weakened the sorcerer so much that he could barely lift his head.
“That’s great, Skiz.” Kham kept running. Some of the legionnaires had turned their attention to him, as did the k’n-yan. Beams and spears struck in the muck to either side of him. “Give it to me.”
“But—“
“No buts, Skiz! Now!”
The talking rat wriggled out of the collar by pushing on its with his forepaws. Kham reached down and grabbed it.
It expanded to fit a human-sized neck. He put it in.
A furrow of muck spewed up behind Kham as he accelerated far beyond normal human speeds. He blurred in place for a moment. Then Kham, Skiz, and Precision were long gone.
The monks were still bowing in gratitude when Beldin arrived with a limping Sebastian.
Seated at the far end of the table in the great hall, Divelos smiled. “The Arch-Prelate of Tralia sends his utmost thanks. Because of your heroic actions, we have forestalled the outbreak of total war by entrusting Precision to the Order of the Blade.” He indicated his fellow monks. “The sword will be safe here in the Citadel of Storms.”
“Heroic actions?” Beldin shook his head in disbelief. “You left us there!”
Kham shrugged. “I knew Quintus wouldn’t hurt you guys. You could easily handle the k’n-yan. You even had a practice run in the Dreamheart.”
“That’s not the point,” growled Sebastian. “We could have been killed.”
“But you weren’t.” Kham handed each of them a bag of gold crowns, the reward from Duke Adolphos. “More importantly, did you tell Quintus about Ilmarė?”
Sebastian nodded. “He did not take the news well. But I think he didn’t dare say much, given that he was with his legion. After what happened in Postrava, I can’t blame him.”
Divelos cleared his throat. “And what of Claudius?”
Sebastian and Beldin exchanged looks. “He did not survive the battle.” In truth, Quintus had executed the man on the spot, partially in frustration for Kham getting away with the blade. But they weren’t about to tell Divelos that.
“That is unfortunate. Before you go, there is something you should know. We believe that a rift south of here precipitated the arrival of the k’n-yan. It’s a place called Nug’s Farm. From what Kham tells us, their appearance is grim news indeed.”
Sebastian nodded. “We will stop by there on our way to Coryan.”
“The owner of the farm is one Hillary Carbo. She may be able to—“
Kham froze. “Who?”
“Hillary Carbo. Do you know her?”
Sebastian suddenly leaned forward in his table to stare at Kham. “As in the wife of Livius Carbo?”
Kham reached for a drink. “As in the author of the King in Yellow.”
This is a Call of Cthulhu adventure from Tatters of the King, “Nug’s Farm” by Time Wiseman, set in the Arcanis setting. You can read more about Arcanis at Onara Online. Please note: This adventure contains spoilers!
Our cast of characters includes:
• Dungeon Master: Michael Tresca (http://michael.tresca.net)
• Kham Val’Abebi (val rogue/psychic warrior) played by Jeremy Ortiz (http://www.ninjarobotstudios.com)
• Beldin Soulforge (dwarf fighter/dwarven defender) played by Joe Lalumia
• Sebastian Arnyal (dark-kin sorcerer) played by George Webster
I love Call of Cthulhu adventures. Although they’re often short on logic or set up, the climactic moments are unparalleled. You just don’t get that kind of tension and excitement in most D&D games (although the Freeport series comes close). Nug’s Farm is by far the best part of the entire adventure series.
What really made the adventure fun was the purchase of a Dark Young miniature. Jeremy modified the Dark Young so its tentacles faced forwards instead of up, making it look far more menacing. He also made it a disgusting pink and purple, “anime-style” as he likes to call it, so it really was hideous looking.
As scripted, the satyrs, Atkinson, and Gresty are not meant to be fought directly. They merely summon the Dark Young, Hillary turns it, and it kills the bad guys. But this is D&D, so of course there had to be an opportunity to mix it up. Converting the Dark Young’s statistics from D20 Call of Cthulhu ensured that the thing was nigh unstoppable. Between its multiple tentacle attacks, damage reduction, immunities, and strength drain, it threatened to destroy the whole party…thus making Hillary’s ritual even more exciting.
All three characters played a pivotal part in this adventure, be it Beldin acting as a whipping post for the Dark Young, Sebastian killing off the other cultists, or Kham saving the day by NOT getting caught by the Dark Young’s tentacles and finishing the ritual. This was definitely one of the highlights of our marathon post-Thanksgiving session.
The weather was frigid with a dusting of frost and ice on the road and an inch or two of snow on the earth. They passed through a couple of hamlets: Saul and Framilode. The tiny places consisted of just a dozen or so houses each. The buildings were old, ramshackle and low; they were built in stone and had thatched roofs and only a few small windows. There were no shops evident and perhaps no people.
“This reminds me of the last time the King in Yellow tried to take over Milandir,” said Kham.
There were more villages, but oddly after Framilode, there were no more signs announcing the names of the places.
“No road signs,” said Sebatian.
“No churches either,” added Beldin.
There were about ten buildings in Clotton; one in moss-covered stone was much larger than the rest. It could have been a church—indeed, there was what looked like the stump of a spire—but it was almost completely overgrown with ivy and hard to make out. There was no sign or name by the building, and the doorway itself was barricaded with a haphazard heap of rotten timber.
The village showed no sign of life: no people, no barking dogs, and no horses, sheep or cattle. There was no post office and no pub. The few cottages were ramshackle old stone affairs: some seemed to be held up by the foliage that covered them, and in one case a huge elm tree had been incorporated inside a building.
They walked south a further mile or so on the road, where they picked up a footpath. It led due east. The trek covered a bit more than three miles and took about an hour.
It was cold and dreary. The footpath rose steadily, affording a view of the forest ahead. The Tarda River was three or four miles behind them.
The countryside looked uncared for. Poor fences and hedges divided the fields. The few pieces of farm equipment they saw had been left to rust.
After another mile, there was the first evidence of life. A little way off a dozen scrawny sheep were gathered expectantly by an empty food trough, and beside them stood a farmhand staring off into space.
Sebastian pointed at the sheep. “That’s an interesting mark.” The underfed sheep were indelibly marked with a splash of black on their hindquarters to indicate ownership; the mark suggested the head of a bull or goat.
The farmhand didn’t see them right away. He was shabbily and inadequately dressed and carried a wooden bucket.
“Hello?” shouted Beldin, waving to the farmhand.
The man turned around; he was thin and ugly with big ears and protruding teeth. He set off at a fast walk toward a collection of buildings almost lost in a fold in the ground, intermittently shaking his head.
“What the hell is wrong with these villagers?” asked Kham.
“I think he’s walking towards that hamlet.”
They followed him until he went into one of the buildings and slammed the door.
The footpath went on for another mile. Isolated trees thickened as they approached Lower Clotton and Mercy Hill off to the north. The path cut through a band of forest. It was still among the trees, and there was a high, sweet smell brought by an intermittent breeze. The footpath crossed by a stream of stagnant water and then a patch of dense, black poppies, and the wood got thicker. It was lush with deep ferns, moss, and fungal growth.
“Man, I wish this headache would stop.” Kham massaged his temples.
“You feel it too?” Sebastian had one hand to his forehead.
“Yeah, it’s a distant thrumming…like a swarm of bees.”
Beldin shushed them. “We’re being watched.”
About fifty yards off in the trees, something peered at them through the trees. It moved further away: at first it looked human, stripped from the waist up, but something was wrong. The man’s legs were jointed the wrong way, like an animal’s.
The trees thinned out as they passed out of the wood. Walking down the hill, they saw the main body of the Forest of Dean. It sent out fingers to the three farms that were dotted in a line below them. The farm in the center looked in much better repair: there was glass in all the windows and the chimney belched smoke.
When they were still a few hundred yards off, the sound of barking was audible. Three big dogs ran outside. A woman came out behind them, perhaps thirty years old with short blonde hair, wearing overalls, boots, gloves, and a short coat; she looked nothing like the denizens of the countryside they’d seen so far. The dogs, bullmastiffs, ran over to her where at her word of command they became silent.
As they came closer, the sign by the gate was legible: “Nug’s Farm.”
Nug’s Farm was a loss-making concern and amounted to little. There was a field or two of potatoes, cabbages, and turnips, and the kitchen garden out back had vegetables and fruits. There were also lots of chickens, which were in coops and runs in front of the house.
The woman took her gloves off and stuffed them into a pocket. She had fine blonde hair and an attractive face. Her eyes were bloodshot and her manner distracted. A farm worker was visible beside the house holding a shovel, watching.
“Hello,” began Sebastian. “Are you Hillary Carbo?”
“Who wants to know?” she asked, watching them closely. Her accent indicated an educated upbringing.
“I am Sebastian Arnyal. This is Kham val’Abebi and Beldin Soulforge. We are investigating a disturbance near here, possibly a planar rift—“
Kham cut him off. “We knew your husband.”
Hillary’s eyebrows shot up. “Come in and have some tea.”
As an afterthought, she turned to the farmhand. “That’s enough for today, Will.”
Will didn’t reply, but simply shuffled off in the direction of Lower Clotton, seemingly uninterested in the new arrivals.
The farmhouse was a very old two-story limestone building with a newer-single story extension built onto a back corner. The windows were small and shuttered, the ceilings and doorways were low, and the house was always dim. In the living room, a desk was piled high with correspondence.
“You should know that I am separated from my husband and that we are no longer on speaking terms. By your appearance here I will assume some of the things he wrote about in his rambling letters have come to fruition. How do you know him?”
“We…” Kham fumbled. What was he supposed to say, that they had tried to kill him? “We met him in Vestalanium.”
Sebastian jumped in. “He seems to have penned a play that is of great interest to us: The King in Yellow.”
Hillary nodded. “Livius was obsessed with it. He thought The King in Yellow was an avatar of the Unspeakable One.”
They all leaned forward. “When Livius moved to Freeport he met with someone who Atkinson had heard of as a scholar in the field.”
Kham took a sip of his tea. “Elijah Quelch.”
“Yes. On the Eve of the New Year 1024 Livius claimed they called the King in Yellow to Onara so that they could learn from it. But he broke with the others after that. He believes that there are links between the Unspeakable One and Tizzhet. It is talked of in more than one text of a union between the two, though the texts conflict over whether this will happen in the future or has already happened. The first source says that the Dark Young came from this sire, but I think this text suspect. The most authoritative source says that there will be a union after humanity is forgotten and that two offspring will result—one is Yeb and the other is Nug, and that Yeb and Nug will in turn produce two more entities: Leviathan and Tsathoggua.”
Kham laughed involuntarily. “Tizzhet? Leviathan? The gang’s all here!” The others looked at him in dismay. “Sorry, sorry.” Kham tried to regain his composure by slurping more of his tea.
“You know of them?” asked Beldin.
“Tizzhet? Oh yeah, one of her spawn tried to eat Quintus and I awhile back. And Leviathan’s been a pain in the ass in Freeport forever.”
“Livius said he joined a circle called The Pilgrimage of Grace,” said Hillary. “They were leaving Grand Coryan as soon as Numen or early in the New Year, although he said it could be as late as Libidine.”
Beldin took a deep breath. “He means to summon the Unspeakable One again.”
“Did he give a name?” asked Kham. “An address? Some way we can find him?”
“Livius did leave a name: Thomas Villiers at the shipping office of Giuseppe Colombo in the Sweet Savona. That’s all he—“
The dogs barked once or twice and moved to the door, looking at Hillary. She opened it and followed them out.
A man approached a few hundred yards off. On the hill behind him were six other goat-like hybrids, but they stood still. The goat-men had hoof-like feet, thick hair over their lower limbs, reversed joins, and elongated skulls with recessant horns. All of them had tufted bears and brows.
“Son of a…it’s Gresty!” Kham followed Hillary out.
Gresty was amazed to see him. “Hello, Kham,” he said in a stilted fashion. Gresty looked at him suspiciously. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, you know, just wandering around.” Kham shoved his hands in his overcoat pockets. “I escaped the Hulks, jumped through a portal, ended up in Canceri, got arrested again, escaped again…you know, the usual.”
If Gresty seemed unsure as to what Kham was talking about, he hid it well. Gresty turned to greet Hillary warmly. “Hello, Hillary. It’s good to see you. Atkinson has told me that bad blood exists. But it should not concern you and I: we can inherit Atkinson’s power together.”
Inside, Sebastian read from one of the papers Hillary left unattended:
Quote:
“The Dark Young, her Thousand Children, they are scattered across the stars of the sky, and Tizzhet watches them all, cares for them. And she screams with motherly delight as they suckle on her black, swollen paps, chew on her distended belly, gorge themselves sow-fat, pig-fat upon her flesh.”
Hillary walked forward and put her face right up to his. “I curse you all, Gresty.” Then, she whispered almost coquettishly in Gresty’s ear.
Sebastian continued to read:
Quote:
“At Nug’s will she dwell; on the doorstep. She will dwell there on the Goddess’ doorstep with her young. And when ripe bring them to the Moon Lens for they belong to the Great One, the Goat with A Thousand Young. And her own Children will guard them. Her own Children will bring her safe to her when the Goat’s dominion takes her in. When the Goat’s forest marches. When the Goat’s forest marches and the moon is growing full and heavy. Then the Moon Lens will shine on the hill. The hill will open. And he, her servant, will come.”
Gresty looked alarmed. He scowled. He turned without a word and stalked back the way he came up towards the other men.
Sebastian picked up a letter and read it.
Quote:
“And Atkinson was true to his promise. He has told me of certain things when I was ready to hear them. Secrets surpassing sanity. Commending me to an absolute cure, he has immured another soul within the black and boundless walls of that eternal asylum where stars dance maniacally like bright puppets in the silent, staring void. And I will be truly blessed.”
As Gresty left, he turned once and yelled, “Whyever they’re here, they’re too late. The handover is brought forward: it happens tonight. You’d better be gone from here, woman. All of you better be gone. Nug’s Farm will be no more!”
Quote:
“Our brethren may walk of the Father who measurement is eight and twenty, and four hundred. Some have special fear for the one behind the wall. But all must bow before She who is the Black Goat of the Woods, numbered three and seven hundred, the Queen, the Mother, with her Thousand Dark Young. All must bow down as our fathers did, and their fathers did. As our sons will do, as their sons will do.”
Hillary turned and stormed inside the house—the dogs followed, made nervous by her mood. Sebastian quickly shoved the book, titled “The Revelations of Glaaki,” back into the pile of correspondence on Hillary’s desk.
A few seconds later, Hillary left the house again with an armful of papers. She carried them to a large brazier that smoldered near the door and stuffed them in. They caught fire.
“Help me, damn it!” she shouted. “When Gresty and Atkinson come back, there must be nothing for them to take!”
Sebastian came outside. “This isn’t the way. Please, let us help you.”
Hillary held herself for a long moment. She seemed to be mulling something over.
“Come inside,” she said. “And I will tell you the whole story.”
Nug's Farm: Part 3 – Livius’ Letters and a Decision
“I married Livius Carbo years ago,” said Hillary. “We shortly moved to this farm and had a daughter. It was the same year Livius left me. I have lived here ever since. When Livius left, Atkinson came to the farm. He told me that I was special, that this place had been waiting for me, and that he would train me and make me his priestess. Despite my revulsion, I was drawn to his power and secrets. With the knowledge he passed on, my own love of this ancient countryside grew; I could not bear to be apart from my farm, the bleak wood—they are beautiful, and they speak to me.”
Beldin nodded. “I can understand the appeal. It’s much the same way dwarves are drawn to the Heartstone gems of their enclaves.”
“For four years, that’s how it went. I learned fast and grew in stature in the cult. Though I would not submit to Atkinson’s advances, the two of us and Sarah made a family. But Atkinson presumed too much. One day, I came upon him teaching my four-year-old daughter about Tizzhet. Later, I saw her moved her hand in a clumsy approximation of the Yellow Sign. I said nothing then, but I knew I had to stop him. I could never forget how Livius had abandoned us—I was determined not do the same to my daughter.”
Sebastian looked at Kham, but the val refused to return his gaze. They both knew what it was like to lose a father.
“I smuggled Sarah away. When Atkinson raged and demanded her return, I stood up to him. The old man couldn’t face me. Humiliated, he crept back to Lower Clotton—the power had already moved on, even before his death. I knew I didn’t need to risk a fight in front of all, for Atkinson is old.”
“Making you the high priestess of the Tizzhet cult,” said Sebastian.
Hillary nodded. “Now that the cult is almost mine, I have half a mind to destroy it. I’ve had almost no contact with Atkinson for more than a year. What little there was happened through Atkinson’s emissaries begging for me to reconsider and reconcile. The cult themselves are too scared to question the old man openly.”
“I met Gresty in Freeport,” said Kham. “He led me to Michael Coombs as well as Elijah Quelch. I think there was some falling out between the two cults. Gresty talked a lot about taking over some sort of power.”
“As Atkinson’s position weakens, I suspect he now wants Wilfred Gresty as his successor,” said Hillary. “By his appearance today, I was right. I know that the Unspeakable One is close to Onara—some of the cult feel that he will arrive here in Goatswood to copulate with Tizzhet—and that Livius is probably right in all he says.”
A clock bonged three times.
“I recommend you leave now. If you choose to stay, you must agree to do what I say. If you listen to me, you should be safe…but if not, it could be that none of us will survive.” She raised her voice a bit, obviously tense and scared. The dogs growled. “Your help may be hard, but it will be necessary. Atkinson and Gresty will come around midnight.”
“We’re staying,” said Kham. “I haven’t crashed a wedding in awhile.”
Hillary did nothing to prepare. There was only one minor incident in the afternoon.
Hillary’s farm worker, Will, and five other local men approached the house. They carried various implements: a sickle, hoes, and pitchforks. Hillary seemed a little surprised but unconcerned. She walked forward alone to greet them.
“I don’t need your help,” she said. “No. I have help.”
There were murmurs in reply.
“Yes, I know where you stand and so will Atkinson if you stay here. And Gresty.”
More murmurs.
“No. I can’t take it. Go on. Go on, Will, take them away. Go on. All of you, go on.”
They shambled off. She stood where she was for another minute, looking away from the house and watching the men’s backs. When she turned, it looked as if she’d been crying.
When she came back inside, Hillary made a simple supper: bread, cheese, and fruit. Time passed
Finally, the dogs gave warning again. It was midnight.
From the cottage window, you a bonfire was visible in the woods. Figures danced and jumped in front of it. Voices were raised in song. One of the goat-men committed suicide by jumping directly into the bonfire.
There was a pause.
Hillary looked up, her face was set. “It’s time to go outside.”
Hillary shut the dogs in, though they were frantic to go with her. They went outside to face Gresty and Atkinson.
Atkinson was an emaciated old man, with gray, heavily wrinkled skin, a scruffy white beard on his chin, and a toothless mouth. Gresty looked much as he had when Kham last saw him; thin, with a small belly that jutted out around his trousers. He had a wild head of gray-brown coarse hair, a scrubby beard and mustache, and very protuberant ears.
Hillary whispered something inaudible. She pointed at the collected goat-men and their cultist masters.
The area surrounding the goat-men was shot through with sheets of roaring flame. The goat-men reeled, screaming and running in different directions as their fur caught on fire. Gresty and Atkinson seemed to find it amusing.
“Why are they laughing?” asked Kham.
Beldin stood his ground in front of them. “Let them come.”
Gresty pointed at Hillary. She clutched her throat, unable to speak.
“That’s it.” Sebastian raised his hands. “I’m putting an end to this—“
“No, wait!” shouted Kham. But it was too late.
“Incendiaries globus!”
A ball of fire engulfed the goat-men, Gresty, and Atkinson. The flames left blackened husks. Only Atkinson still stood. Surrounded by blackened earth, he looked like a lord of hell.
And Atkinson kept laughing.
“Why is he laughing?” asked Beldin.
“I was trying to tell you before they silenced me,” said Hillary. “Those are the Blessed. They are holy to Tizzhet. And Atkinson sacrificed one in a bonfire. I didn’t realize it until I burned them. That’s why Atkinson sent them ahead! He WANTED us to sacrifice them.” She cursed.
In a flash, Kham had his pistols out. He fired at Atkinson, but the old man merely held up a hand. The bullet bounced off of his open palm.
“Why would he want to sacrifice his own people?” asked Beldin.
Kham fired again. Atkinson deflected the shot.
“To summon something more powerful,” Sebastian said morosely.
The ground shook and there was a horrible stench—like rancid meat.
“Oh, no,” said Hillary. She pointed in the direction of the noise. Against the black of the night something even blacker was visible.
“What the hell is that?” asked Kham.
It was as big as a house. A massive, twined shifted body on squat legs. High above the thing there was movement, like trees that were not there a moment before. The upper half whipped frantically, as though in great pain. Somewhere in the body below, a mouth smacked open and spewed out a stream of filthy green ichor.
“One of Tizzhet’s Dark Young!”
The thing roared from multiple mouths and, on three stumpy legs, barreled forward. The tentacles reached down from the darkness, whip-cracking as they moved. Beldin dove to the side as it nearly trampled him.
“Get back!” the dwarf shouted. Before he could rise to his feet, a tentacle snapped out and wrapped around Beldin’s leg. It yanked him into the air.
Sebastian pointed at the Dark Young. “Radius Incensio!”
Spiraling gouts of fire blasted into the Dark Young, dissipating harmlessly.
The Dark Young’s tentacle dipped Beldin into one of its many mouths, slurping on him with its vile lips. The dwarf screamed and writhed in horror.
“Kham!” shouted Hillary.
Kham concentrated. A moment later, Beldin was slumped, unconscious, where Kham had been. His body was covered with dozens of sucker-like sores.
Kham slipped out of the tentacles of the Dark Young and rolled to his feet. The thing bellowed in frustration.
Sebastian lifted his arms. “Mulimodis Oris!”
Three ghostly pairs of vicious jaws flew out from the folds of his robes. The jaws snapped and bit at the Dark Young’s tentacles.
“I don’t know how long I can keep this thing busy!” he shouted over his shoulder.
“Quickly,” Hillary shouted to Kham, “grab four chickens from the coops and hold them upside down by the legs in front of you.”
Kham ran over to the coops and dragged four cages over. Hillary produced a long knife in front of her.
“Hold it up!”
Kham grabbed a struggling chicken out of its cage.
“Ishniggarah!” Hillary slashed precisely at one bird, wounding it fatally. “Say it” she shouted. “Help me! Say it!”
“Ishniggarah,” said Kham. “Are we performing some kind of ritual?”
The Dark Young roared and took a few steps forward. Sebastian pointed an extended finger: “Incendiaries globus!”
A pea-sized ball of fire transformed into a conflagration, engulfing the Dark Young. Kham procured another bird.
“The Black Mouth!” The knife slit a second bird. Both chickens were still alive. A deep, regular noise was now audible, getting louder. “Repeat it!” said Hillary.
“The Black Mouth!” shouted Kham.
The Dark Young stepped out of the fires, completely unharmed. Tentacles shot towards Sebastian. He rolled to the side and came up again. Kham took out a third chicken.
“The Black Tongue!” Hillary struck the third chicken with a ritual flourish. Blood from all three chickens splashed out over Kham’s hands and arms; they were still alive and flailing.
“The Black Tongue!” shouted Kham.
The ground trembled. Sebastian pointed at the abomination. “Magicus telum!”
Dark blue bolts of energy thudded into the thing, and still it kept coming. Kham brought out the final chicken.
“The Black Lip!” The fourth bird was slashed. The chickens struggled weakly.
“The Black Lip!” recited Kham.
A tentacle shot out and grabbed Sebastian by both arms. The Dark Young yanked him forward, dragging him along the ground towards it. Sebastian screamed.
Kham hesitated, torn between completing the ritual and helping his friend.
“Keep those birds there!” shouted Hillary. ”Stand still!”
It was unclear whether the last command was targeted at Kham or at the Dark Young, for she had whirled to face it. The terrified chickens still in their coops added to the cacophony of the dying ones. The dogs howled madly from the house.
Hillary stood tall, reaching towards the thing. She issued a challenge.
“Ishnigarrah! Utug Xul!”
Hillary immediately whirled back to the chickens and killed them: one, two, three, four, with sweeping forehand and backhand slashes. She turned again to face the Dark Young and took two steps toward it.
“You will kill the one who summoned you,” she spoke quietly, coldly, pointing at Atkinson. “Then you will go back to your Mother to draw on her teat.” She spat.
The thing turned with a great stamping, and headed back off towards Atkinson. Its noise diminished but then was counterpointed by Atkinson’s distant screams of fear and pain.
Hillary didn’t stop to listen, covered in blood and completely transported; even the dogs slunk away as she reentered the house.
“I don’t want to talk about what happened last night,” she said. “Let’s just say it was the child of the mother. You must leave now.”
“We will,” said Sebastian. Like Beldin, he had terrible bruises where the tentacles had touched him. Still, Hillary’s magic was considerable, and they had recovered quickly. “We’re heading to Coryan next.”
“It seems you have a hard task ahead of you,” said Hillary quietly. “If you find Livius, please let him know that Sarah will grow up to love her father.”
On the walk to the road, the countryside was as quiet as before. They reached Clotton without being challenged.
On the street, a small goat-faced boy, five or six years old, was playing with a red ball.
The ball rolled over to Sebastian. He kneeled down to hand it back.
The boy came over to Sebastian without any fear. As he took it back, a barking shout from one of the decrepit houses had him running inside.
This is a Dungeon adventure, “And Madness Followed” by Matthew Hope, set in the Arcanis setting. You can read more about Arcanis at Onara Online. Please note: This adventure contains spoilers!
Our cast of characters includes:
• Dungeon Master: Michael Tresca (http://michael.tresca.net)
• Kham Val’Abebi (val rogue/psychic warrior) played by Jeremy Ortiz (http://www.ninjarobotstudios.com)
• Beldin Soulforge (dwarf fighter/dwarven defender) played by Joe Lalumia
• Sebastian Arnyal (dark-kin sorcerer) played by George Webster
I couldn’t believe that someone beat me to the punch: I was going to submit my own King in Yellow-themed adventure to Dungeon magazine. When I found out that Matthew Hope had written one already, I had to have it.
I was not disappointed. Similar to Herald of the Yellow King, this adventure follows performers in three acts, with a climactic battle at the end. Even better, this adventure provides official rules on the Yellow Sign, the Pallid Mask, and what happens when you witness a performance of The King in Yellow. It also explicitly ties the Far Realm to Carcosa, something I was doing already.
That said, there were still some tweaks I needed to make. The identity of two performers was changed to further involve the characters in the plot and wrap up some loose ends. The wystes (from Monster Manual II, which I don’t have) were replaced with pseudonatural chuuls; you may remember them as the “immature form of the Spawn of Hastur” from Herald of the Yellow King. I changed the “Carcosan bats” that one of the performers summons to what they’re really supposed to be: byakhee. And the big bad monster at the end…well, you’ll have to read to find out.
The village of Hallowfeld was cradled in a rustic stretch of farmland, where the rolling hills and tall grasses occasionally gave way to a small hamlet or village.
“You know, we could get there a lot faster if you didn’t have such a problem with horses,” Kham grumbled.
“It’s the other way around,” Sebastian said morosely. “They have a problem with me.”
“Whatever. My feet hurt.”
As they entered town, none of the usual sounds associated with a village greeted them. All that remained were a few buildings around what used to be the community center. Many buildings were burnt partially or completely, and terrific bloodstains marred the streets and remaining facades.
Beldin took out his axe and shield. “This looks familiar.”
Kham drew his pistols. “No, THAT looks familiar.” He pointed with one pistol.
A strange and unsettling mark was on one wall of the town’s general store. It was made in yellow paint and depicted a strange rune of three hooked arms around a circle.
“The Yellow Sign,” said Sebastian. “Damn it, it’s spreading again!”
“Shh!” said Beldin. “Did you hear that?”
They all strained to listen. There were strange noises coming from the buildings—sounds of feet dragging across floorboards, a curious heavy breathing laced with a strange hissing, and an unnerving sloshing and slurping.
“Ah, crap,” was all Kham got out before things burst from every door and window surrounding them.
The villagers had been transformed into near-mindless mockeries of their former selves. Their skin was a pale white, with a yellowish tint that seemed almost luminescent. Their flesh was rubbery and soft, and their forms lacked any rigidity or apparent skeletal structure. In place of heads were nests of writhing pseudopods and delicate pale feelers. They were all armed with pitchforks.
Kham turned and fired both pistols. Two of the things collapsed.
“Radius Incensio!” Sebastian pointed at two of the things. Two streams of flame blasted into the villagers, turning melting them into yellow puddles.
Beldin hacked one of the villagers down before it could react, then spun in a vicious arc that disemboweled the other.
The things never had a chance.
“Nice shooting,” said Kham.
Sebastian’s fingers trailed smoke. He blew on them. “Nice shooting yourself.”
“Look there.” Beldin pointed at a large manor house that overlooked the village. It was untouched by whatever had ravaged the village.
“Great.” Kham sighed and reloaded his pistols. “Well, I did say I wanted a place to rest.”
He holstered his pistols and strode towards the manor.
Kham let Skiz out of his satchel and together they explored the place, room by room. Sebastian and Beldin stood at the doorway, watchful for any signs of intruders and listening for Kham’s usual cry for help: gunshots.
“Anything?”
Kham looked up from rifling through a collection of notes. Written in a cramped, spidery script, it mentioned the “true nature of reality.” The pages mentioned the author’s belief that reality was an illusion and his desire to strip the illusion away from the world so that he too could experience the truth of life.
Skiz, Kham’s talking rat, stood up on his hind legs in the doorway. “Well, boss, I found something written by a girl.”
Kham arched an eyebrow. “How can you tell?”
Skizz sniffed the air for a second. “Well, it doesn’t smell like the owner of this place. He smells like old, wet paper.”
“Show me.”
The rat bounded off with Kham close behind. They went up a winding staircase to one of the four bedrooms. It was the master bedroom, and judging by its decor it was used by a woman.
Skiz bounded up onto a chair and then onto a desk. He plopped one pink paw on a stack of parchment.
Kham picked it up and flipped through the pages. “This looks like a long list. And there are check marks next to four-dozen of them. There’s also a note on the bottom: likely not enough people—Lamid, perhaps?”
“A list, boss? For what?”
Kham’s expression darkened. “I know exactly what it’s for. Whoever wrote this is looking to summon the King in Yellow by showing it to a large crowd.”
Skiz froze. He cocked his head.
“What?”
“I think I heard something in the attic, boss.” He sniffed the air. “It’s a girl.”
“How do you know…never mind, I don’t want to know.”
He peered into the bedroom’s closet. A ladder led up to a trapdoor.
Kham drew his pistols. “Stay down here.” Then he slowly climbed up the creaking ladder.
Linear Mode
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