part 2 (of 2)
Session #60 (part II)
Kazrack grunted as Vander slammed more kicks and punches into him. The monk used the force of his last kick to leap back and avoid a counter attack. For a moment Schlomo and Kazrack struggled to get through the door into the room beyond to go after him.
Ratchis managed to squeeze past them followed closely by a salivating Debo. Ratchis’ hammer struck Vandor hard in the shoulder, as the monk’s blocks were ineffective against the weighty weapon. Instead, he brought a kick down on Ratchis’ knee twice that made the half-orc buckle and roar. But he left himself open to Kazack who, managing to get past Debo, swiped into the monk’s hip with his halberd. There was an explosion of blood and the monk swayed.
“Stop!” cried Beorth coming into the room behind Schlomo.
Ratchis dropped his hammer and slammed a hammy fist right into the monk’s face, sending him down definitely. It was then the ranger noticed that Vander appeared to have already been injured.
Debo raised his sword to finish the monk, but Ratchis raised a hand, “Stay your weapon. I will heal him. We need to talk to him.”
“Debo hate monks!”
“Oh, he is one of those boy-stealing monks we ran into before,” Gunthar said, coming into the room.
“You met monks here before?” Beorth was amazed.
“Yeah, right on this level to be exact,” Gunthar said.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Ratchis fumed, kneeling by the monk to lay a minor healing spell on him to stabilize him.
“You friggin’ didn’t ask,” Gunthar shot back. “Anyway, they aren’t after the sword, so we didn’t care and they were going to the flooded level first and I wanted to avoid that if possible.”
Ratchis growled and walked off to search the small room. There was the mechanism for opening the gates, consisting of two levers and one wheel. Beside it, impaled into the wall by a broken spear was the skeletal corpse of a humanoid in chain mail armor. The head was gone, as were whatever it might have worn on its feet and the feet themselves. Ratchis assumed it was among the bone dust he left tracks in. He started as he noticed that the figure wore a belt of scored chains about its waist. He leaned forward and saw what he was looking for, tiny ankhs engraved into some of the links. His eyes drifted over to something large hanging from the belt, beneath the tattered remains of a stained white tunic.
It was key. A large metal key about nine inches long with large loop at the turning end that could easily fit a human hand. The key was a corroded blue-green color, as if it spent a long time beneath the surface of the ocean.
Ratchis carefully took it from the belt and hefted it. Speaking a word to his goddess, he examined it for magic and detected three different auras, one faint, but the other two were moderately powerful. He knew it must be some relic of the friars of Nephthys, and he tied it to his own belt. He looked around on the floor to see if there was anything else that might have belonged to what was obviously a friar of Nephthys that might have fell, an found a single ankh earring. He slipped into his ear.
In the meantime, Vander was healed by Beorth and was waking up. The paladin held the monk’s staff. It was exceptionally light and hard. It felt good in his hand, and he spun it once, before pointing on end to the floor to lean on.
“Where is your master?” Beorth asked.
“I will say nothing,” replied Vander. He was sitting up, his hands tied behind his back.
“Debo kill monk!”
“Kill me if you will. I will be rewarded for doing what is right,” Vander said.
“For someone who isn’t going to say anything this creep sure does talk a lot,” Gunthar quipped.
“I too am doing what I think is right,” Beorth said.
“What you think and what we know are two different things,” Vander continued. “Our way is the better way. Think on that before you defy the will of Master Hamfast and Master Adder.” (1)
“Why is your way better?” Kazrack asked.
“Because we seek to remain to Anubis, even if our own god betrays us,” Vander replied, cryptically.
“You have to understand that Beorth was not always forthcoming about his run-ins and experiences with you and your sect,” Kazrack explained. “And he has since lost his memory. We are not in a position to fully know what is going on unless you explain it more clearly.”
Beorth nodded.
Vander paused.
“Why are you wasting your time?” Gunthar complained. “This worm won’t say anything useful. Monks are suckers that hide their hankering for other hairless men behind two copper words and blank stares. They never had a woman. They’re twisted. The loosest hooer in Neergaard could slide his head in her snatch and he wouldn’t so much as get a stiff one before he suffocated.”
Everyone ignored him, but Rondar who’s hoarse shrill laughter echoed up and down the empty chambers filled with bones. It seemed to call back from the darkness.
“Master Adder found at the great convocation in the Archduchy of Wallbrook that the Grand Master was going to announce some drastic changes to our order based on a vision he was supposed to have gotten from Anubis,” Vander finally began. “These changes undermine not only what the order means, but what following Anubis itself means, and we who are faithful will not let that happen. We seek the power to change this back to how it should be.”
“What exactly will you do with this power?”
“To put our will against those who would abandon their duty even at the behest of a god,” Vander answered. “At this will our master succeed our die trying.”
“And where is your master now? Looking for the way to gain this power, to talk to Anubis?” Beorth asked.
“I will not say.”
“Smack him around a little,” Gunthar suggested.
“I doubt a man so convicted can be convinced to speak through use of pain,” Beorth said.
“Who cares? Smack the little man-b*tch around. It’ll be fun,” Gunthar winked at the monk.
“There will be none of that,” Kazrack said.
“What is your name?” Beorth asked the monk.
“I am Vander – Initiate of the Stone.” (2)
“What happened the last time we met, Brother Vander?”
“Last time we met? You freed the ram-creature, the paragon…”
“The exemplar?”
“Same thing.”
There was a long discussion as to what to do with him, but it was finally agreed to just let him go, as murdering him in cold blood would not be right.
Gunthar snickered and Debo fumed, but the Fearless Manticore Killers insisted despite their better judgment. However, they took his staff from him, hoping it would cause him to leave the Pit of Bones rather than risk staying there unarmed.
After taking a quick look around the rest of this level, finding naught more than more piles of shattered bones, rusted weapons and shards of armor, and armories filled with other weapons (mostly crossbows and quarrels) in ill repair, Gunthar led the combined groups towards the large chamber that was partially flooded.
It was a tall and wide chamber that narrowed along its curved right wall down into a flooded passageway that seemed to spiral down into the darkness. The murky water was ankle deep in most of the room, and occasionally lapped against the wall with a gentle slapping sound, though even in the of the radiant spark one could tell that walking into that chamber would have the water over your head in no time.
There was another hallway that led around to where the stairs to the level above was, and a set of double doors that seemed to lead into a chamber nearly the size of this outer room. These two rooms together made up the vast majority of this section of the citadel. There were four pillars, four feet in diameter and varying in height with the arced ceiling.
“The jig is up!” Gunthar suddenly announced, spinning around and placing his hands on the hilts of his swords. He looked at Schlomo. “We know the sword is down there and that you are here to find it, too. Your friends sold you out.” Gunthar’s eyes trailed to Kazrack, Martin and Ratchis.
“We’re getting the sword no matter what!” Schlomo announced, angry. His own little hands hefted his war hammer and he grimaced.
“Look, we still are looking for, you know, the other thing,” Ratchis said, stepping between them. “Why don’t you help us, we help you and we decide about the sword thing once we actually have it to worry about?”
“Bah! Why should I trust you when you are so willing to hold back information from us?” Gunthar harangued. “How do we know you don’t have some ambush or sneak attack planned for us?”
“We’re worried about you keeping your word!” Kazrack lamented.
“We’ve been nothing but reliable and honest with you losers,” Gunthar replied. “Bastards!”
“You did not tell us about your meeting the monks,” Beorth said.
“That had nothing to do with the friggin’ sword, and for all we know with what you are looking for so…”
“The monks are looking for the same thing as we are,” Martin said.
“Oh! Now you tell us! That is more information you held back, you weasaly little bitches.”
There a long tense silence.
Ratchis noticed the double doors on the left were suddenly open some. He could not remember them being that way before the argument started. He began to creep over there.
“I don’t understand how a brother of mine could hook up with a bunch of self-righteous hypocrites. You all would probably stiff a one-legged hooer knowing she couldn’t chase after you for her fee.” Gunthar swore and snorted back laughter. “Look, you have to go down into that damn dark water and so do we, so let’s just do it. Me and my crew will take the sword and use it to kill the dragn, and if the gnomes still need it then they can have it. Sound fair?”
“It will be useless to us then,” Schlomo said.
“What if you let Gunthar and his crew accompany you to ‘deliver’ it,” Martin the Green suggested.
“Who do you have to deliver it to?” Frederick asked.
Schlomo hesitated.
“Probably another group of dragon-hunters who suckered him into getting it,” Gunthar speculated. “No one else has nearly a good a chance of actually killing that dragon but us, so if you want for us to come with you to deliver it, we’ll handle convincing whoever it is that we are the best ones to have it.” (3)
“I guess that is a good compromise,” Kismet said. Schlomo opened his mouth to protest, but the gnome woman elbowed him.
Ratchis was at the door, when Rondar cried out and pointed towards the water.
There seemed to be a tiny wave swelling in the murky water, but instead of breaking against the wall, it seemed to move of its own volition, rearing up to a height of four feet, psuedo-pods seemingly made of living water began to thash about its ‘body’.
“What manner of magic is that?” Ratchis asked, grabbing his axe off his back.
“DEBO HATE MAGIC!”
The stocky barbarian charged at the thing even as Martin noticed the thinnest tendril of water whipping across the surface of the water, like a life line from the thing to the larger body of water.
Debo’s sword cut right through it, but it was unclear if it had any effect on it, for it did no slow down.
“Debo, let it come to us,” Beorth said, too late and drawing his sword, moved cautiously forward to support the barbarian against the strange creature.
Kazrack did not hesitate and came forward smashing at the thing with his new flail. “Martin! What is this thing?”
“I think it is an elemental beast! Are your weapons working against it?”
Before the dwarf could answer, Gunthar let out a stream of profanity, while looking up.
Anarie followed his gaze and gasped. Crawling across the ceiling was some sort of fish-man. It was covered in mauve scales, with a wide splayed head with large unblinking eyes and webbed hands and feet that ended in sharp scale-like claws. It wore a webbed belt made of some kind of darker colored fish scales, from which hung some webbed pouches and a wicked barbed and curved knife. It had some kind of pole arm slipped into a harness on its back.
The thing’s head turned almost all the way around and it unblinking fishy gaze fell upon Beorth. With unbelievable speed it flipped off the ceiling and the pole arm was in its hands. Standing nearly teen feet from the Ghosthunter of Anubis, the snapping metal jaws of the mechanism on the end of the pole pinched Beorth’s neck, holding him nearly helpless.
Rondar and Frederick made themselves scares. The former sneaking behind a pillar, while Fredericl moved to the right side wall placing his back to it and examining the ceiling nervously.
Anarie heard a splash behind her and spun around, there was another one of fish-men. She jerked back, but was too late. The arms of the thing’s man-catcher snapped about her neck, jerking her back and forth easily. This one had more sickly yellow scales, and a set of frilly scales flapping back and forth atop its unusually tall and narrow head.
Beorth snapped free tearing skin from his neck and shoulders, and Ratchis came charging at the thing, but again with incredible speed, it swung the man-catcher in the half-orc’s direction and caught him with a jerk.
“Urk!” Ratchis grunted, and then yanked free with a roar. His charge was broken.
The appearance of the new foes distracted Kazrack and he felt the sharp whip of water across his thighs. The small elemental had struck him and now his legs stung awfully.
Schlomo came charging in, hammer over his head and beard flapping behind him, to aid Anarie. However, the second fishman was too quick and jerked the elf around, forcing the gnome to check his blow or risk striking the person he was trying to help.
“Sagitta Magicus!” The fish-man could not dodge the arrows of light that blasted from Kismet’s finger.
Beorth crouched and slipped into the first fishman’s guard and brought his sword down on its leg. The wound gushed a foul-smelling oil that bubbled. The fishman’s little puckered mouth twitched, but they seemed to make no sound.
Kazrack could see the volume of the water-creature before him lessen and he drove his flail into it, jerking his arm back awkwardly as he pulled it from its watery essence.
“Kismet! Try Fire!” Martin advised, fear in his voice. “Lentus!”
The fishman jerking Anarie around with the man-catcher suddenly jerked himself, as all his motions slowed way down, almost as if a caricature of itself. Anarie was able to put her chin beneth the collar and painfully squeeze out of it. (4)
“What’s yer name again?!” Rondar called quizzically towards Martin from behind a pillar. “Mage! Watch out! Look up!”
“Huh?” Martin’’s voice became a shriek as he saw a third fish-man on the ceiling. It reached down at him cutting a deep gash in the mage’s ear with a serrated curved knife. The thing’s knees and feet never left the ceiling. This one has deep blue scales running in stripes down the side of its body, and its face was strangely flat; a pouch of loose skin and scales on its neck.
“Oh! Fishy Fishy Squishy Fish! Get off the ceiling and in my dish!” Frederick began sing in a high-pitched silly voice, but the effect of it seemed to raise the spirits of his companions (including the Fearless Manticore Killers) as they struggled. “Get on my hook, Pishy-Pish! A fish is only good in a dish!”
As Ratchis and Beorth struggled with the first fishman and Kazrack, Debo and Gunthar struggled with the elemental, Schlomo croaked as the second fishman grabbed him about the neck and face, crunching his nose. He pulled free and hurried out of reach, as the fishman stumbled, struck by more of Kismet’s magic missiles.
Kazrack felt the whip of the water elementals tendrils again. Gunthar’s weapons seemed to do nothing no matter how many times they struck the thing.
Beorth smashed at the man-catcher and buried his sword into the first fishman’s shoulder. There was another explosion of the foul oil and the then the thing collapsed. Gritting his teeth, Beorth calmly began to walk towards the fish-man still hanging from the ceiling.
Another set of arrows of light struck the second fish-man, this time from Anarie. She stayed well clear of its man-catcher.
“I guess I should start helping,” Rondar mumbled and began to load his crossbow from the relative safety of being behind the pillar.w
The blue-striped fishman leapt from the ceiling, and spun around as Ratchis charged him. It made a sucking sound and its exagertated long hands and fingers pointed at the half-orc. Ratchis could feel the spell come over him, but nothing seemed to happen. He slammed his war hammer into the side of the thing’s head. He could feel the soft bones crack and shift beneath the hammer, but it was clear – These things had no real skull to speak of.
Beorth backed up his companion, and drove the fish-man even further back, flicking scales from its upper arm.
Kazrack could start to feel a great bruise develop across his thigh, where the elemental kept striking him. He began to try to withdraw to draw the thing into shallower water.
“Debo, Gunthar, help me get this thing out of the water.”
Gunthar just kept swinging.
Anarie leapt backward, flipping back and tucking into a roll went past the fish-man narrow-headed before her, avoiding the snap of his weapon’s pincers. However, as she came around to support Martin, she felt the bite of the newest fishman’s knife.
Martin ducked behind a pillar, as he was able to get away because of Anarie’s screening him.
Rondar leapt out from behind his pillar and with a twang, a heavy crossbow bolt slammed into the blue-stripped fish man and it fell over, spurting a trail of black oil behind it.
“Yah-Ha!” Rondar cried with glee, pumping his fist in the air.
Ratchis smashed the thing’s head where it lay in the shallow murky water. It crunched. Grunting with satisfaction, he began to make his way towards the remaining fishy-foe, but suddenly stopped, grabbed his stomach and began to belch up a gallon of murky brown water. He swayed in place.
The water elemental melted away into nothing.
“Where’d it go?” Gunthar asked.
“Pig-f*cker sick!” Debo laughed, as he withdrew from the elemental had been having tired of having no effect on it.
“Can anyone cure poison?” Ratchis croaked between gasps.
The remaining fish-man, despite still being under the effect of Martin’s slow spell, was able to get free of the melee and dive towards the deeper water.
Anarie chased after it, pulling her bow from her back, while Ratchis puked more, but it was too late. It was gone.
Kazrack stepped over to the first fish-man. Its suckered little mouth and the gill-slits in it neck rose and fell very shallowly. Kazrack stabilized it with a minor orison.
“What the hell are you doing, Stumpy?” Gunthar exclaimed coming over. He buried his long sword in the thing’s head and twisted. The thing’s face exploded in greenish-yellow bubbling oil. “That is what you do to enemies.”
Kazrack grimaced and pushed at Gunthar forcing the tall man to look down at him. “Gunthar, if you ever strike down one I choose to spare again, the next person I will have to decide to spare or not shall be you.”
“Don’t threaten me, Stumpy,” Gunthar tapped Kazrack on the back of the head, and the dwarf pushed him away.
“It is a promise, not a threat.”
“You don’t spare enemies, unless maybe they are men…”
“We don’t know what we might be facing down there,” Kazrack replied. “I wanted to question it.”
“It sure didn’t seem to speak Common to me,” Gunthar spat.
“We have blessings that might have allowed us to communicate with it,” Kazrack explained.
“Well, I didn’t know that,” Gunthar said, backing down a bit. “But still, what were you going to do with it after you questioned it? Let it go? Kill it in cold blood after it has outlived its usefulness? Does that seem right to you? Friggin’ hypocrites, you guys are.”
“Ooh look! We hit the jackpot!” Rondar’s voice was heard to say. As soon as the fight was over and the arguing had started, and everyone else was distracted by the liquefaction of Ratchis’ guts, the lanky man had crept over and pulled a sack from the corpse of the blue-scaled fish-man. Inside he found a handful of gold and silver obleks, and an impressive gold and silvery gauntlet with a heavy palm that did not seem able to grasp anything. It was encrusted with black and red gems. It was apparent that it was worth a fortune, but it was also etched with dwarven runes.
Rondar had the gauntlet one and was waving it around.
“Take that off!” Kazrack order, immediately recognizing it for what it was. He snatched it from the rogue.
It was called ‘the Hand of Natan-Ahb’ and while not a magical item, the masterful craftsmanship of the gauntlet made of gold and truesiler (5) was undeniable breath-taking. It was worth more perhaps than the treasuries of all three of the Little Kingdoms put together – but for the same reason would be nearly unsellable. Crafted long ago, there were but a few left in the world, and were worn by high priests and thegns when presiding over a trial or making pronouncements of law.
“Hey!” Gunthar said, getting back into a mood to argue. “We split all booty equally!”
“This is a relic of my people. It is not booty,” Kazrack insisted.
“Fine, you can take it, but we’re keeping the dwarf coins,” Rondar said, putting the bag to his chest.
“Yeah, keep yer damn golden tally-wacker stroker,” Gunthar spat. “Wouldn’t be able to sell something like that in this piss-poor backwater kingdom anyway.”
Meanwhile, Ratchis was feeling somewhat better and Frederick having noticed the key hanging from the Friar’s belt for the first time recognized it and began to tell him about it.
He was unsure of its powers, but said that it was a relic of the Third Age (5) and has its origins in Thricia during the time of Agon the God-King. It was said to have been made from the doors to the palace of the god-king. It was to be worn openly where all could see it.
“Since it was forged it has passed through many hands,” Frederick added. “Friars of Nephthys don’t generally live very long, ya know.”
Ratchis nodded.
“I don’t know how Anarie and I are going to get our spellbooks safely to wherever we’re going,” Martin opined, looking at the water.
“Can’t you hide them away somewhere and we’ll come back for them?” Beorth suggested.
“Uh-uh. No way! Not after the last time,” Martin’s face pinched up as if he had smelled something bad. “We may be gone a long time and may not even come back out the same way. No way!”
But by then they had looked beyond the double doors to what Gunthar described as having been a storage room of some kind. There were scores of pots. Most were shattered, or severely cracked and fell apart by the slightest touch. There was a muck of wet rotted grain, and the stale smell of alcohol. However, some of the smaller pots were intact and Anarie had the idea of using them to transport the spell books. While the larger books would not fit through the tops, the pots could be carefully cracked and then fixed with the books inside using a mending spell. The tops could then be sealed pieces of stone from the broken ones and sealed with wax.
It was decided that someone should scout the flooded passage before everyone went. Ratchis volunteered, but Gunthar insisted he represent his group and come along as well. Finally, it was agreed that Beorth would accompany them as he wanted to be the first to deal with the monks if they happen to run into any.
The three warriors removed their armor and Martin the Green cast his spell of mage armor on each of them. (6) They split a potion of water-breathing that Kismet provided them. It was a sea-green color and had a nauseating slimy texture. (7)
“Be careful of the grapplers!” Kazrack warned as Ratchis, Gunthar and Beorth begant o head into the murky water. Beorth’s helmet shone with light, and Gunthar had a dagger with the spell upon it too, in easy reach.
The three of them could feel their bodies panic and their minds reel as they first went in below the depth of their heads. The instinct in each of them was to struggle up and gasp for air, for a second Gunthar looked like he might do just that and Ratchis held a great amount of air in his powerful lungs, but Beorth simply hurried his pace and took a deep breath of water. He was aware of his fear, but a paladin never gives into it.
They moved along the bottom of the great passageway, half-walking and half-swimming. The passageway ceiling seemed to fall away above them as the sense of what was up and what was down was something they had to consider as the went further and further down in what seemed a great spiral.
The water was cold, much colder than they had imagined it being. Ratchis was protected by his boots, but he could see Beorth and Gunthar turning a pale blue. The half-orc hoped there would not be much longer to go, as they had been traveling for nearly an hour. Along the way, they saw a lot of piled rocks, and would kick an occasional weapon, or piece of armor. They even saw a huge cart that must have been pulled by a team of oxen. Much of it had rotted away, but the main frame of it was made of metal, and it shone a bright-corroded blue in the spell light.
Eventually the passageway opened onto a great chasm. Pillars seemed to hold up a level above them, and stone steps on the left and right went both up to the level above and down deeper in the murky water. Before them the chasm seemed like an infinite black void. Ratchis signaled for them to climb up.
Two levels up they emerged from the water, and could see that they were on one of countless levels of what seemed a great chasm more than a half mile in diameter. It must have once been the hub for a huge dwarven city, but now there was only the echo of dripping water, and the occasional sparkle of some golden statue across part of the way on the right or left.
Where they stood was a stone platform, with a ceiling above it held up by four pillars. Behind the pillars were great stone double doors with a bas-relief of hand with an eye in the palm, flanked by the scene of armored dwarven warriors.
“Me prick’s so shriveled it’s like a pea!” Gunthar grabbed his crotch and hopped up and down trying to warm up, and then let out a great guffaw that echoed across the chasm. “Get it? Pea!”
End of Session #60
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Notes:
(1) Hamfast is the monk Beorth met at the Pit of Bones in the Interlude before Session #2x
(2) As monks of Anubis rise in the hierarchy of the order they are awarded set titles. Intiate of the Stone is a fairly low one.
(3) Of course, the gnomes are supposed to deliver the sword to the dragon herself.
(4) DM’s Note: Anarie made a successful escape artist check.
(5) According to human measure, this is currently the Fourth Age. However, elves, dwarves and other long-lived races still consider this the Third Age. Regardless of how it is measured, the portion of time is also called “The Age of Adventurers” and was when most of the powerful magical items found in Aquerra today were made.
(6) DM’s Note: Wizards may trade out prepared spells by preparing a different spell in the same slot. Re-preparing in this way takes 15 minutes per spell level per spell.
(7) DM’s Note: The amount drunken determined how long the effect would last. There was 12 hours of water-breathing in the flask, so each would be protected for four hours.
