From Sandpoint to Thistletop
The tunnel ended in a chamber that featured a stone basin and several carvings of monstrous abominations and prayers which Caramour identified as sacred to Lamashtu. This, then, must have been the source of the unholy potable. A set of double doors were summarily unlocked and untrapped, and Shaiira carefully opened them. We readied ourselves for any horror we might encounter beyond the ancient portal.
The long chamber’s walls were covered in large, spiked runes, some painted, some carved. They were similar to the ones we met in the
checkerboard-floating item-weirdness room, but were scribed with a more agitated, angrier serif.
The room’s vaulted ceiling traveled the entire length. Across the room, a short stone staircase led to a pool crafted from polished humanoid skulls; a small, winged being hovered over the roiling liquid, and two sinspawn flanked the pool.
“What is it?” Shaiira asked.
“Likely a demon,” Vohoi answered.
“Might be Tsuto’s ‘Quasit’,” I said.
“They are small, winged demons,” C confirmed.
“It’s dead,” Mundin answered as he hefted his axe and strode towards the beast.
“Who dares enter the Mother’s Sanctum?” the demon shrilled, her tiny knife held to her wrist.
We followed the dwarf to our foes, quickly cutting down the sinspawn. The demon took the wee knife and cut itself over the pool, droplets of blood splashed the surface; another foul sinspawn rose from the waters to attack. It was quickly felled. We surrounded the pool as the quasit took to the far corner of the cathedral-ceilinged room, and became invisible. A pair of dire rats appeared and were quickly dispatched. The demon briefly appeared but disappeared again. Vohoi attempted to track it with magic, but was unsuccessful.
Several of us succumbed to magical stasis while our spells and weapons glanced off its wretched hide. The battle wore on, and it became quite apparent we were unprepared for the demon. Its ability to incapacitate us with its magic, in combination with our inability to penetrate its abyssal hide with our simple weapons, was trying. Grandy Vin was telling me to focus on its powers, to figure out its game like hide-a-shell, but the idea fell to the floor- a casualty of my inexperience with such a situation.
“We cannot strike it,” said Vohoi.
“My arrows are useless, and it’s flying about, I think,” Shaiira said, “and it’s enchanted itself invisible.”
“Aye, Sister, tis too much for now,” I concurred. The three of us slowly backed ourselves to the doors; Mundin and C tried again to engage the demon, who threw a needle-like dagger at C, but missed.
“To us!” I shouted, motioning to the dwarf and the Vudrani.
Mundin spat; the bloodlust was in his eyes. “Nay, child, I can slay this beast, I just need to-” the clang of his enchanted hand-axe against the floor echoed in the cavernous room “- hit it! Damned beard of Droskar! It was just, it was just right there!”
“Mundin- to me, now! We must go! Caramour, what are you doing?” I shouted to the far end of the chamber, where Caramour tarried by the dread cistern.
A pair of eagles flooded in golden light appeared from thin air; C moved towards the dwarf, stooping to grab the silver dagger and hand-axe. Each was an unsuccessful attempt to strike the demon, and the eagles fared no better, striking as it came visible again but with little effect. Shaiira, Vohoi, and I moved out of the room, waiting for the cleric and the fighter. Mundin shouted what I can only imagine to be an insulting and profanity-laced tirade in his native tongue towards the thin air as we slammed the door behind us. I grabbed my hammer and iron spike and slammed the piton home, hoping to seal the “mother” and her “children” within for at least one night.
Mundin paced, muttering, “By the corpse of Dravik, I could’ve had the thing! I only needed time-”
“We had no time, friend,” Shaiira said quietly. “Were we to wait a fortnight for you to strike the beast, then what?”
“A fortnight without ale,” C said. Mundin stopped his pacing and his head snapped up, staring at C in disbelief.
I laughed, hard. I had to. Vohoi chuckled, C’s eyes reflected a humorous light, the dwarf seethed.
Then he laughed, too.
“Aye, let’s be to the Dragon, fill our bellies with ale and our scabbards with a proper demon-killing arsenal,” he said.
A fine idea. We quickly swept through the ruins we’d already mapped, leaving the few unexplored spurs for later. We asked Gomer and Guber to post a watch at the glassworks, and to alert us immediately should anything raise their suspicion of the place. They acquiesced, and we headed to Ameiko’s for rest.
We arrived late in the evening, and a platter of cured meats, cheese, and crusty bread greeted us, along with a savory silver beet relish and smashed black mustard seed tapenade, a mug of fine dwarven stout, and a bottle of Sargavan croix-de-guerre, a blush wine with a complex nose of apple, Thornberry, thyme, and a coppery undertone culled from the bloodrose, a blossom native to Garund. The savory, tangy relish met the smoked meat and strong cheese head on, a delectable supper for such a trying day. The Garundi wine was a strong compliment to the repast, respecting everything at the plate. Mundin drained his mug in one slow, satisfying draught.
After we ate, we talked strategy. I had a bounty of coin, and offered it for whatever we might need. I planned to purchase cold iron bolts for myself and Mundin, as well as some arrows for Shaiira- at least we could hit and likely damage the flying demon with cold iron. Caramour, always quizzical, simply stated he would be ready tomorrow. We agreed it best to start early, and to speak to Father Zantus. We had no magic to counter the demon’s invisibility; perhaps he did, or could provide us guidance with a prayer.
A few rounds of brandy saw us to sweet, silent sleep.
When my eyes creaked open with the rising daylight, I was secretly happy that nothing disturbed my slumber. I rose and stretched, reasoning that either nothing had crawled from the depths beneath Sandpoint- or it had, and everyone lay dead. I assumed the former as I padded to the washroom. At breakfast we quickly ate and hit the market for supplies. We met with Father Zantus and told him what we found beneath Sandpoint.
“A corrupt place, Father,” Caramour said, calmly. “Myself and the scholar both believe there is a danger in this place.”
“Indeed, Father,” Vohoi said. “I recognized some of the runes to be those of wrath, anger, and the like.”
“The walls hum with hatred,” I added.
We described the statue of the woman holding the ranseur and the book carved with the sihedron, the altar dedicated to Lamashtu, the twisted goblin, the quasit, and the sinspawn.
“I would like to follow you into the dark,” Zantus said, “so that I may see with mine own eyes what it is you speak. Should I prove a burden, I will return topside.”
“Desna’s Chosen are never a burden, Father,” I replied. He smiled.
Back to the glassworks; we met the sentry and found they’d be on watch for a few more hours than promised. I passed each a few silver and thanked them for their vigilance. When I was young, maybe twelve summers, we made several monthly trips to Riddleport. I was old enough to see things. PopPop knew that and winked, once, and came to me sitting on the drover’s plank, and said low, “A silver in hand can spring a sword in need.” He had just given coin to a few guards to keep them dumb enough to the Sczarni’s questions, sure to come after we’d left the city.
We made our way to the quasit’s lair; the door had been jacked open enough to allow a small creature to slip through. I silently cursed my cheap Korvosan iron spike. Next time I’m in Janderhoff…
We entered the seemingly empty room. Vohoi searched it with his magic, but we found nothing hiding. We brought Father Zantus to the skull-pool, I was suddenly struck by a fear that he knew something nefarious, and that we might be in grave danger. The waters were less violent than they had been yesterday.
“A summoning pool,” he said. “My guess is that it has a limited functionality, that it summons a finite number of creatures.” My heart tightened with apprehension.
“Let us draw blood to test this theory,” Zantus said, looking us all in the eye. No one blinked. The cleric shrugged. “Then I guess it’s my turn,” he said, drawing a knife to the tip of his last finger, squeezing drops of blood into the pool. It roiled and a sinspawn emerged, only to be hacked down.
The pool went dark, ceased its noxious roiling and lay still. Father Zantus, to my relief, did not turn into an abomination.
We moved to explore the last region of the complex. Travelling down a corridor and up a set of stairs, we met a circular room occupied by another pool ringed by skulls. This time, one rose to attack. The vargouille was surprised by Shaiira’s cold iron arrow and my rapier, and quickly fell. The door across the way opened onto a rockslide. Doubling back through the dungeon, we could not find the quasit; it had escaped either physically or through subterfuge, as our combined magic could not place it. Caramour burst positive energy unto the pit zombies, ensuring further explorers would not need to hassle themselves with that hazard.
We headed back into the main tunnel that extended from the glassworks. One branch travelled about a half-mile until Shaiira found a secret door;
it opened onto a circular cave that held evidence of goblin activity- smelly pallets, rat and bird bones, other refuse. Goblin tracks led from the beaches to this point, and then through the secret door; but none led back to this place.
The final spur leading from the glassworks ended abruptly in a rockslide. We returned topside and searched the river banks east of town for any continued goblin activity, but found none. Father Zantus thanked us for our efforts and returned to the temple. Being early evening, we took to the cliffs, and a fellow named Gorvi met us.
“Aye, an’howyado. Gorvi’s de name, been here junkin’ forebber.” Gorvi stank of trash and rum.
“Gorvi, seen many goblins about?” I asked.
“Neh. They been gone since ah since the battles, yep. Us’lly three, five days they junk.”
“Ever notice particular marks?” I asked.
“Summa have a necklace with teeth. Ottern’ that, naw. They’s far out, I don’ pay much mind ‘cept for the Dealer.”
“Who’s the Dealer?” Shaiira asked.
“Da gobby who tries to sell his finds,” Gorvi coughed a lung. “Sometimes he’s got real cheese.” We took our leave, none the wiser.
We decided to meet with the local sage, Broddart Quint. He seemed to recognize Vohoi and Mundin, but I could glean nothing by that. He met us in his well-stuffed home, more museum than anything. Charts, maps, thick leather tomes, a ball on a spike that spun – a “globe” he called it. Piles of papers, documents, scrolls, a suit of Taldor armor, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves crammed with books, documents, and scrolls circled an overstuffed armchair attended by a squat, wide-topped mahogany table, also covered in books and scrolls.
We described all we had encountered in the dungeon below Sandpoint.
“The statue you speak of, it is likely that of Alaznast, the Runelord of Wrath. The Thassilonian Runelords have a varied, compelling history in Varisia.
“It seems you found what is known as a rune-well. A sacred place for the Runelord Alaznast, the recent activity here must have stirred up the place’s power.” We chatted for a fair time about the town and any details he could give us. His eyes lit when we produced the ranseur we freed from the statue. He stood firm on the price, which we decided was good enough.
None of us lived here previous, but Sandpoint has taken us in because we happened to be here when the town needed help, and rose to serve. We stopped the goblin invasion, only to learn that the tide pulled harder. Unable to convince Tsuto to turn himself in to the local authorities, we found his absolute distrust of anyone, even his half-sister, had driven him to deplorable moral depths.
There is a danger hovering over Sandpoint, and her name is Nualia. The fire that consumed the old temple supposedly included the pastor and his daughter, an adopted aasimar. We know from Tsuto’s journal she lives and is attempting some sort of transformation.
We know, too, that Thistletop is the linchpin in many of Tsuto’s ravings in his journal; he says the ritual to remove Nualia’s celestial heritage took place there. We decide to travel on horseback.
.
