Adventures in the Eastern Provinces

[the Jester]

Here is Quah-Nomag's stat block as it was in this encounter. Over time, as the pcs encounter him again, it will change. For those of you who recognize him, yes, I am weaving a heavily tweaked version of the 2e adventure Dead Gods into my campaign, once again proving my dedication to using material from every edition in my game no matter what edition it actually is.

Quah-Nomag, Half-Ogre Servant of Tenebrous
Level 10 Solo Controller --- XP 2,500
Large natural humanoid

Initiative +5 --- Senses Perception +10
Threshold of Death (aura 3): Each living creature other than Quah-Nomag that starts its turn in the aura gains vulnerable 2 all until the start of its next turn. Death saves made within the aura suffer a -2 penalty, and a creature that dies within the aura has its soul consumed by Tenebrous.

HP 416; Bloodied 208
AC 23; Fort 23; Ref 17; Will 18
Resist 5 necrotic; Vulnerable 10 radiant
Saves +5
Speed 8
Action Points 2

Greatclub (standard, at will; Melee Basic Attack, Weapon): Reach 2, one target; +15 vs. AC; Hit: 2d10+5 damage. While bloodied, a hit also pushes the target 4 or knocks it prone (Quah-Nomag's choice).

Greatclub Sweep (standard, at will; Close, Weapon): Burst 2, targets enemies. +13 vs. AC; Hit: 2d10+5 damage. While bloodied, a hit also pushes the target 4 or knocks it prone (Quah-Nomag's choice).

Vitality Siphon (standard, at will; Ranged, Necrotic): Ranged 10, one target; +14 vs. Fortitude; Hit: 2d6+5 necrotic damage, the target is slowed (save ends), and Quah-Nomag gains a +2 bonus on attack rolls until the end of his next turn.

Fearsome Invocation of the Undead God (standard, recharge 5 6; Close, Fear, Psychic): Burst 5, targets each enemy in burst; +12 vs. Will; Hit: 2d6+5 psychic damage, and the target moves its speed away from Quah-Nomag, triggering opportunity attacks.

Throw an Elbow (minor, at will, 1/round until bloodied; Melee): one target; +15 vs. AC; Hit: 2d6+6 damage, and the target is dazed until the end of its next turn. While bloodied, a hit also knocks the target prone.

Favor of Tenebrous (immediate reaction when hit by a melee or close attack, at will; Close, Lightning, Necrotic): Burst 3, targets the triggering creature; +14 vs. Reflex; Hit: 3d6+5 lightning and necrotic damage, and Quah-Nomag slides the target 2 squares.

 

[Baron Opal II]

However, by (mostly) ignoring the other enemies, our heroes soon press Quah-Nomag hard. Orzza shouts, “I was born of a special egg, and I have found my true purpose! To slay you!!!”

...

Still, things are looking good for our heroes- except for one thing: Quah-Nomag's ritual is nearly finished. He locks eyes with Orzza, who is now severely wounded

“You miscalculate, little dragonborn,” the half-ogre rumbles. “You have indeed found your true purpose, but it is not what you think.”

He throws another elbow, knocking Orzza prone. The dragonborn groans, head hitting the ground hard, and lies senseless.

Quah-Nomag's lips curve into an ugly grin. “Your purpose is to serve as the sacrifice to complete this ritual.”

Damn, that's cold. Yet, excellent timing; there are few better ways to make a memorable recurring villain.

 

[the Jester]

Tens of Thousands of Years Ago

“The horrors will be here any day,” says the first technician to the second. “We're too late. All our work...”

The second regards her companion. Her large yellow eyes catch the light, her vertical pupils seeming to blaze and scintillate. “It is too late for our people. The Miloxi Empire is fallen. The Yi-Chrechtor and his people- and his horrors- have already won. Have you not heard? He has opened Death's Eye.”

The first technician stares at her, aghast.

“Yes,” she says. “Our home continent- destroyed. All around it, being destroyed. All the world, destroyed eventually.”

“Perhaps our creations...”

“They are too few, and have not had enough time to grow in power.” Her tail flicks from side to side and she lets out a soft growl. “No, they cannot save us.”

Whiskers quivering, the first technician passes a paw before his face. He lets out a despairing yowl.

“But maybe,” the second murmurs.

The first stares at her.

“Maybe,” she repeats, “someday, they can avenge us. Maybe we can send them to a future where they have a chance to live on after us. We cannot let the only legacy of the Miloxi Empire be a collection of mongrel species upraised from animals and birds. If they even survive without us.”

“The Yi-Chrechtor will show them no more mercy than he shows us.”

“The tubes,” she says. “The tubes.”

He stares at her. “But who will release them?”

“Time will release them. Perhaps they will be found by a friendly or curious race.”

“It might take centuries!”

“Yes. Perhaps even a thousand years or more. Longer, if the horrors overrun everything and no life returns. Maybe even forever.”

“But...”

“What choice do we have?” she demands. “We have to save something.”

Reluctantly, he nods. “All right. I concur. Summon the shardminds.”

There are not many of them, these new, strange, inorganic creations. This new form of life. Like a collection of crystals, clumped rather than fused, upright and with a semblance of humanoid form, they are one of the latest wonders produced by the Miloxi Empire's psientists. Yet their race, only a few years old, might now be ended. Their moment might be past already.

One by one, the shardminds file past the two technicians, each entering a seperate tube of hardened crystal. The process takes nearly four hours, as many of the shardminds are several hours away at one location or another. When every member of the race has arrived and entered its tube, the two technicians activate a sequence of psionic machines, charging a central u-shaped generator. The generator begins to hum and glow with an eerie silver-green radiance, and slowly the tubes all frost over, losing their transparency as the shardminds enter a state of temporal stasis.

“Let us hope for the best.” Grim-faced, the male technician presses a button, and complex machines begin moving the tubes. Banks of a few of them will be placed in different hidden locations throughout the Empire in the hopes that at least a few survive to be revived one day.

***

The Miloxi Empire falls. The two technicians, along with well over 95% of all the other tabaxi who make up the Miloxi citizenry, die, slain by the horrors they feared.

Time passes. First years, then decades, then centuries.

Now and again, a shardmind bank is found. If the horrors find it, the shardminds are revived and slain one by one with mechanical efficiency. On three occasions, other creatures find the banks, and on two of them, they revive the shardminds.

None of these survive more than two decades.

More centuries pass. Then millenia. Things change. Islands sink and rise. Landscapes change. The era of the ascendancy of one type of creature passes into that of another, and then another. Still the remaining few shardminds remain buried in hidden places, far from the eyes of sentient beings.

Now and again, a shardmind cache is found, and they are either destroyed or revived and then perish. Over the next 12,000 years, all the remaining shardmind banks are found and dealt with, one way or another, except two.

Much later, a chance encounter with green slime leads to the failure of the penultimate bank.

Slightly more than two thousand more years pass, and then a colony of hungry xorn eat a hollow in the earth that leads to a collapse that leads to an earthquake.

***

Today

There is a loud crack, and suddenly shardmind designate PHUQ-69 becomes aware again. It knows that there was a gap in its consciousness, but has no idea how long that gap was. It has no way of knowing that everything it knew is long gone.

But it can see the spiderwebbing cracks on the tube it is enclosed in.

Something has gone wrong, it thinks. It pushes on the inside of the tube, but it doesn't open or even shift, so the shardmind draws out its resounding morningstar and smashes its way free. Only as the noise of the shattering tube fades does it realize how dark and silent it is. Only a tiny bit of illumination reaches it from a distant crack.

PHUQ-69 is highly disoriented, but it can faintly see the row of other tubes next to his. Half are still standing, but cracked, bent, and twisted. The others have been crushed by collapsing rocks. It focuses on the remaining intact tubes, but a thorough examination soon leads it to the gloomy conclusion that it is the sole survivor of this group of shardminds.

Grief washes over it.

***

Meanwhile, our surviving heroes despondantly trudge away from the farm. They have lost a friend, met an enemy, and uncovered the first threads of some sort of terrible plot. It is not the best day that they have ever had.

“What next?” asks Shar. “What do we do? How do we find this guy when we don't even know what he's after?”

Nobody has a good answer. At least, not now- not in the aftermath of the battle with Quah-Nomag, with the death of Orzza so fresh.

They plod along, heading back in the direction of Overland. Some forty minutes into the journey, Alkor squints and points. “What is that?” he exclaims.

Something in the distance is glittering in the sunlight. It is reddish-purple in hue, and it seems to be moving.

Sepia pulls out her whip, but Karl says, “Hold on. It might be friendly.”

“Hail!” cries Alkor.

The figure changes direction to come directly toward them. “Is that a humanoid?” Shar wonders.

“It looks like it's composed of crystal of some sort,” Karl muses.

Sepia paces.

The figure halts when it is about 20' from the group. They hear a voice in their head: Hello. I am PHUQ-60. Please direct me to the nearest Miloxi authority.

Baffled, Shar and Alkor exchange a glance. “The what?”

The nearest authorities of the Miloxi Empire.

“I've heard of the Miloxi Empire in my studies,” says Karl, “but it's long gone. It has probably been extinct for more than fifty thousand years.”

But- but that's impossible. It seems as though it was just a few moments... The strange figure goes still, lights swirling within the crystals that make it up.

“Is it just me,” Alkor murmurs, “or does it seem... distressed?”

“I think you're right.” Shar steps toward the thing, moving slowly, hands held open and empty before her. “P-69... can I call you P-69?... I'm not sure what you are, but I am the governor of this area. Why don't you come with us for now? You can tell us your story, and we can bring you up to date on the local, er, situation.”

All right. Thank you.

***

The journey home is uneventful, but word is out. The Double Javelins are on the move.

“It's time we finished with them,” Kane growls.

Shar nods. “I agree. We need to bring them to heel or destroy them once and for all.”

“What about our new friend?”

She glances over at the shardmind. “So far it seems friendly enough.”

“Yes, but you'll notice it's armed. So it has all it needs to cause trouble if it wants to.”

“Don't you think we could take it?”

“Of course!” Kane snarls.

“Well, then. We'll see if it wants to come with us.”

***

P-69 does indeed join the group for their mission, and the party strikes at the Double Javelins' camp while most of them are out raiding.

They catch more than they bargained for when an ogre-sized suit of armor with a human fused into a cavity within it steps out of a tent and into view. Weird purple crystals are inset in the armor's shoulders and calves, pulsing with sickly radiance. It is the weapon that they saw some time ago- saw, and got sidetracked from. And clearly, someone volunteered to undergo the ritual for the Double Javelins.

It's another of those dog-folk.

There are still half a dozen Double Javelins in the camp, as well as a worg. But by using the partially-constructed palisade as cover, the party forces the mercenaries to close to melee, where Kane ruthlessly cuts them down.

P-69 proves his mettle here. He's fairly strong, but he is immensely tough and durable. He swings his morningstar into one foe after another.

The armor-bound juggernaut is another matter.

Be careful! the shardmind warns his allies telepathically. That suit doesn't look well-built at all. Those radiocrystals are dangerous.

“What? You know what those things are?” Sepia demands.

Yes, of course. Don't you?

“Save it for later,” Shar barks. “We're fighting!”

Yes. Let's destroy that canus!

“Wait,” Sepia says. “You know what the dog folk are, too?”

“Later!” Kane roars, stabbing the canus.

***

It takes a tremendous amount of effort to bring the canus down. Before they do, he triggers a radioactive burst that leaves all of them feeling as if something bad has happened to them- as if they have been, in some way, tainted by the energy.*

After they search the camp- taking some 1200 gold pieces in loot, along with what proves to be an orb or reversed polarities- they discuss destroying the armor. It is certain that none of them want to be bound to it; the canus and the armor are interwoven by metal cables and rods, and it looks really unpleasant.

Destroying the radiocrystals could have severe consequences, P-69 tells them. You guys really don't know anything about radiocrystals here, do you?

The group agrees that no, they don't.

In my time, they powered the wonders of the Miloxi Empire. But if used improperly- it gestures at the armor- it can have disastrous consequences. It can cause sickness or death. It can deform any young you have later or render you sterile.

“Why would you even use it, then?” asks Sepia, shaking her head.

“Power,” Shar guesses.

I don't know, P-69 admits. I've never really thought about it before.

“But you've been around for a long time, right?” Karl asks. “You're ancient.”

No, I'm six.

“You're what?”

Six. Six years old. The rest of the time, I was in stasis.

Nobody is quite sure what to say to that.

Next Time: An easy answer to what to do with the armor!

*Everyone gained 1 RAD, which stays with you forever. Accumulate too many RADs and... well, you could sicken and die... or maybe even mutate, old school Gamma World style.

 

[the Jester]

The question of what to do with the armor (which, according to P-69, is a poorly and dangerously modified Miloxi artifact) is a tough one. Karl puts the idea of keeping it for study forward; but P-69 warns them that it might sicken those nearby, so even keeping it is risky. And the shardmind already explained that destroying it was likely to spread sickness around... so what?

The answer steps forward from the brush surrounding the camp: a familiar face, dwarven, garbed in leather armor colored green and brown in strange patterns that help him blend into the surrounding vegetation.

“Nom!” says Shar with relief.

“Greetings.” He spreads his hands, then stares at P-69. “I see you have a... new friend.”

I am PHUQ-69, shardmind of the Miloxi empire.

The dwarf gives a respectful bow. “I am Nom. I must admit that I have never seen anything quite like you. Our... instruments... indicate that you are not composed of radiocrystal yourself...”

Of course not! P-69's telepathic broadcast carries a hint of surprise at the notion. Although my kind were originally created using radiocrystalline energies, the Miloxi were capable of manipulating many types of lattice and lattice-like structures, some of which were merely the inorganic seed for a life-spark to later-

“What the rock man means,” Karl growls, “is that he's with us.”

“Of course,” Nom answers, “and I mean it no harm. Him?”

I have no inherent gender. Yet calling me 'it' seems to devalue my existence. After a moment's consideration, P-69 states, I think I shall identify as male.

“Him, then,” Nom says. “In any event, though I am quite intrigued by him, your new friend isn't why I have come.” He gestures at the armor.

That is very dangerous, P-69 starts to explain, but Nom interrupts him.

“I know. I work with a group that is dedicated to removing the dangers such things present. We are the Crystal Breakers. Perhaps you have encountered us before?”

“He's pretty fresh out of the bottle, so to speak,” Shar states. “From what our friend told us, he was in some sort of stasis for... well, since the Miloxi era.”

“Long ago.” Nom stares speculatively at P-69 again. “Very interesting. Nonetheless, it's not what I am here for.” He gestures at the armor again. “Do you have any objection to my group taking charge of this thing?”

Kane barks a laugh. “I damn well don't want to get fused into it. None of us are planning to use it, and leaving it here just means another enemy might find it and use it against us. I care not- take it.”

Shar nods. “I think we can all agree that Kane's right. We don't want to keep it or to leave it lying around.” Nobody disagrees; she continues, “Take it. Be rid of it.”

Nom bows to them. “This is twice, now, that you have assisted my group. We shan't forget it. My superiors are already considering how to thank you properly.”

***

The next few weeks are peaceful compared to the last few. The threat of the Double Javelins has been severely reduced, though not completely eliminated. The lands claimed by Shar and Shifty are safe for the moment, or at least as safe as at any time during this troubled era.

But peaceful and safe are not the same as trouble-free.

Upon returning to Overland, our heroes find a gallows, with two of their soldiers hanging dead from it. It seems that their lieutenant, Lentor, felt the need to instill harsh discipline, and this has riled up the citizenry. After investigating the situation- according to Lentor, the hangings were justified and necessary given the behavior of the two, who endangered some of the locals with cowardice during a clash with the Javelins- the party decides that, while hanging them might have been extreme, it sent a signal that prevented any more trouble. Lentor was justified, and despite the rumblings of the crowd, he won't be punished.

The one place the Double Javelins seem to continue to harass and harry the inhabitants is Woodcut. Cleaning up a group of orc raiders that they encounter along the way, the party heads there, finding many of the fields burnt. Famine is a real threat. But the Javelins have melted away; the loss of their camp and the armor-bound juggernaut may have finally broken them.

The party recruits more soldiers, arranges for food relief to be sent from Grumbleford and Goldwash to help the citizens of Woodcut. All in all, things are looking fairly good.

But as they travel back toward Goldwash one day, they stumble upon a group of what they first take to be humans, who immediately attack them. The battle proves surprisingly difficult, and when our heroes examine the bodies, they find that the “humans” are not human at all, but rather, some sort of serpent-human blend. Scales, forked tongues, serpentine eyes... The signs vary from individual to individual, but it's clear enough for Karl to pronounce, “These guys are yuan-ti.”

“What's a yuan-ti?” asks Sepia.

Kane prods one of the bodies with a toe.

“They're an ancient race of humans who are tainted by contact with serpent gods,” the wizard explains. “Their presence is a threat.”

***

The party dispatches Bradford with a few other scouts to try to follow the trail of the yuan-ti back and find any lair or outpost they might have nearby. When he reports back, Bradford tells them that he did find something- a small group of lizardfolk being led by the strange snake-men. “It looked to me like they're fortifying the area. They were digging out a ditch and building a palisade. I don't think they plan on leaving anytime soon.”

“Maybe we can negotiate with them,” Shar muses.

Kane grins and caresses the hilt of his sword. “I will be happy to negotiate with them.”

“You bust down the doors,” she replies, “and I'll do the talking.”

***

The place resembles a tiny village, with only a few huts as yet. Boggy areas are almost everywhere within the encampment, and a huge mess of sticks, mud, and woven swamp grass forms a hump of mud about 10' high along one side. An empty stockade of thick wood has been built, but lies empty. The palisade around the camp has been finished since Bradford's scouting expedition, and a moat surrounds the whole place, swarming with water moccasins.

Watching from cover outside the camp, Alkor comments, “Looks like about half a dozen yuan-ti and a handful of lizardfolk.”

“Look there,” Sepia says, pointing. “Something's moving close to the ground... is that a snake?”

Silence for a moment, then Shar gives out a low whistle.

“That,” Kane rumbles, “is one big snake.”

“It could probably eat a horse,” Karl states.

“Not once I remove its head.” Kane loosens his blade in its sheath.

Shar frowns. “Remember, let's try to talk to them first.”

“Aye, but once they show they've no interest in talking, I'll kill their pet first.”

***

Shar's attempt at negotiation is an utter failure. Even before they reach the camp, they are attacked by the swimming snakes in the moat; and once that happens, the yuan-ti and their lackeys join the battle. There is never a chance to talk to them. Shar tries, once or twice, demanding their surrender; but the serpent cultists jus throw themselves at the party's weapons, willingly giving their lives in a fanatical frenzy. They fan out, giving their leader cover. He licks his dagger, leaving a slimy residue on it that proves poisonous when he sinks it into Kane's arm. The barbarian replies with a howling strike that is punctuated with two arrows from Alkor's bow.

Once the enemy has been dispatched, with none allowing themselves to be taken prisoner, the party searches the bodies and the encampment, trying to ascertain whether there might be more of the yuan-ti that are absent.

“Hey guys, look at this.” Sepia pulls an amulet from the neck of the leader. It is made of serpentine and designed to resemble a twisting snake. “I bet it's magic.”

“I've got an idol over here,” calls Alkor. “A snake. Looks valuable.”

Karl emerges from another hut clutching a handful of papers. “Look what I found,” he says. “Letters!”

The group clusters around as he reads aloud.

“Here's the first one. 'Survik, I am pleased to hear of your success. Now that you have located the Ziggurat of a Thousand Serpents, begin excavating at once. The central sacrifice chamber within should serve as a sufficient focus for the plague. Send a map of the location to our agent in Grumbleford at once; if you are found and destroyed by the warmbloods, we must retain the knowledge of it. Never again will the three glories of Zehir be hidden from us! We shall uncover the hidden secrets in all three of them with time. For now, we must prepare to make great sacrifices to the Slithering One that he shall continue to bless our endeavors. Once you have uncovered the snake pit in the Ziggurat, reconsecrate it and fill it with honored ones. Then we shall be able to perform the ritual!'

“It's signed, 'Your Master of Coils, Shethfass.' So now we have a name for their leader.”

“I shall remove the head of this Shethfass,” Kane declares. “As I did the head of this Survik.” He kicks the body of the yuan-ti leader.

“There's more,” Karl continues. “Here's the second letter:

“'Dear Survik, as we have discussed, I will be happy to remain at your service as long as you are in the area. Be warned that there is a new Government in the area, which seems competent at rooting out their enemies, so you may wish to look further afield for sacrifices in future.

“'Regarding the ziggurat of which you speak, I do not know of it. The local historian is an eladrin in Overland named Karlinden, but if you speak to him you may as well be informing the new Government of your intentions. I recommend looking the old fashioned way, if you have the manpower and a place to start. Please remember that any contact with me risks revealing my presence, and act accordingly.'” Karlinden frowns. “This one is just signed with an initial- K.”

There are three more letters. One by one, Karl reads them aloud:

“'Survik,

“'The green is made from the brain of a carrion crawler and has paralytic effects. Beware; it will harm serpents and other chosen folk as readily as it will a warmblood.

“'If you succeed with the Plague of Serpents, you will be given access to the histachi ritual. Consider this your true test. If you unleash the plague, there will be so many vectors spreading the histachi vulnerability that you should have no trouble remaking enough to hold off whatever pitiful resistance the locals can muster. Once you have created sufficient histachi you can seize control of the area and force the local populace to work and drain the swampland around the step pyramid. (Histachi will unfortunately not be able to work as regularly as required for such a task; they are stupid, prone to distraction and violence and much better suited to guard duty or hunting sacrifices.)

“'We will begin making a sacrifices every day when the sun is highest, that Zehir might bless your undertaking.

“'Your Master of Coils, Shethfass.'”

“Do you know anything about this pyramid, Karl?” asks Shar.

“I'm afraid not. Nor do I know about this referenced plague of serpents... but I don't like the sounds of it.”

The next letter reads simply: Survik, Where is the map?

Your Master of Coils, Shethfass

“Huh,” says Alkor. “Did anyone see any sign of a map?” It feels almost taboo to ask; for the last several centuries of the Sword Empire, maps were considered state secrets. Most people have never actually seen one- and none of our heroes found anything like a map in the encampment.

The final letter is addressed to a different recipient. “Interesting,” murmurs Karl. Then he reads aloud:

“'Ahrthass,

“'While I am at the excavation site, I leave you in charge. Should any of the others doubt you, show them this letter. With any luck, we shall have the Snake Pit excavated by the end of summer, and then we can perform the Plague of Serpents.

“'We do have a growing problem, however. The copy of the map that I sent to our local agent never arrived, which doubtless means that someone intercepted it. Be cautious! We do not need interference at this stage when we are so close! If anyone pries, sacrifice them. But DO IT QUIETLY! Attract attention, and we could be delayed or stopped at the moment of our triumph. Worst of all would be if our agent was uncovered. If he is forced to run, he will come to you. At that point he will be a liability- he will know too much to be allowed to survive useless. Feed him to the snake.

“'Survik' -so I guess,” Karl finishes, “this one was written by the guy the others were written to.”

“I wonder what this excavation site they reference is.” Shar frowns. “And this Snake Pit.”

“I wonder who their agent is,” Sepia says.

“There's a lot to unpack here,” Shar admits.

“The end of summer isn't far off,” Alkor points out. “It's July 20th today.”

“Whatever they're doing, they're doing it soon,” Karl agrees with a nod.

Kane sneers. “Then we shall have to kill them quickly.”

Next Time: Our heroes struggle to prevent... A Plague of Serpents!

 

[the Jester]

Our heroes continue to dig around the yuan-ti camp. Soon, Karl finds a map. “Look at this.” He points to a scrawled label on the parchment. “'Excavation site.' I think that's what we're after.”

“Or at least, it's where they are,” quips Bradford.

“Seriously,” says Shar, “we need to stop them. This plague of serpents, whatever it is, can't be good for us.”

Kane nods. “Agreed.” Before he can say more, there is a call from the gate set in the palisade.

Several hours earlier, the yuan-ti had sent out a group to search for potential sacrifices. Now they have returned.

The yuan-ti realize that there is trouble awaiting them from the subtlest signs, such as dead bodies lying in plain view, so when they meet our heroes it is weapons in hand. They, along with several servants- a pair of ghasts and an ironstone gargoyle- fight hard, but the party is ready for a fight, too. Though the yuan-ti and their lackeys are tough and dangerous foes, Kane enters a rage and gets their attention with a bellowing charge, backed up by Sepia's brass knuckles and PHUQ-69's morning star. The others strike from afar with arrow and spell.

It is during this fight that our heroes realize just how durable their new shardmind friend is, for P-69 is able to throw off lingering effects (such as the yuan-tis' ongoing poison effects) far more quickly than anyone else.*

Once the party has dispatched these new foes, Sepia says, “Maybe we should get out of here in case there are more groups that are gonna come back.”

“I'd like to burn this camp,” Kane growls, “but it's all too wet.”

“And from this map, it looks to be fairly swampy the whole way.” Karl frowns and glances around. “Here, we at least have dry ground. Perhaps we should avail ourselves of it and rest the night. I'm sure we can deal with any other groups that return before dawn.”

The others agree.

***

The group ends up spending several days at the camp, using the time to harvest a great deal of meat from the giant snake they slew. Shar dedicates the first meal of “this god we're eating” to the Sword Emperor. No more foes arrive.

Then they set out for the Ziggurat of a Thousand Serpents.

Traveling through the swamp is arduous. The party is harassed by insects, occasionally including giant varieties. Movement is slow, landmarks are hard to find, and swamp gas severely limits visibility.

They get lost, find their way then lose it again. They are confronted with impassable tangles of trees and brush that turns them around and costs them whole days' worth of progress. Several of them catch blinding sickness; the party has to use remove affliction rituals more than once as they journey along. And they are attacked several times by rancid horrors made of rotting vegetation.

But finally, after almost a month, they pass through a screen of trees and large leafy bushes and their destination comes into view. They draw back and spend a few minutes watching.

About 60' away is a large step pyramid that rises about 30' above the surface of the swamp. It is covered by swamp growth and muck; although its outline is clear, it is impossible to actually see the surface at all. An encampment of crude wooden shelters has been constructed at the base of the pyramid, which has at least three visible levels. Steps ascend each side of the pyramid. At the apex is a huge slab of stone with a 10'x10' opening through which a group of human-looking cultists are excavating copious amount of mud via buckets. At any given time, anywhere up to three working people are visible, hauling mud outside the top and dumping it off to the side, onto a mud pile now about 10' high. A number of huts are scattered around the base of the pyramid. Two more of the yuan-ti, these ones obviously overseers or guards, keep watch from the top of the pyramid. Long hoses extend out of the pyramid, water draining sluggishly from them.

“We can take 'em,” Kane says. Sepia nods agreement.

Shar purses her lips. “All right, let's do it before any more of them arrive.”

The party scrambles forward to attack.

At first things look good; Sepia and Karl shoot the cultists down while Kane and P-69 rush forward to engage the overseers. Unfortunately, the noise of Kane's howling strike awakens the additionally cultists in the huts. And more of the workers pour out of the top of the pyramid, buckets discarded in favor of daggers or scimitars.

Suddenly, instead of somewhere around five enemies, the party is facing 20 foes (well, more like 18, given that two are already down).

Then snakes start to emerge from the entrance- first, three rattlesnakes; then a huge constrictor; and finally, half a dozen water moccasins.

Karl enters a wizard's fury, recognizing that this is no time to hold back. He begins dropping cultists left and right with massive volleys of magic missiles. Meanwhile, Kane and P-69 seem to turn into living snake sausage grinders, brutally laying about themselves and surrounding themselves with sprays of blood.

The snake cultists fall one by one, but not without dealing their fair share of damage to our heroes. Likewise, the snakes themselves wound, poison, and crush Kane and P-69, but both of them are too tough to quit.

Soon, the pyramid exterior and entrance have been secured.

Coming down from his rage, Kane realizes, “I could use some healing.”

***

There's no point in waiting. If they don't move fast, our heroes know that any yuan-ti still in the pyramid will figure out that they are under attack. So, after a quick breather to heal, the party advances to the top of the pyramid and in through the entrance.

A bunch of buckets, shovels of various makes, casks of water and pumps, long coils of hose and similar material are in the chamber below the 10' x 10' opening. The stuff is very organized but still takes up a great deal of the space available. Mud still covers most surfaces, but the surface of the green serpentine stairs with their bannister formed to resemble a series of intertwined cobras running downward have been washed clean.

“Look,” says Sepia. She points at several places where spikes are sticking up from the banisters like fangs. The hoses they noticed outside run down the stairs.

“All right,” Shar declares, “let's finish these guys.”

Next Time: Our heroes descend into the Ziggurat of a Thousand Serpents!


*This is because P-69 is a warden. Wardens get to make “save ends” saves at the start of their turn, as well as the end of it. Come to think of it, it might be only one at the start of your turn- IDHMBIFOM- but whatever, it was an awesome ability.

 

[the Jester]

The second level down consists of three rooms. To the the southwest is a chamber with several inches of mud still on the floor. There are piles of rotten old robes on the ground, but they are in such bad shape that no details can be discerned. The door is jammed shut by mud piled against the far side, but Kane manages to shove it open with a little work. This leads the party to a empty chamber with a faint smell of snake in it.

The largest room on the level holds an altar graven with images of snakes with fangs that drop venom, set upon a dais. The thick pillars bracing the ceiling are shaped to resemble great masses of snakes coiling together. The pump hoses run from the chamber above down another set of stairs.

“This is devoted to Zehir,” Karl says of the altar, “a god of serpents, poison, and assassination.”

“That seems to fit these guys,” Shar comments.

The party searches the room. They find that the pillar in the northeast has a small hollow section. Sepia manages to trick a hidden panel open; within the secret compartment is another serpent amulet, similar to the one that they found previously. Sepia listens for noise coming from below.

“I can hear the sounds of work going on somewhere down there,” she reports. “And distant voices.”

Shar nods. “We must have drawn everyone who was near the top outside.”

“Hopefully,” Kane says, “the rest of them aren’t expecting us.”

Down they go. Each level that they descend is larger than the last. Mud has been cleared from fewer surfaces below than above, but where the walls are visible, the motif of the serpent continues, often depicted devouring or poisoning mammals. The hoses continue along. The party creeps forward, finding an old chamber with shelves still holding stale incense, a partially-excavated garbage pit (complete with the withered corpse of an otyugh), before abruptly finding themselves in a chamber full of snakes.

Battle!

Kane leaps forward to attack, blade singing as it slashes serpents in half. The other rush to back him up. The snakes can’t withstand their fury, but a group of yuan-ti and cultists rush in to defend them from another chamber.

“Watch out!” Karl cries, blasting them with a fireball. Sepia cracks her whip at a cultist while P-69 slams his Morningstar down on the largest snake. Even Bradford manages to cut down a few serpents. Soon, the battle is over, and the adventurers stand triumphant.

“I guess we didn’t draw out all of the yuan-ti near the surface after all.” Shar uses a healing word to restore some of the damage Sepia took.

***

There are no other yuan-ti or snakes on the level, though there are several more chambers. When they find a giant snake skeleton, it is perched at the top of a wide ramp that descends into the next level of the pyramid. Crushed bones lies all around it, but it proves inanimate despite the misgivings of the party.

The bottom of the ramp has more yuan-ti guarding it, waiting in 2’ of water and muck. The party attacks. The guards defend themselves, but our heroes force them back with the strength of their initial assault. Karl’s fire burst opens the battle, and Kane leaps forward in a rage. The cracking of Sepia’s whip sounds over the shrieks of the cultists.

But then Kane gives a cry of his own. Hidden beneath the mud and water, the room is trapped with pungi sticks.

But in his rage, Kane cares little. Bleeding from his left foot, the barbarian ignores his pain, ignores the filth threatening to taint the wound, the stabbing daggers of the yuan-ti. His attention is focused solely on one thing: kill.

The yuan-ti fall back, pressed by Kane, with the others right behind him. But the noise has drawn more trouble. As Bradford drops another cultist, a pair of gray chickens come chicken-walking into view.

“Bawk bawk!”

The chickens rush forward. “Watch out!” Karl shouts. “Those are cockatrices! They can turn you to stone!”

Kane snarls and hacks at the first cockatrice. P-69 explodes into his constituent crystals, then reforms near Kane and joins the melee.

Behind the cockatrices, another yuan-ti appears. He wears a wide-brimmed sable fedora and has a whip coiled at his waist. “Wait!” he cries. “There is no need for this!”

Kane drops one of the cockatrices and turns roars.

Shar, however, never one to turn down the chance to negotiate, calls back, “Call off your minions! If they stop attacking us, we’ll stop attacking them!”

“Will we, though?” mutters Bradford.

But indeed, despite Kane’s tooth-gritting rancor, the fighting between the party and the remaining yuan-ti and cockatrice halts. There is only one yuan-ti other than the fellow with the hat. Karl strains to hear any sign of others nearby, but he can’t hear anything over the heaving breaths and movements in the room.

“There’s no need for this!” the hat-wearing yuan-ti says. “Why are you attacking us?”

Shar answers, “We’re not going to let you perform your ritual here.”

“I take it that you’ve already cut your way through the others above?”

“That’s right.” Kane grins.

“Then you have nothing to worry about. It wasn’t my ritual at all. It sounds like you’ve already slain the cultists who were planning the ritual.”

“Then what are you doing here?” demands Karlinden.

“I am an archeologist. You might think of that as being somewhat like an adventurer, exploring old tombs and suchlike. My name is Survik. I’m here because this is a sacred place to my people. Long ago, these lands were ours.”

P-69 speaks. “What was the cult’s plan? We know there was a ritual. What would it do?”

“Ah, that. That’s why they were here- it can only be performed at one of a few select holy sites. They wanted to create a plague of serpents. The ritual causes snakes within the affected area to grow a second head and split into two snakes, doubling the population every few weeks. Of course, many of those snakes would move outward, seeking less crowded conditions.”

“How long,” Karl asks, “would the effects of this ritual last?”

“A year.”

“Then it’s a good thing we stopped them,” says Shar.

“From your perspective, certainly.” Survik shrugs. “It makes little difference to me.”

“You don’t care that we stopped them?”

“As I said, they were pursuing their goals, and I was pursuing my own.”

“Which are?” Shar asks.

“I am exploring a lost site created by my people.” Survik makes a gesture to indicate the ziggurat around them. “I’m not really interested in doing anything threatening to you. I want to learn. I’m a scholar.”

The party confers. It’s obvious that, should they decide to, they can lay the remaining snake-folk low along with their cockatrice, but there is a danger that one of our heroes could be petrified before the fight is over.

“And I believe this guy that he’s not a threat,” adds Shar.

“You think we should let him go?” Kane frowns. “He could bring more of his people here so that they can try to perform the ritual again.”

“And we know where they are. We can stop them again.”

After some debate, Shar makes the decision: they will allow Survik to live, and periodically send scouts to check the situation at the ziggurat to ensure that the yuan-ti don’t attempt to cause more trouble there.

“We’re going to regret this,” Kane grumbles.

***

The party returns home and has a nice stretch of downtime. For almost two months, they are confronted with no major threats. As winter nears, things are looking pretty good for them and their lands- food stores are set aside, damaged buildings are largely repaired, and so forth.

One day, late in September, a stranger arrives in Goldwash, seeking an audience with the Governors. This is Rualiss, an eladrin- and he comes to beg for aid.

“There’s something wrong in the Feywild,” he tells Shar and Shifty. “There is something… something corrupting fey folk.”

“What do you mean?” asks Shifty. “Corrupting how?”

“It’s like they fall under some sort of malign influence. The become filled with rage and aggression, and eventually vanish.”

“Any idea where they’re going?”

“Yes. The Garden of Graves.”

“That sounds… ominous.”

Rualiss winces. “Normally, it’s beautiful. Honored heroes of the Feywild are laid to rest there. It’s a place of peace and harmony. But lately… well… we don’t know why it’s happening. But it seems likely that the source is in the Garden of Graves.”

“And you want us to find it and destroy it,” Shar says.

“Yes. We’ve already sent two expeditions on our own, but…” He shrugs. “We presume that they succumbed to the power behind this.”

“And what do we get in return?” Shifty asks.

“We can give you a number of minor magic items.”

“Sold!”

Next Time: Our heroes travel to the Feywild and the city of Moonstair!

 

[the Jester]

Rualiss leads the party into the forest for several days. As they cross over a trickling creek bed along a well-shaded hillside, the eladrin tells them, “Here. This is the place.”

They look around. The brush is thick, there are many flowers blooming, the birds are singing, the trees are large and healthy- but it looks fundamentally like the rest of the surrounding woods.

“Is there some kind of portal?” Karl asks.

“No. This is a crossing. Once each day, when the sun is halfway past its zenith and the shadows are growing long, if one walks through this area, she can simply walk from the World into the Feywild or back.”

Sepia scrambles up a tree to gauge the sun’s position. “So we just have to wait a couple of hours?”

Rualiss nods. “And then we can pass through.”

The group has a small meal and relaxes while they wait. Shar takes off her boots and Shifty grabs a quick nap. Bradford stays attention, keeping guard.

When the time is nigh, the air seems to fill with an almost electric charge. Rualiss leads our heroes through the fey crossing, and they can all feel the moment when, suddenly, they are in another world, for the air seems sweeter, the birdsong more melodic, the scents on the air more primal, verdant and fecund both.

For most of them, it is a first visit to the Feywild. As an eladrin himself, Karl has spent some time there, and Shifty had visited the faerie realm a few times as a youth. Still, even for both of them, it has been years.

***

Moonstair is a small village that straddles the two worlds. When a moon is in the sky- something that happens a few times in a typical human lifetime- it falls back and forth between the two worlds. It is not what it once was; it is home to a meager two hundred people, as the outlying abandoned buildings and overgrown farms attest.

This is Rualiss’ home.

Here, the party rests a night, put up by fey folk both grateful and hopeful that they might be able to resolve the situation.

The next day they make for the Garden of Graves, which is less than a day from Moonstair. They follow a trail through thick woods until it opens on a huge ridge of dark stone that looms over the surrounding area. Based on the directions and descriptions that they were given by Rualiss, they have arrived.

Shifty says, “Before we go in there, I’ll check it out.” He activates his armor of rat form and transforms into a fat gray rat, then scampers ahead on the path while the others withdraw into the cover of the trees.

The path leads the rodentified gnome to an entrance in the face of the ridge. Maybe it passes all the way through, he thinks. He moves another few steps forward- then freezes.

Something is chiseled into the face of the rock beneath him.

I’m standing on writing, he realizes.

He can’t read it, but there is a lot of it. He scuttles back to the party, then returns to his normal form. Patting his comb-over, he tells the others what he saw.

“No guards?” Kane asks.

“Not that I saw.”

“Bah.”

Karlinden rubs his hands together. “Let’s check it out.”

***

The writing is in the Elvish script, but transliterates Common words. And there is quite a lot of it.

It reads:

Count you the shadows, watch the sun.
The wise know where they stand:
While knowing not the time to shun,
The fools must find themselves undone.

Like lustful swain or panicked child
Who beg another’s gentle hand,
The fool delves heedless through the wild.
The wise are not so soon beguiled.

When darkness falls and dreams portend
The rising of a fearsome foe,
The fool, swift-striking, meets his end,
The wise know froe from friend.

Let art and image point the way,
Abandon all you think you know.
For common sense leads fools astray.
The key is simply this: Obey.

The wise must ever strategize;
They never play, unless to win.
They see the harm in comfort’s lies,
And seek to open weary eyes.

You’ve fought your way, you’ve risked demise,
To view the ivy heart within.
Now as the soul within you dies,
This knowledge is your only prize:
You’d never have come, were you truly wise.

“Huh,” says Shar.

Karl studies the text. “That’s… something, that’s for sure.”

“Come on,” Sepia urges, “let’s go inside.”

“Wait a minute.” Shifty unslings his backpack. “I’m going to copy this down first. It sounds like a bunch of hints.”

“Who did this, though?” PHUQ-69 wonders.

***

The cave has a trio of statues in it, blocking off access to the far side, where a tunnel leads out. The three statues depict a maiden, a mother, and a crone, each with a hand out. Shifty immediately pulls out his copy of the doggerel. “Here,” he says, jabbing a finger at the second stanza. “The crone’s the one we want. The lustful swain is the mother, and the panicked child is the maiden.” He tries putting a coin in the crone statue’s hand.

It grinds into motion, stepping out of the party’s way.

“That wasn’t so hard,” the gnome declares.

Beyond the cave, the path emerges on the far side of the stone ridge. A cliff rises above the party; from here, they can’t see what’s atop it. Not far to their left, the ridge cuts off further passage; to their right, trails wind along through the trees below the cliff face. Some distance that way is a building on stilts, perched about 50’ above a rushing river. Rope bridges connect it with the top of the cliff face, and a spiral staircase ascends from the river’s bank to the building.

P-69 gestures. “I think we should go that way.”

The party starts down a trail leading toward the building. It winds through the woods, then abruptly opens on a clearing containing an abandoned-looking camp. Two tents, tattered and collapsed, lie among scattered firewood and old rusted tools.

“What’s that?” Sepia indicates a strange dark stone obelisk. Atop it is a globe of iron.

“It looks kind of like a weary eye,” Shifty says.

The party starts to move over to it.

And the whole campsite comes to life and attacks.

Next Time: Our heroes move into the Garden of Graves proper!

 

[the Jester]

“Is this in your rhyme, too?” PHUQ-69 cries, as the decrepit canvas tents try to wrap themselves around our heroes while the firewood bursts alight and sends flaming sparks at them.

“No!” Shifty replies, then corrects himself. “Well, yes- not these, but that!” He points at the obelisk.

The tools, too, spring to life, and a ghostly light flickers into being before starting to drain the life from those near enough. Our heroes find themselves suddenly pressed from all sides.

While the others engage the attacking campsite furnishings, Shifty springs forward, tumbling past the animated objects, and rushes to the obelisk. 'Seek to open weary eyes', he thinks, recalling the verse, and scrambles up to the top of the thing, where he espies a hinge. He pulls out his thieves' tools and works at it.

He feels a great lethargy fall over him. He feels, in fact, very sleepy.

Blinking, he bites his cheek to help himself focus, and keeps working on the hinge.

There!

He tricks it open, and the lethargy ends.

He leaps to the ground and returns to his friends, who are finishing disposing of the will-o'-wisp and camp gear. “Well done, people!” he beams at them. “Great job!”

“What's that thing you were messing with?” Shar asks.

“Come see, I disabled it. It's the 'weary eye' mentioned in the rhyme we found.”

P-69 and Sepia search the campsite for treasure while the others check out the obelisk. “Nothing,” the rogue reports, the two joining the others at the obelisk after a few moments.

“To yonder staircase, then,” says Kane, and the group turns back to their destination.

As they approach, the building's odd shape, irregular and curved, strikes them. It stands as high as the cliffs themselves, with thick wooden stilts as supports. The stairs that rise to it are made of wood, too, but the building itself seems to be composed of slabs of ill-fitting stone sealed with vines and other growth. It's very weird-looking.

Kane leads the way up the stairs, naked sword pointing ahead of him, a low growl rising from his deep in his chest. They spiral up through the floor of the suspended building. Within, a table holds a miniature landscape that includes the building. Most of the table depicts the top of the cliff- a complex systems of paths running between stone cairns.

“This must depict this place,” Bradford states.

The only other exit out of the building ends at a rope bridge that leads to the north, where another building, this one constructed from bright marble, stands. Rougher stone structures- a whole complex of them- stand to the northwest.

“Those aren't on the map,” Karl exclaims.

Sepia points at the rougher buildings. “And look. The stones making those up- they don't fit together well, but they're obviously not natural. Those are the gravestones. Somebody has repurposed them.”

Silence falls over the group for a moment. Karl finally breaks it. “Well, at least we know that whatever is happening to the fey folk around here is intentional. And that means that we can undo it.”

***

The marble building is another irregular one, though less curvy than the first. Inside, the walls, floor, and ceiling are completely covered in runes that seem to squirm and change when observed. The interior walls of the building curve weirdly and end in pillars, apparently part of the pattern of runes.

“Whatever is going on here, it's very complex,” Karl declares. “I think that the entire Garden of Graves has been reworked into some kind of rune magic to support... something.”

“Hello? Oh gods, help me!”

The woman's voice comes from a part of the room that is hidden behind one of the curving walls. Shifty whips out his dagger.

“Hello?” says P-69.

“Please, help! They've already sacrificed my family, and I'm sure that I don't have long! Please, free me!”

“I don't know...” Shifty mutters suspiciously, but the shardmind is already moving around the wall. There is the sound of rattling chains-

Then there are beetles everywhere, tearing at the party, emerging from tiny holes in the room's surfaces.

P-69 shrieks, and the woman's voice comes again- laughter, full of malice.

P-69 backs into view, scarabs scratching at him, biting and burrowing into his rocky skin. They scramble all over everyone. Blood is everywhere.

Kaboom! A fireball detonates, and for a moment, the group can see what's happening well enough to realize that the woman and the scarabs- or at least, many of them- are one and the same. She shifts from the form of a beautiful eladrin to a swarm of ravenous beetles and back again, flowing around the chamber in a chewing frenzy.

Badly wounded, Shifty tumbles around the corner, hoping to gain cover, retreating forward. For a moment he's away from them. Gasping, he glances around.

There is a stone-rimmed pool, within which lays a key of bright metal. The rippling water makes it hard to tell exactly where it is, but... He hurries over and reaches for it.

The key isn't where it appears to be. He misses when he grabs for it, and as he does so, a serpent of water rises up in the pool.

Uh-oh, he thinks.

Meanwhile, the others are struggling with the beetle situation. Karlinden's magic seems more effective than anything else, but Kane, Bradford, Sepia, and Shar are all badly wounded.

“Over here!” Shifty's voice comes from around the corner. The others fall back- forward, rather- toward him.

With a wail, the beetle-woman and her little friends follow, hesitating as Karl blasts them with a flame burst.

Shifty gropes for the key, and after a moment, his hand closes on it- but not before the serpent smashes into him.

He vanishes.

Sepia and Bradford both fall to the relentless beetle-woman. But finally, Kane and Karl bring her down in turn. When they finally do, she collapses into a shower of beetles, most dead- but some scuttle away, out the tiny holes in the walls and floor.

The water serpent keeps lashing out at anyone near it. Sepia calls, “Get away from it! We don't need to mess with it. Shifty already grabbed whatever was in the water.”

“Speaking of whom,” Shar says, “we need to find him.”

“There's only one way!” P-69 steps up to the serpent, which lashes out.

The shardmind, too, vanishes.

“I'm not so sure that's true,” Karl sighs.

***

Shifty appears with a yelp. He's in cold, fast-flowing water. Not far downstream, the water disappears with a roar: it's a waterfall.

He swims to shore without too much trouble, but then realizes that P-69 has appeared behind him in the water, and seems to be having a bit less luck with the swimming.

“Watch out!” the gnome cries.

P-69 gives a loud yell as he is swept over the edge of the fall.

***

The others heard P-69's yell. The waterfall he fell down was the same one they saw descending from above the cliff when they first passed through the stone ridge blocking access to the Garden of Graves. He's banged up by the fall, but still conscious.

However, the whole group is pretty battered from the last few encounters. “I think,” says Karl, “we should move an hour or so away and try to get a long rest.”

This seems wise. The party heads off into the Feywild to make camp.

Next Time: Death strikes one of our heroes!

 

[the Jester]

While the group rests, Shifty and Karl pour over their copy of the verse, looking for clues. The gnome points to the paper. “I saw a sundial in that area with all the beetles. This bit- 'Count you the shadows, watch the sun/The wise know where they stand;/While knowing not the time to shun'- could be a reference to it.”

“Maybe we stepped in the wrong spot or something and drew the beetles,” the wizard muses.

“I don't think so- that woman was there, disguised as a prisoner, when we showed up.”

“Perhaps we should examine it more closely.”

Shifty nods. “Agreed.”

***

Beetles still crawl in and out of the small holes in the beruned building. The sundial, which the party barely made note of during their battle in the marble building, sits in an cul-de-sac in the place. Though it is under a roof, a flaming brazier hangs on a chain from the ceiling. Obviously under the influence of some kind of magic, it isn't hanging straight down, but rather extends down at an angle, causing the sundial's gnomon to cast a shadow.

“It looks like the right time to me,” says P-69.

Karl squats down to look at it a bit more closely. “Agreed, at least as far as I can tell.” He closes his eyes and uses his arcane senses to feel the magic surrounding it, but can't discern anything more.

For the moment, there is nothing obvious to do with or to the sundial, so the party leaves the marble building. They cross the river that P-69 and Shifty had been teleported into along a dilapidated wooden bridge, which leads them to the main plateau above the cliffs, where a collection of weirdly-shaped buildings constructed from the old grave markers stands. Two large black obelisks stand before a building to the group's left; they elect to continue their investigation there.

The building beyond the obelisks is even more haphazard than the rest. “It almost looks like someone was trying to build an artificial cave,” Sepia remarks.

The group steps in- and the world seems to spin away beneath them. There is a shock of cold and nausea, and the inherent brightness of the Feywild is replaced with a sudden somberness.

“We've shifted into another plane,” Karl says.

“Which one?” asks Shar.

The wizard shakes his head. “I can't be sure, but... a sinister one.”

Kane leads the group into a bone-strewn chamber. An ominous-looking statue, robed and crowned but with its face chiseled away, stands near the back; many of the bones seem to be pointing at it.

“I don't trust it,” says PHUQ-69.

“I'll check it out.” Before anyone can stop her, Sepia skips forward toward the statue.

Which lashes out, a scythe appearing in its hands from nowhere. The tiefling yelps and flips backward, but still takes a nasty cut.

Kane growls, “Foul sorcery!”, then rushes the statue.

But another one comes from behind.

Both unleash pulses of necrotic energy, ripping life energy from our heroes, then lash out, moving quickly through the party ranks and cutting left and right. Kane responds by entering a rage and unleashing a series of devastating blows, while Shar, Sepia, and P-69 focus on the other statue and Karl fires magic missiles from the center of the party. Bradford darts in and stabs the thing that Kane is fighting, and the party begins to wear their foes down.

But the creatures are very dangerous, striking with frightful precision, and the very air in the place reeks with death. Just being too close to the walls causes the bones of the heroes to ache. Combined with the terrible gray angels' attacks, the power of decay that runs through the very fabric of the local reality begins to wear the adventurers down.

Then, in the flash of a blade, Sepia falls to the ground unconscious. Before anyone can help her, a scythe slashes into her back, and then the pull of the plane itself finishes her off.

“Sepia!” cries P-69. “Noooo!!”

“It's not too late!” Karl exclaims. “Grab her and let's get out of here!”

The shardmind scoops Sepia's corpse up into his arms and the party retreats. As soon as they leave the building, they can feel themselves transition back into the Feywild. The glum, oppressive feeling that death is just around the corner is replaced with the burgeoning sense that life is everywhere.

Shifty gasps, clutching at his wounds. “Those things were nasty!”

Karl ignores him, checking Sepia for signs of life. There are none. “It will be all right,” he mutters. “I recently learned the raise dead ritual. We just need some time.” But then he frowns. “Time, and ritual components. Damn.”

“You don't have enough?” asks Shifty.

“Not of the correct type. We'll have to return to Goldwash. Unless... perhaps the folk of Moonstair will have what we need, and since we're aiding them, if they do, hopefully, they will be willing to surrender it to us.”

Plan made, the party departs for the fey crossing.

***

Alas, Moonstair does not have the ritual components that Karl needs, necessitating that the party return home for a few days. When they do, they find a stranger waiting for them. Strangely garbed in what is plainly some kind of uniform, with tanned skin, a hawk nose, and long fingers, the stranger introduces himself as Moab ak-Atel.

“I am an emissary,” he tells them, “from the Delphinate.”

Karl is thunderstruck. The Delphinate was a society of mages based upon an island, but he had assumed that it was destroyed in the fall of civilization. If it survived, who knows what kinds of magical secrets I might find there? His pulse quickens.

“My people have heard of your community,” Moab says. “As you are probably aware, there are very few surviving towns or cities- of which the Delphinate is naturally the greatest. When we discovered your communities were still extant, we felt it wise to reach out and make contact with you. Thus, I have come with an invitation for you- you being the local authorities- to either send emissaries or to come visit yourselves.”

“Where is this Delphinate?” Shar asks.

“South of here, past the desert. Assuming you wish to come see our glorious civilization, I am to guide you.”

“Well, that's very interesting, and we might take you up on it in the future. But we have other obligations to fulfill first.”

“Oh?” Moab says politely. “Contact between our people is a very high priority for us. After all, those few points of light that have survived the extinguishing of civilization must stick together, or we'll all fall separately. Perhaps I could help you in order to expedite matters?”

Karl says, “I take it you're a wizard, given your origin?”

“Of course. I specialize in the school of enchantment.”

Specialization! Another lost art! thinks Karl. “I would love to compare notes with you.”

“Oh? You are a wizard, too?”

“Indeed, although I am not a specialist like you. Instead, I focus on my implement of choice- the tome.”

“Ah.” Moab seems unimpressed, which makes Karl feel even more rustic than he normally does. Nonetheless, the stranger allows, “I suppose it couldn't hurt anything.”

***

Sepia's resurrection goes as planned once the components are acquired. She is shaken by the experience, but her commitment to helping the fey folk seems to have redoubled.

That night, the party has dinner with Moab. They are shocked to see him pull out a pouch of residuum and sprinkle some on his food.

“What are you doing?” yelps Karl.

“Oh, you're not familiar with residuum,” Moab says condescendingly.

“No, I am- we are- but you're putting it on your food??”

“Of course. It vastly improves the flavor.” He dumps a small pile of it onto the back of one hand, leans over it, and snorts it. “Ah, refreshing.”

“But-” Karl stops. Do they have so much magic in the Delphinate that they can treat residuum so casually? Eating it? Snorting it??

“Care to try?” asks Moab, offering the pouch.

“Uh...”

“I'll try it,” P-69 declares.

“You don't have a nose.”

The crystals making up the shardmind's body shift around, forming an orifice in his face.

“I'm not sure it will have any effect on you,” Moab shrugs, “but give it a try.”

Sepia and Shifty try snorting some residuum, too. All of them- even P-69- find that it gives them a sort of floating head feeling, along with a charge of energy. Karl refrains and merely observes. There eyes are bright, almost feverish, he notes. “Is it addictive?”

“What? Addictive?” Moab ponders for a moment, then answers, “It depends. Do you consider food and drink addictive?”

***

Reinforced by their new ally- who, while stuffy and arrogant, seems willing to help in whatever way he can contribute to their cause- the party returns to the fey crossing. Moab finds the experience of passing over into another world fascinating, admitting that he hasn't had the chance to do so before. Karl contains his smirk, but can't help thinking, Who's the bumpkin now, eh?

The party moves through the bright foliage and sweet perfumes of the fey plane until they once again reach the Garden of Graves. On the way, Shifty shows Moab the doggerel that they copied down, and the newcomer spends some time familiarizing himself with it. “It's already proved useful several times,” Shifty comments, “and I'm hoping that unraveling what the rest of it means will help us deal with whatever other threats are here.”

The party once again ascends to the building atop the stilts. Indicating the diorama, Karl says, “I'm pretty sure that's what this place used to look like. But now, the graves have been dismantled and used as building materials.”

“I wonder who's behind it,” Sepia says to herself.

The party again crosses the rope bridges to the building where they fought the beetle-woman. The runes within still glow, still twist when observed closely. “That's the sundial we told you about.” Shifty gestures. “And... waitaminute-”

The beetles are swarming together. Forming a familiar. An all-too-familiar figure.

Laughing maniacally, the woman's face appears in the mass for a moment.

Then the beetles wash over them again.

It is the first time that they have had the opportunity to see Moab in battle. While Karl is the sort of wizard who is like a catapult, Moab proves to be more like a bag full of ball bearings. His beguiling strands confuse the enemy, move them around, pushing them away from the party and preventing them from swarming over them.

This time, the battle goes better for our heroes.

Their new ally has more than just magical might; he also proves to be tactically savvy. He may be a wizard, but he thinks like a soldier.

The beetle woman tears deep wounds in our heroes, but she can't stay consistently close enough to maximize her effectiveness with Moab's enchantments constantly forcing her back. This time, the party defeats her with far less cost to themselves. Even so, she almost kills Bradford and Shifty before Karl's arcane flames finish her off.

Once more, the remaining beetles scatter, withdrawing through the holes in the building.

“She's gonna be back again,” Shifty declares. “I can feel it.”

“But hopefully not today,” says Shar.

Kane snorts. “Bah. Let her come. We will lay her low again. Put her to the sword enough times and she will die for good.”

“Maybe.” Karl sounds unconvinced.

Next Time: Our heroes continue their exploration of the Garden of Graves!

 

[the Jester]

The party returns to the Garden of Graves again, choosing a different building this time. The room they enter is hung with about a dozen tapestries, one of which depictss an almost life-sized double door, with a figure being hurled back from it by a bolt of lightning. Lockpicks are flying from his fingers. Another figure holds a key in his hand, and is leaning forward as if to stop him.

Shifty studies it. Something about it looks off. The lock- it's too big. Frowning, he draws out the key that he had etrieved from the pool with the water serpent in it and touches it to the lock on the tapestry. Nothing obvious happens, but he decides to keep an eye out for a set of double doors like the ones it depicts. If we find them, I bet they're already open.

There are no other obvious exits at first, but some investigation discovers that one of the tapiestries is hanging in front of a doorway that leads to another chamber.

That chamber holds a tall staff with a flame atop it. On the wall past it, a line of numbers, 1 through 12, is repeated twice, once in brass and once in black-wrought iron.

Shifty is pretty sure that the rhyme they found refers to this somehow- there was the bit about knowing which hour to shun, or something- but before he can pull out his scribbled copy, PHUQ-69 steps between the flame and the wall with the numbers. “Look,” the shardmind says. “My shadow is darker than it should be.”

“Be careful,” Shifty starts, but the warden is already deliberating casting his shadow across the numbers.

Sudden shrieks rise as mad wraiths appear from nowhere, babbling insanity. They're all around the party, their touches driving our heroes near to madness. Before they can even respond, our heroes find their heads throbbing with pain. They can barely see or think.

There is one wraith for each member of the party. And the wraiths strike with terrible speed.

The party starts to fight back, almost too late. This time, Moab's spells are less effective, for the wraiths have strong wills. Karl's spells and the weapons of the others are also less than effective, for the wraiths are barely there. Flame and steel alike passes through them as if they aren't there.

The fight is terrifying. Kane, Bradford, and Moab all fall during the fight, and when it is over, the Delphinite lies dead on the ground.

Shifty quips, “I hope you have enough components this time.”

***

Once again safely removed from the Garden of Graves, the party discusses the torch and numbers. “It has to be there for a reason,” P-69 says. He insists that he cast his shadow on the hour corresponding to the correct time.

Shifty smacks himself in the forehead. “Of course! The sundial. We need to match the time that the sundial reads, not the real time of day.”

A night's rest, and then Karl performs the raise dead ritual. Moab returns from the beyond shaken and impressed by the rest of the party; if they survived a fight that slew him, there is clearly more to them than he had previously given them credit for.

***

Upon returning, P-69 makes another deadly mistake. In the cave with the three statues, he places a chip of his own body rather than a coin, and the crone statue animates and tries to kill them. Once defeated, rather than crumbling or falling, it returns to its original position and magically repairs itself.

“Just give it a damn coin,” Kane snarls.

***

The party heads toward the room with the sundial, but they don't relish yet another encounter with Madame Beetles. So instead of just rushing in, Shifty says, “Let me try going in as a rat. Maybe they won't realize that I'm a threat.”

His plan works like a charm. As a fat brown rat, he waddles into the chamber, takes note of the time indicated by it, and then meanders on out with no problem.

The party heads back to the flaming staff. This time, P-69 casts his shadow on the number corresponding to the sundial's indicated time, and there is an audible click from the room with the tapestries in it.

“Hey, a secret door just opened up back here,” calls Bradford.

Beyond the secret door, they find first a room with a succession of strange game machines, which the party plays and beats handily, and then a chamber where fey enemies cloaked by illusions to appear like duplicates of the party appear. However, the heroes are more than a match for them, and once Karl disrupts the illusion, the battle is quickly ended.

Beyond that is a third room, but this one proves harmless. A search finds a secret trap door leading to a series of tunnels that wind underneath the Garden of Graves proper; though our heroes expect them to be full of undead or similar threats, they prove empty.

“It looks like they provide a shortcut into the main building, though,” Sepia points out.

Karl looks at his friends. “I don't know about you guys, but I'm getting low on spells. I say we go retreat to a safe place and rest again.”

Shifty shrugs. “I don't see any reason to press on; it's not like we have a particular time limit.”

“The longer we wait, the more fey might get ensnared,” Shar points out.

“I'm sure one more day won't really matter.”

***

Meanwhile, Sepia's death and subsequent resurrection have triggered unexpected consequences. Though the tiefling doesn't remember it- the living can't usually recall their afterlife, if they have been dead before- her soul did not reach its normal destination.

Instead, it had been captured. Caged by a cackling hag, Esmelda by name.

Esmelda is a pact hag that is working for Quah-Nomag. Her job is to capture the souls of those that have opposed him so that he may burn them as fuel as a part of his dark rituals. Now, as a part of her agreement, she must retrieve the soul that she lost.

Thus Esmelda has come to the Feywild, where she has set up a temporary base not far from the Garden of Graves, from which to ambush the party.

In the morning, her howlers will begin the harrying.

***

And indeed, with the morn come the first eerie, unearthly cries.

“That's a howler,” says Moab in surprise. “They aren't native to the Feywild.”

More howls come. The party finds themselves being pursued.

“Let us slay these beasts,” Kane snaps in irritation after the first half hour.

“They're pretty dangerous,” Karl cautions. “They're covered in spines like a porcupine.”

“But with the disposition of a demon,” Moab adds.

“They often serve powerful evil masters, such as undead, demons, or devils.”

“Or evil mortals.”

“Are you two competing or something?” Sepia asks. “Sheesh!”

Kane just growls wordlessly.

The howlers chase the party into a boggy area where Esmelda springs her trap. She, along with another pair of howlers and a quartet of hired canoloth mercenaries, lay in wait near a rune of containment that she has scribed on a tree nearby. The rune sets up a zone tha damages each creature within it whenenever one of them leaves it. It is tremendously effective at preventing the party from escaping.

However, it isn't enough to win the battle.

When the rune triggers, our heroes are momentarily contained by it. The howlers that have been harrying them choose this moment to move in for the kill, and Esmelda and her contingent of fiendish creatures reveals themselves as well.

But the hag has miscalculated. She has underestimated our heroes. From Kane's rage that seems to channel the powers of his ancestors to P-69's ability to shrug off the magic she tries to lay upon him, from Shifty and Sepia working together to slice the canoloths to ribbons to Moab's devasting use of beguiling strands to set the enemy up for Karl's more explosive magic spell, the party applies themselves to the task of ensuring that the howlers and their masters break off their pursuit.

Soon Esmelda is forced to surrender to save her life. Our heroes are not at first inclined to accept her surrender- but she threatens the vengeance of all six of her sisters if they slay her, and after some negotiation, the party agrees.

“Provided,” Shar says, “that you tell us who you are and why you came after us.” She indicates the rune of containment. “This is no accident. You were lying in wait for us. I'd bet those howlers were doing your bidding, too.”

“Also, you have to surrender your treasure,” Shifty interjects.

“Talk!” snaps Kane. “Before I remove your head from your shoulders!”

“Of course I'll tell you what you wish to know.” Esmelda titters. “I'm just hired help. I mean you no harm, personally. And I'll be happy to surrender my treasure. Why, I'd be glad to bake you some cookies, if you wish!” She smiles, looking for all the world like a withered evil grandma.

Shar answers, “No thanks. Just tell us everything.”

“Of course, of course! Your real problem is a fellow named Quah-Nomag, a half-ogre.”

“We're familiar with him,” Karl says.

The hag explains her role as a soul snatcher, and that Quah-Nomag seeks to burn the souls as part of some ritual. When Sepia died, Esmelda's hag cage snagged her soul and Quah-Nomag paid the hag for it. However, before she could be properly bound in a more permanet fashion, someone raised her from the dead. Quah-Nomag was enraged, and since Esmelda had already eaten part of her payment she was obliged to go after Sepia one way or the other.

“Wait a second,” Sepia says. “Eaten?”

“What are you paid in?” asks Shar.

“Larva, of course.”

Karl fills the others in: “Larva are like worms with the heads of humanoids. Many of the souls of evil dead creatures end up as larva.”

“Correct, my boy!” She beams at him, proud as a parent. “The binding ritual takes twelve hours to cast. I had had time to complete it, but I had gotten greedy and gone on a bit of a binge.”

“You mean you were binge eating souls?” demands P-69.

“Just so!” She smacks her lips.

“That's repulsive.” Sepia makes a face.

“Oh, surely you have tried a larva once or twice...? No? I figured, you are a tiefling...”

Shar speaks up again. “If we let you go, how do we know you won't come after us again?”

“I'm a pact hag, dearie,” Esmelda says cheerfully. “We'll make a deal.”


Esmelda doesn't know exactly what Quah-Nomag is after, but she inferred that he is looking for some sort of weapon sacred to his god. She knows little more of him or of his deity Tenebrous- though she is aware that its is a rising cult, especially in the Shadowfell, and she has heard claims that Tenebrous is an undead god.

But she doesn't think the Garden of Graves has anything to do with Tenebrous or Quah-Nomag; she struck here because Sepia was here. “I would have moved on her wherever she was,” the hag admits. “Since you defeated poor old Esmelda, I'll have to go into hiding to escape Quah-Nomag's vengeance. I'll probably go to some forgotten astral rock or another, or perhaps assume a new name and sell my services to the devils or a demon prince. I'll certainly never cross paths with the mighty heroes who have so cast me down again, oh no!”

She pauses and gives them a rotten smile. “Are you dearies sure you wouldn't like some cookies?”

Next Time: Our heroes reach the heart of the mystery at the Garden of Graves!